Panem is a country where rules are made and enforced on the whims of the Peacekeepers, and district citizen randomly disappear without a trace. When the baker's youngest son saved her from starvation following the loss of her father, Katniss Everdeen believed she'd finally found a light in her dark world.

Until, he too disappeared.

Hello! I'm back with chapter 1 of my new story! This is set in an alternate-Panem with no Games. I have rated this story as an M due to darker themes. I hope you all enjoy!


I wake, shivering in the night like I often do, the remnants of a half-remembered nightmare fading into oblivion as I roll over. Yawning, I stretch slightly, jostling my younger sister in the process. Primrose sighs in discontent as she shifts, her thin elbow poking me in my side.

Sitting up, I tuck the blanket around Prim before rummaging under my pillow for my most treasured possession, something I keep hidden away from the prying eyes of everyone else in the house. Something I can only bring myself to look at during the nights, when my loneliness threatens to engulf me completely.

It's a crowded house, with eight people crammed into only three rooms. Following the destruction of nearly a third of the Seam in a fire almost six months ago, it was decided to replace all of the coal dust-infested houses in the Seam, so as to prevent another similar tragedy. And with the Capitol only providing enough materials for roughly half of the needed housing, families found themselves either needing to double-up, or remain sleeping in their rough fabric tents in the Meadow.

Since Hazelle Hawthorne and my mother were already widows, and cousins by marriage, it made sense for them to combine our families and share a house. After all, more hands meant less work for everyone. And with Mom frequently ill, more hands meant less burden for Prim and me on the days she's out of commission.

It's not all bad. Gale Hawthorne, Hazelle's oldest son, is a natural handyman, able to construct pretty much anything if given the necessary tools and materials. So far, he and his younger brother Rory have added a shed in the tiny backyard for the boys to sleep in during all but the coldest months, built a second bathroom so the boys and girls can each have our own, and reinforced the windows to better insulate the house during the winter.

But even with these improvements, it always seems cold in this metal, modular house. Even in the summer. And especially at night.

Under the pillow, my hand brushes against a book. A soft smile graces my lips as I pull it out, laying it tenderly across my lap. It's a spiral-bound notebook, filled with charcoal drawings of such detail that the breath catches in my throat as I open the cover. I press my clenched fist to my mouth, willing myself to stay quiet, to keep this moment as private as possible. Night is the only time where I can allow myself to look at these drawings. The only time where I can allow myself to be vulnerable.

The only time when I can remember him.

They say he was killed when his home was destroyed by fire, the same fire that killed hundreds more as it burned through parts of the Seam. The official story told by district officials was that one of the ovens backed up with soot and exploded, the resulting fire destroying both the bakery and the apartment above it before spreading down the street and into the poorer neighborhood.

But I know there has to be more to it than that. I knew the baker, my father and I traded with him regularly. I knew how meticulous he was about cleanliness, always sure his ovens were working properly in order to prevent such an accident. And the bakery was too far away from the Seam for it to have been the same fire, even considering the coal dust.

No. The bakery was destroyed to cover up something. And the Seam, well, is just the Seam. Coal miners are a dime a dozen, after all.

For several days following the bakery's destruction, I didn't allow myself to mourn, not wanting to admit just how much I missed the kind and handsome baker's son, with his broad shoulders and ashy blond curls, and eyes the color of the clear sky in spring. Instead, I schooled my features into a mask and went about my regular duties. Hunting in the woods, trading with the remaining Merchant families, keeping enough fresh game in stock for bribes when Peacekeeper Cray came knocking.

But as time went on, I found I couldn't deny the gaping hole his disappearance left in my heart. It was like losing my father all over again. Only this time it was worse, because he'd been the one who had helped me overcome the loss of my father. His arms had helped me to feel safe again. And then one day they were gone, just like that.

A muffled sob escapes my throat as I study the first drawing. It's an almost perfect rendition of the first day of school, complete with the red plaid dress I wore and my hair in two long braids. My father is there, tall and dark, holding my hand as he crouches down next to me, whispering reassurances in my ear.

I smile as I turn the page, still same little girl in the same plaid dress, standing on a stool in front of the class, singing with all my might.

Page after page I turn, choking back tears as I come upon the picture of that day, that horrible day when I thought all hope had been lost. When I collapsed, soaked to the skin under an old apple tree, and the boy, sporting an angry red weal on his cheekbone, sloshed out through the mud to toss me two perfectly good loaves of bread.

