Silus, picking up on Hazel's sudden change in demeanor, whispered, "What's wrong?" His voice, though low, was tinged with concern. Hazel scrambled to wipe off the blood, rubbing it against her skirt. The dark red stain smeared but didn't come off completely. She looked up at Silus, her green eyes reflecting a mix of worry and frustration. "Nothing, just... you're bleeding, don't you feel it?" she said in a hushed tone, glancing around.

His eyes widened as they moved to their intertwined hands, the sight of his blood against her pale skin. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath.

He attempted to pull his hand away, but Hazel held on tighter. "Don't," she insisted. It'll just draw more attention." She continued to try to clean the blood with the hem of her skirt, her movements quick and discreet. "I'm not the only one who noticed," she said, nodding toward the peacekeeper with piercing gray eyes.

She maneuvered their intertwined hands in the folds of her skirt, attempting to conceal the incriminating evidence of Silus's injury. Her movements were deliberate, careful not to attract attention.

Hazel couldn't shake being watched as they boarded the bus. The peacekeeper's gaze seemed to burn into her back. Hazel chose a seat towards the back, sliding in beside Silus. She leaned close to the window, hoping the dim light and distance would obscure them from view.

She could also feel the eyes of the other tributes on them, curious, calculating.

Hazel glanced at the peacekeeper, noticing how his eyes would meet hers in the bus's rearview mirror.

As Twilight's embrace tightened, casting deepening shadows inside the bus, Hazel worked to clean their hands with her skirt. The dimming light played to their advantage, veiling their actions in semi-darkness.

"I'm sorry, Hazel. I didn't realize I was squeezing so hard," Silus murmured, his gaze fixed on the peacekeeper who had taken an unsettling interest in them.

"Don't worry about it," she whispered back, eyes scanning the bus's interior. "It's getting dark. Hopefully, he was the only one who noticed. We'll know tomorrow if it makes the news."

She examined the now re-opened wound. The skin around was puckered and a deep rose color. "We need to get this cleaned properly," she urged. "An infection is the last thing we need, especially in your axe-throwing hand."

"He's still watching us," Silus kept his shoulders square and his attention fixed ahead.

Hazel glanced at the peacekeeper, meeting his steady, scrutinizing look. She then turned back to Silus, "Just ignore him. Act like nothing's wrong. We've already caught his eye more than we should have."

The bus lurched forward, the vibrant lights of Capitol City blurring into streaks of color as they sped past. The journey from the bustling heart of the Capitol to its outskirts felt surreal. A heavy silence enveloped the tributes as the bus wound its way to its destination. Each seemed lost in their thoughts, collectively detaching from the reality of their situation in a quiet, sad reflection.

The bus eased through the gates of a grand building that loomed large even in the darkness. Surrounded by a towering brick wall, it exuded an air of faded grandeur.

As they passed under the archway, 'Castellan' was etched into the brickwork. The Castellans were a family once revered in the Capitol. 'Not anymore,' she thought.

The bus stopped, and peacekeepers ushered the tributes off. They were surrounded by a foreboding presence of cameras and armed guards, and every movement was monitored. The manor, bathed in the soft glow of outdoor lighting, revealed a facade of ornate windows and ivy-clad walls.

As they disembarked, Hazel leaned in towards Silus, whispering, "Keep your hand in your pocket." Silus nodded without speaking.

The tributes made their way up the grand pathway leading to the entrance. Flanked by imposing pillars, the impressive door loomed before them, and peacekeepers, as stoic and immovable as statues, stood guard.

The head peacekeeper, with his piercing dark eyes, stepped forward. His presence commanded attention, his voice steady and authoritative.

"Tributes, welcome to your new home away from home," he announced with a welcoming and foreboding tone. "You'll be staying here until it's time for the Games. As you can see, it's a notable improvement from previous accommodations. But don't take this for granted. This building is heavily guarded and wired for surveillance. I wouldn't recommend trying anything... though some of the boys might find a little amusement in watching you try," he smiled, a dark glint shimmered in his irises.