I was too stunned to thank him, and too afraid I'd be accused of stealing to linger as I tucked the loaves under my shirt and hurried home to feed my starving sister and mother. But a few days later, with the boy's eye still swollen and blackened, I dug out Mom's old apothecary book. Using ingredients I found in the Meadow, I concocted a simple healing salve and brought it to the back door of the bakery, wordlessly shoving the little tin pot into the boy's hand when he answered my tentative knock before turning around and running away.

A few weeks later I started hunting in the woods, alone and with Gale, bringing some of our kills to the bakery to trade for fresh bread. The baker was a generous trader, always giving me more for the game than the other Merchants, treating me like just another customer instead of the Seam trash the baker's wife called Prim and me. During these trades I frequently saw the boy, watching me from the kneading station, peeking around his father's back, looking away rapidly if his eyes happened to lock with mine for a brief second.

I turn another page and almost immediately my lower lip starts to shake. Carefully, I reach my trembling fingers and pick up the dandelion, pressed flat into the pages of the book. The bright yellow flower I found near the wreckage of the bakery, the day I finally worked up the courage to go and see it for myself.

"I miss you!" I whisper into the darkness, the gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach flaring as tears roll down my cheeks. "I miss you so much!"

I never wanted to fall in love, never wanted to lose control that way. After watching my mother literally fade away to almost nothing after the loss of my father, I swore I'd never allow myself to be that vulnerable, that dependent on anyone else for my happiness.

But he left me with no choice. Somehow over the years, his kindness, and those blue eyes, had caused him to become rooted into my heart so deeply, I couldn't get rid of him now if I tried.

And only a few short months after I finally admitted, to myself and to him, how I felt, that I loved him, he was gone.

They couldn't even find any of him to bury.

"Katniss?" Prim's voice is soft in the darkness, but it startles me nonetheless. "Are you okay?"

Sniffing, I swipe at my eyes as I place the dandelion back between the pages of the book, closing it carefully before sliding it back under the pillow. "Yeah," I croak, lying down once again on the rough floor pallet. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep, Little Duck."

Prim snuggles close to me, adjusting the blanket around us. "It's okay, Katniss," she whispers. "It's okay if you miss him."

I don't bother to answer. It's bad enough Prim caught me looking through the book. It would be better for everyone if I could just forget.

But as I drift back off to sleep, my younger sister snuggled up against my small, skinny body, one final thought floats across my consciousness.

I don't want to forget.


Weeks pass, as they always do. I hunt in the early mornings, bringing some of the haul around to the various Merchant shops to trade for necessities, hiding the rest to use for food or bribes as needed. Peacekeeper Cray hasn't been around to the house in almost a month, which means he could show up at any time, demanding whatever his twisted heart desires for my monthly tesserae rations. So far I've been able to keep him satisfied with game, as even the Peacekeepers in Twelve look the other way for fresh meat. But the rumors of his appetite for young, virgin Seam girls run rampant throughout the district, and with three such girls in the house, I don't want to take any chances.

Returning home, I wash the blood off my hands and change my clothes, gathering my things as Prim and I and the younger Hawthornes eat a quick breakfast of the hard tesserae bread and head off to school.

At seventeen, this is my final year of school, after which I'll be expected to either find a job or marry a man who has a job and start having children. As the poorest district in Panem, District 12 also boasts the highest infant-mortality rate, due mainly to the majority of the population being unable to afford the most basic of healthcare services. My mother, with her experience from growing up in her parents' apothecary, serves as the unofficial healer in the Seam, doing everything from delivering babies to treating chickenpox to setting broken bones. But even she can't help everyone, and more often than not, when the patients die, it's from illnesses or injuries that could've been prevented with proper medical treatment.

And so, in order to maintain a sizable enough population, each family is encouraged to have as many children as possible. Even if there's no way to afford to feed them all. It's been especially bad ever since the fire.

It's not only an issue for me. My cousin, Gale, is in love with Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter. Madge and Gale are both aware that the likelihood of Mayor Undersee sanctioning a marriage between his only child and a Seam coal miner is minimal at best, but that hasn't stopped her from sneaking out of her grand house on many a night to spend time with Gale under the cover of darkness. Sometimes, when the Mayor is out of town for some reason or another, Madge will stay the entire night, sleeping out in the shed with Gale while his brothers stuff their ears with wool and try to keep their eyes averted.

At age nineteen and already holding a job, Gale's already been asked several times, by Peacekeeper Cray and other district officials, when he plans to marry and move into his own home. He doesn't have too much longer before suspicions turn into investigations.

The kind of investigations that often lead to disappearances. Like Gale's father. And my father.

Madge is a friend of mine, in so much as we share a quiet table at lunchtime. We don't discuss Madge's frequent presence at my house, and we absolutely don't discuss him, even though Madge is one of the few people who knew.

His absence in my History of Panem class is even more apparent than usual today. Several times I find myself glancing back, expecting to see his blue eyes peeking at me through those blond curls that liked to flop over his forehead.

After I brought him that little tin pot of salve, I began to sense his gaze frequently trained on me during classes, only to flit away if I happened to catch him. It wasn't until three years later, when he showed up at school with yet another swollen and blackened eye, that I managed to work up the courage to speak to him.

"I-, I can make you some more salve," I mumbled in his general direction once the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. "It helps with the bruising."

His face turned red to the roots of his hair, as bright as the apples I collected in the fall. "Ye-, yeah," he stammered as he raked his hand through those blond waves, that sweet smile with just the right touch of shyness brightening his face. "That, um, would be great."

I nodded, my throat too dry to speak further. But two days later, during my regular Saturday morning trades, I handed over another little pot of salve. Not as lumpy this time, and with better healing properties from the herbs I'd gleaned from the woods rather than the Meadow. And I was nowhere near prepared for the burst of unexpected warmth that rushed through me when my hand briefly brushed against his.

I shake my head, inhaling shakily as more tears threaten to fall. I sniff as I try to refocus my attention on the drone of the teacher, reading from the Capitol-approved textbook as if his students were in their second year of school instead of the final.

With the merciful ring of the bell I bolt from the chair, hurrying to my locker to retrieve my homework before heading down the hallway to collect Prim and our younger cousins. As we walk back across the Meadow to our tiny house, I think wistfully of the days where I'd find some excuse to stay behind after the final bell, hoping to catch a of glimpse of him in his wrestling uniform.

Maybe I shouldn't look at the sketchbook anymore. All it seems to do is make me miss him more.

"Peacekeeper Cray was just here," Mom announces as soon as we walk through the door.

My eyes widen in horror. "What'd he do?"

"It's fine," Hazelle chimes in, not looking up from her laundry tub. "We gave him everything you had down in the cellar. That seemed to make him happy enough."

"For now," I mumble. But Cray is becoming more and more greedy with each passing month, and I fear that soon a few wild turkeys and a couple of rabbits will no longer be a satisfactory payment for the tesserae rations Rory and I receive every month. Rory's already pulled out of bed at least once a week to dig a ditch or chop firewood, or whatever else the Peacekeepers can think of to make our lives miserable.

"So what're we gonna eat tonight if you gave all the food away?" Vick Hawthorne complains, clomping into the kitchen and tossing his battered schoolbag onto the table. "I'm gonna die if I have to eat another dumb tesserae cake."

"You'll eat what's placed in front of you, and you'll be happy about it," his mother snaps, pointing her crooked index finger in his direction. "Your cousins' honor is worth a few nights of stale bread."

Vick rolls his eyes, plopping down onto a chair and scowling in his mother's direction as he pulls out his schoolwork.

But later that evening, when Gale arrives home from the mines to nothing but a dry tesserae cake drizzled with honey, he vows to take Rory and go hunting and gathering during the night to replenish our stock of food. I immediately volunteer to accompany them but Gale rebuffs my offer, asking me instead to remain at home in case Madge comes around looking for him.

"But I'm the best hunter here!" I protest. And Gale knows it. While he's a whiz with snares, he doesn't have the accuracy or the range with the bow that I have. Especially in the dark.

"The forest is too dangerous at night," Gale says, his grey eyes flashing as he licks a drop of honey from his thumb. "And I'll have enough on my hands watching Rory's back. I don't need to be worrying about you too."

"I can more than take care of myself," I grumble, glaring at my cousin as he towers over me. But I know from experience that any further argument would be useless. Gale Hawthorne is as stubborn as Prim's goat, a beast she calls Lady, and there's absolutely no changing his mind once it's set.

Gale and Rory set off after dark, taking the long way around to the fence to avoid the Peacekeepers. I wait up until after midnight, both out of nervousness and in case Madge decides to show. But when my eyelids grow too heavy to remain open I relent, snuggling up against my sister and falling into an uneasy sleep.

As I do on many nights, I dream of him. How his large hand would envelope my small one as he held it. How his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed. How much I hated when his mother cut his hair, always way too short for my liking. How I used to try and kiss away the pain from his bruises, even as he tried to hide the worst of them from me.

I'm shocked in the morning when I'm the last to awaken. Prim is already outside milking Lady in the soft light of predawn by the time I pull on my trousers and finish braiding my hair. I've just choked down another piece of tesserae bread when Gale and Rory come bursting into the house, both of them with full hands, with Gale carrying something that looks especially heavy.