"Each district will be assigned a room. You are not to leave your room until 8 AM, and you will be locked in every night at midnight. To ensure your compliance, each district will be assigned one of my peacekeepers as a personal bodyguard. You'll be allowed in the common areas outside these times, but I strongly advise against fighting or aggression towards your fellow tributes or peacekeepers. If you do, you'll find yourself longing for the mercy of the arena. Alright, if there are no questions, enjoy your stay here with us in the Capitol," his tone elicited chuckles from the Peacekeepers who accompanied him.

Upon entering the expansive manor, Hazel couldn't help but be struck by its breathtaking grandeur. The vast entryway greeted them with its polished marble floors, which gleamed and shimmered under the soft illumination of crystal chandeliers suspended from the lofty ceilings. Adorning the walls were portraits of enigmatic figures, their expressions and stories hidden behind the ornate frames. Elegant tapestries and curtains introduced splashes of color into the otherwise pristine white and gold color scheme that dominated the room.

A sweeping grand staircase curved upwards to the second floor. Its steps were carpeted in a sumptuous, deep red hue, and the banisters bore intricate carvings.

A vast common area expanded out to the left. The space was furnished with luxurious sofas and tufted chairs arranged around an ornate fireplace. Its flames danced and crackled, creating a welcoming and comforting radiance. Bookshelves adorned the walls, their shelves lined with volumes that whispered of bygone eras and the secrets they held.

A peacekeeper led Each group of tributes to a room on the second floor. Hazel swallowed hard when the same peacekeeper watching them approached and said, "Follow me." She realized he was indeed assigned to them, an unwelcome but not entirely unexpected development.

They stopped in front of a door marked with a gold emblem displaying the number "7." With a terse nod, the peacekeeper opened the door, allowing Hazel and Silus to enter first. He remained outside, his eyes briefly meeting Hazel's before she stepped into the room.

The modest room, compared to the grandeur of the rest of the manor, was more like home than anything else they had encountered. Inside, two small twin beds were adorned with plain tan linens. A compact bathroom was tucked away in one corner. The window, opposite the beds, offered a view of the manor's expansive garden. The dim light outside cast long shadows over the manicured lawns.

"You will stay here until I retrieve you in the morning," their Peacekeeper informed them, his gaze lingering on Silus and Hazel.

He looked at the stains on Hazel's skirt and then at Silus’s hand in his pocket. But he did not say anything about it.

"You will get a change of clothes in the morning." With a last look, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. The metallic lock clicked into place behind him.

Silus and Hazel stood frozen for a while, taking in the room. The hushed sound of the peacekeepers outside the room. Once enough time had gone by that it seemed they would be left alone, Hazel turned to Silus.

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"Let's clean your hand up," Hazel murmured as she led him to the compact bathroom adjacent to their shared bedroom.

Once inside, Hazel and Silus took their places in the snug bathroom, the faint hum of the plumbing echoing in the confined space. She turned on the tap, adjusting the temperature until a soothing flow of warm water gushed into the sink. With careful tenderness, Hazel began to gently wipe away the dried blood from both of their hands, the crimson stains giving way to reveal the raw, bruised skin underneath.

"It needs stitches, you know," her concern etched across her features as she examined the wound.

Silus stared at the patterns in the water as it swirled down the drain. "There is no point anyway. I'll be dead in a few days."

"You don't know that," Hazel countered firmly, finally looking up from her assessment of his skin.

"You're strong and smart. You're every bit as capable as those brutes from District Two. Even the people of Capitol see it."

His eyes, dark with resignation, remained downcast, a line deepened between his brows. "Their opinion of me is irrelevant."

Hazel didn't relent; her determination was evident as she dried his hand with a soft towel. "Excuse you, it's an opinion I happen to share with them. Even so, it doesn't mean they or we are wrong. My money is definitely on you, little brother."