"Draw all the curtains," Gale commands his mother, who jumps up immediately to cover the four windows in the small house. "And clear off the table, he's hurt pretty bad."

Mom obliges right away, brushing the kitchen table free of crumbs as Gale places his burden down. I gasp as I see the man lying on the table, unconscious and so covered in muck and mud that his features are unrecognizable.

"Oh my God!" Posy exclaims as she enters the kitchen. "Is he dead?"

"Eww, he's filthy!" Vick adds, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "It's like he rolled in the mud on purpose!"

"That's not too far from the truth," Gale mutters as my mother returns with a basin of water and some rags. "Be careful. I saw at least three jacker stings on his neck and chest, and there's some pretty deep wounds on his left thigh. We think he was clawed by something."

Gale steps back from the table, allowing his mother to take his place. Setting down his full game bag, he grabs my arm as my mom starts to clean the man's head and face. "You, um, may want to wait out back, Katniss. I'm not sure you're gonna want to see this."

Just then a loud, horrible moan emits from the still form on the table. "What do you mean?" I ask, panic rising in my chest. "Gale, who is that?"

"Katniss, please!" Gale pleads. "Just trust me! I don't know how badly he's hurt, and-"

We're interrupted by another moan that's even more agonizing and immediately my arms pebble with gooseflesh. The voice is so eerily familiar, all the air seems to leave my lungs in one fell swoop.

Hazelle takes the injured man's hand, trying to shush him as Mom wipes the last of the thick mud from his face. My stomach drops to my knees as I get a closer look at him. His eyes are swollen and bruised, his face and neck are covered in cuts and scrapes, and I count at least three tracker jacker lumps on his chin and jaw. But there's absolutely no mistaking who he is.

"Peeta!" I cry, my high-pitched voice unrecognizable to my ears. "You're alive!" I rush to his side on wobbly legs, grabbing his other hand as gingerly as I can, pressing it against my cheek as tears roll down my face, dripping onto his matted hair. "I'm here, Peeta, it's okay now. You're gonna be okay." I look at my mother. "He's gonna be okay. Right?"

"We're going to do everything we can, Katniss," Mom answers, not looking up from her patient. "But I won't know how badly he's hurt until we can get him cleaned up."

No, no, no. After all these months of believing him to be dead, I'm not going to get him back now only to lose him again. Prim slides a chair over to the table near Peeta's head, and I sink down onto it gratefully. "You're gonna be fine," I whisper into his ear. "We're gonna fix you up and you'll be just fine. You'll see. And then I'm never letting you out of my sight again!"

"Vick, come here and hold down his shoulders," Hazelle says as my mother digs around in her bag for her ancient forceps, poking at a lump on Peeta's jaw to find the tracker jacker stinger and commanding Prim to crush some chamomile leaves.

Grumbling, Vick places his hands flat against Peeta's shoulders. Peeta flinches at the touch, thrashing his lower body as Rory grabs ahold of his legs to keep them still.

"He needs to be as still as possible until all the stingers are removed," Mom says as she pulls out the inch-long, jagged stinger. "Or they'll release more venom into his blood."

"Shh, Peeta," I whisper, squeezing his hand as I stroke his dirt-streaked cheek. "Try not to move, we're trying to help you." I look up at Gale, cleaning the mud off his hands with a wet rag. "Where'd you find him?"

Gale sighs as he scratches the back of his neck. "We were pretty deep in the forest, tracking a doe when Rory nearly tripped over him in the dark." He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired eyes. "He was unconscious, lying in a heap at the foot of a clump of trees. We think he climbed up for the night and disturbed a jacker nest. He probably fell out after he was stung."

"But he doesn't know how to climb trees," I say, confused. "I tried to teach him a couple times, but he never could get any higher than a few feet."

"Well, he was up pretty high from what we can guess," Gale replies, shrugging. "At first I thought he was dead."

A violent shudder rips through my body. "He's not gonna die," I choke out, shaking my head frantically. "I won't allow it." I turn back to look at my mother. "He's not gonna die, right Mom?"

Again, Mom doesn't even look up. "As long as he didn't hit his head too hard when he fell, and his leg's not too badly infected." She nods at Hazelle. "Let's get his pants off now and take a look."

Peeta's clothes are so plastered with mud and grime that Mom and Hazelle are forced to cut them from his body. I blush, squirming uncomfortably as they finally remove his pants, leaving him in nothing except his sodden and filthy undershorts. Hazelle sends Posy outside to rinse the garments at the water pump, ordering Vick and Rory to keep holding him still while Mom preps a fresh rag with her homemade disinfectant.

For all my experience with shooting and prepping animals, the sight of a human wound still turns my stomach. So I am in no way prepared when I see the three deep, inflamed gashes lashing across Peeta's thigh, oozing both blood and pus. The smell alone is enough to make me gag, with Peeta's anguished cries of pain the only thing keeping me anchored.

I turn my head away, burying my face into Peeta's neck, searching for that familiar scent of cinnamon that always seemed to seep from his skin. But right now, all I can smell is dampness and grime.

Mercifully, Peeta passes out about two minutes after Mom starts on his leg. It takes her and Hazelle over an hour to dig all the infected tissue from the wounds, bathing them with water and disinfectant and bandaging him up as best they can with our meager supplies.

"You should head on to school now, Katniss," Mom says, carefully covering Peeta's lower half with a blanket. "You'll be late if you wait too much longer."

I shake my head, gripping Peeta's hand tighter. "No. I can't leave him. I won't leave him."

Gale comes back into the kitchen, dressed in his mining jumpsuit with his dark hair dripping wet. "She should be okay if she misses a day," he says to my mother. "But I need to get going."

Mom sighs, nodding as Gale picks up his dented lunchbox. He going to be dead on his feet today after hunting all night. "Gale!" I say, grabbing his arm as he passes the table. "Thank you, for saving him."

He nods, his grey eyes troubled. "Just be careful, Catnip. We have no idea where he's been all this time." He pauses, glancing down at Peeta suspiciously. "Or what's been done to him."

The tone of his voice causes me to shiver. "What do you mean?"

Gale only shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying from his wet hair. "Just be careful," he repeats as he walks out the door.

Peeta would never hurt me I think as I shift on the hard, wooden chair, pressing a light kiss to his knuckles. He's changed a little since I last saw him. His shoulders are broader and his arms more defined, like he's been training with weights. His hair is too short, almost as short as the Peacekeepers' haircuts, but still as downy soft as I remember.

"I missed you so much," I whisper to him, trying not to let my mother and Hazelle overhear. "I was incomplete without you."

Peeta starts to stir around midday, smacking his cracked lips. I quickly soak a clean cloth with water and hold it to his mouth, allowing him to drink until he turns his head away. His forehead is warm and his eyes still swollen, but he manages to pry them open a few minutes later, looking quizzically at his surroundings.

"It's okay, Peeta," I whisper. "You're safe. It's safe here." Which isn't really true. No one is truly safe in District 12, except for maybe the Peacekeepers. And even they have to bow to the whims of the Capitol on occasion.

Peeta groans as he turns his head towards me, and I gasp as his blue eyes land on mine for the first time. They're as beautiful as I remember, a color I always associated with spring and happiness just as much as the bright yellow of the dandelions.

"It's me," I murmur as he continues to stare, his eyebrows slowly knitting together in confusion. "It's Katniss."

But there's absolutely no recognition in his eyes as he bites down hard on his chapped bottom lip. His breaths grow shallower as he glances frantically around the room, trying and failing to get his bearings.

I look over at my mother, busy sewing up a hole in one of Vick's socks. "Mom! Something's wrong with him! He doesn't know me-, something's wrong!"

I repeat his name, running my thumb across his knuckles, my other hand stroking his hair trying to soothe him as Mom rushes over, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and grabbing his wrist, feeling for his pulse. His eyes squeeze shut, his head shaking back and forth as I say his name over and over.

"Peeta, it's okay!" I say, looking up at my mother in desperation. "You're okay! I'm here with you! You're safe!"

Mom grabs another rag, dampening it with a solution of lavender and chamomile and holding it near his nose so he can breathe in the calming scent. "He has a very high fever, Katniss," she says as his breathing evens back out. "A fever like this can cause confusion in some people."

I choke back a sob, trailing my fingers along his swollen jawline. "You're gonna be okay, Peeta. Once we get you healed up, you'll be okay."

Finally, a few agonizing minutes later, his head again turns towards the sound of my voice. But his eyes remain vacant, like he's staring at a wall instead of the girl he once said he loved.

"Peeta?" I say softly, clutching his hand. "Do you know who I am?"

He inhales a deep breath before opening his mouth, his voice hoarse and so cold it sends a shiver down my spine.

"You here to finish me off, sweetheart?"


Right now I'm planning on weekly updates. Since Christmas falls on a Monday this year, I may either skip that week or post later in the week, but otherwise I should be able to post chapters every Monday. :)

Please don't forget to leave me a review! I'm anxious to see what you all think! :)