An unexpected knocking echoed through their bedroom, jolting them from their thoughts. The lock clicking open preceded the door's slow creak, revealing their personal Peacekeeper again. Silus and Hazel stood up suddenly, Silus swiftly tucking his injured hand into his pocket. The Peacekeeper reached into his bag and retrieved a small package, carefully wrapped in cloth and sealed within a glass container. Without a word, he handed it over to Hazel before retreating, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

Hazel and Silas stood there, frozen and somewhat dumbfounded, and the unexpected gesture from the Peacekeeper left them at a loss for words. Hazel gingerly placed the glass container on the bed, her fingers tracing the golden seal before carefully prying it open. Inside, a suture kit awaited them, complete with a needle and thread, various supplies for cleaning the wound, and a small stack of lidocaine wipes for pain relief.

She couldn't help but stare at the contents of the package in bewilderment, her gaze shifting to Silus with an expression of confusion. Hazel puzzled over the contents of the unexpected package, a knot of unease tightened in her stomach. The image of the stern Peacekeeper, who had demanded her necklace earlier, clashed vividly with the contradiction of him now bestowing gifts upon tributes like her and Silus. She knew all too well that such actions could potentially put the Peacekeeper at risk for severe punishment from the Capitol. It simply didn't make sense.

Silus shook his head slowly, mirroring Hazel's uncertainty. Both of them grappled with the gesture from the Peacekeeper.

"Maybe it's a trap," Hazel said cautiously, eyeing the package.

"Or maybe he just feels sorry for us," Silus suggested a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"There's that optimist I know," Hazel replied, her smile warming at his words. Silus returned the smile, though tinged with a hint of reservation.

Realizing that, odd as it seemed, Silus did indeed need his wound stitched; she decided to seize the moment, trap or not. Determined to make the best of this unexpected opportunity, Hazel started stitching Silus's wounded hand, her hands steady and practiced. She had performed suturing a few times before, having been shown the ropes by the nurses. There were times when she had to step in during shortages or when the triage was overwhelmed with injured lumberjacks, and those experiences had equipped her with the skills she was now putting to use to mend her brother's hand.

Halfway through the delicate procedure of suturing Silus's hand, his voice resonated through the small bathroom, breaking the silence that had enveloped them. "I'm a hypocrite, you know," he admitted, his gaze fixed on Hazel as she worked diligently on his wounded hand.

Her eyebrows furrowed inquisitively, and she paused momentarily in her task. "What?" she inquired, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Silus took a deep breath, his words heavy with self-reflection. "I held Rowan back that day in the woods when Holt gave us a hard time. I told him it was beneath us. I held him back, but here I am."

Hazel met his gaze, her eyes searching his as she absorbed the weight of his confession. "So, you're saying that being a 'hypocrite' led to this hand-wound?" she queried.

Silus nodded, "Yeah if I make it back home, I probably won't have a job at the Papermill anymore."

Hazel couldn't help but ask, her tone gently probing, "So, who did you get in a fight with?"

"It doesn't matter who. They were saying things like they always do, and I just couldn't contain myself this time. He winced slightly as Hazel deftly tied another stitch.

"What did they say that upset you?" she probed further, her concern for her brother palpable.

Silus responded, his voice carrying a mix of bitterness and pain. "Just the usual cruel remarks," he said. "They insulted Mom, claiming she was the only intelligent one in our family. Said it was better for her to be dead than associated with Dad. That's when I lost control," he admitted, his confession tinged with regret.

"Serves them right, in my opinion. Don't beat yourself up about it. I'm surprised you haven't snapped before, considering some of the things people have said over the years," she offered, her voice laced with a sense of solidarity. Their family had weathered their fair share of harassment from certain members of District 7. Although they had forged deep friendships and strong bonds with many of their neighbors, there was always an undercurrent of tension, particularly from those who harbored disdain for Oren. More often than not, these individuals counted themselves among Heath's acquaintances.

Silus's eyes met Hazel's, and he placed his hand on her, momentarily halting her stitching. "Haze," he began, his voice carrying the weight of the confession, "I did something I've never done before. I attacked someone. It was like I wasn't in control of me anymore."

Hazel covered his hand with her own, "You are one of the best people I know. You are being hard on yourself for being human," she said earnestly. "Why are you so worried about this now? We're about to go through something that will likely mean we'll be forced to..." She struggled to find the words, her voice quivering slightly. "Well, do more than beat up an idiot at the Papermill."

"Silus's distant gaze lingered on some unseen horizon as he voiced his deepest fear, his words heavy with the weight of uncertainty. "That's what I'm worried about," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I'm afraid I will lose myself in there. Why fight so hard to survive if I won't be able to live with whatever is left of me?"

Hazel met his earnest gaze with a mixture of understanding and resolve. "I mean it, Silus," she affirmed, her voice carrying the conviction of her words. "Whatever happens in the arena will not change the person I know you to be. Nobody will blame you for doing what's necessary to survive the Games."

"No one will have to blame me," he replied somberly, "I will do that all on my own."

A tear trickled down Silus's cheek. With a gentle touch, Hazel wiped it away with the towel, her eyes glistening as she fought to keep her emotions in check. Hazel sighed deeply in frustration as she finished the suturing, her nimble fingers securing the final stitch. "Well then, you just stay behind me in the arena, and I'll do the heavy lifting," her hands meticulously washed and disposed of the remaining supplies in the garbage. "Blame or no blame, I'll do everything I can to ensure you go home to seven. I won't be around long enough to be haunted by it."

Silus's voice softened to a whisper, his piercing gaze unsettling as he asked, "But what if you are?"

"That's enough deep talk for one night. We need to rest." Hazel suggested, attempting to shift the heavy atmosphere that had settled between them.

Silus seemed to accept the idea, nodding silently as he walked softly over to his designated side of the room and collapsed onto the bed. His fatigue was evident in how his body surrendered to the comfort of the mattress.

Hazel took a moment to clean up the bathroom. Driven by her meticulous nature, she made sure to contain as much of the blood as possible. As she looked at the used needle, she considered hiding it in the room, thinking it might be helpful in the arena. Eventually, she decided against it, placing the needle next to the sink to return it to the Peacekeeper in the morning.

She couldn't help but chuckle, "Silus is wearing off on me."

Not long after Silus had settled into bed, Hazel succumbed to exhaustion. It had been the worst day of her life up to that point, not that it would remain in the top spot for long. She crawled into bed and allowed herself to drift into slumber, seeking solace from the trials that awaited them in the coming days.

Hazel's eyes snapped open, aware that something was amiss. The scent in the air was unmistakable but out of place—pine, earth, and the forest's unmistakable fragrance. She blinked, adjusting her vision to the dim surroundings that enveloped her. She found herself deep within the woods, the air cool and the surroundings dark, although it wasn't quite nighttime. The dense trees loomed overhead, their towering forms casting eerie shadows.

As her senses acclimated to her unfamiliar environment, Hazel noted the peculiar absence of sound, the forest unnaturally silent. Then, breaking the oppressive stillness, a twig snapped to her left. She turned, and her eyes met a foreign and haunting, familiar figure. His green eyes, filled with an uncanny gleam, defied the low levels of light that should have shrouded them.

"Cedar," she whispered, the name escaping her lips like a forgotten prayer. He appeared just as she remembered him before he departed from District 7, forever etched in her memory. With those enigmatic eyes locked onto her, Cedar turned away and broke into a swift run, disappearing into the depths of the woods.

Confusion gripped Hazel. She chased after him, her footsteps echoing through the dark woods as she called his name once more, "Cedar."

But he did not slow down, and soon, she found herself struggling to determine if she was still in pursuit. The thick trees gave way to a vast meadow bathed in moonlight, and she slowed her pace to a walk. Cedar was nowhere to be seen, leaving Hazel alone with the cool night air and the serene glow of the moon.

Then, without warning, something cool brushed against her eyelashes, followed by another. A light, delicate touch graced her hand as she looked down, catching the last few seconds of a tiny white crystal dissolving into her skin. As she cast her gaze upward, she realized the truth—it had begun to snow.