Author's Note: This chapter'll be a short one, sorry! There wasn't a lot of information for me to work with.

The birds had only just started chirping. The streets outside were barren, empty of its usual skeletons humans that dragged their feet against the settling dust, throats parched and minds buzzing. Any other day, bodies, dead but alive, would drag themselves through the roads, bumping against one another, filtering themselves into separate factories to waste away the rest of the day, until their already numb fingers wore raw by the twisted metals that they handled.

But not today. Not today, the day that a great finger of Fate itself will dip itself down from the clouds and point at two destined, one male and one female, to send them to the depths of hell.

In a dusty neighborhood, the steady rhythm of a hammerhead tapping against nail, muffled by the thin walls of its household.

The hammer hit the nail again, and again once more, driving the metal point deeper into the wood until none of its tail was to be seen.

Yarrow paused in her work, using the back of her hand to wipe the perspiration that had beaded on her forehead. Her long, auburn hair was tied up in a ponytail that spilled down her back and on the wooden floor like shining water, and she tossed her head to move spare strands away from her work.

Almost done, she told herself, flickering her teal eyes to the window to check the time.

The final strike of her hammer hitting the nail, and she moved back to look at her work with a small nod.

That would do.

A couple hours later, she was downstairs in the kitchen, spatula dancing diligently across the pan to help the eggs cook. Her father walked down the stairs.

"Cooking already?" he asked, giving her a kiss on the temple. He paused, then frowned, his nose twitching as he sniffed at his daughter. "I smell quite a stink there! Be sure to take a bath after this, or at least rinse off."

"Yes, father," Yarrow replied, taking three plates off the cupboard. She scooped eggs into them, handing a plate to her father. "Is Abel awake yet?"

"He will be in a bit," he replied, nodding his thanks after taking the plate. "I'll bring him down, just wait."

Her father disappeared back up the stairs. Yarrow set up the table and was pouring water into glasses when he came back down, the scrawny mess of her brother strewn across his back like an oversized ragdoll.

Mr. Cachron deposited his son on a chair and moved to his own. Yarrow set a piece of bread on each plate.

Abel blinked, rubbing the traces of sleep from his eyes and staring at the food before him. He slowly picked up his fork and poked at it.

The other two ate, their only noises the sound of chewing and forks clinking against plates.

Mr. Chachron finished first, gulping down his water in one go and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You two already know. Today's the Reaping."

Yarrow glanced at her father with narrowed eyes. Abel dropped his fork. It fell into his barely touched food.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Abel, I'll be with you during it. Usually this doesn't happen, but there are special exceptions. After all––"

"It's alright, father," Yarrow suddenly cut in. "I finished this morning."

Her father stopped and stared at her with hazel eyes that widened with his smile. "Did you now?" he asked happily, reaching over to pat the top of her head. "Well, then––Abel, that doesn't mean that I won't be with you, but this is wonderful!"

They looked at Abel, whose spindly fingers attempted to extract the fork from the clutches of egg yolk.

"We'll show him when we leave," Mr. Cachron said firmly, standing up to dump his dishes into the sink before heading up the stairs.

Yarrow went upstairs after she finished her meal, her father passing her on his way down to aid Abel. As instructed, she rinsed her body with hot water and scrubbed at her skin.

Her long hair neatly wrapped in a thick, pale towel, she slipped into a simple white dress and put on a neat pair of black shoes. She then focused on drying her hair, a task that, when left to nature, usually took hours.

It was still damp when her father called her down the stairs, and she had to accept it with a dry nod to her reflection before stepping down.

"I already got it out," her father said, greeting her at the hallway. "But I want you to be there when he sees it. You made it yourself, after all."

Her eyes softened.

"Thank you," she murmured. They found Abel in the kitchen, staring blankly off into some other world, and woke him back into reality. Putting him back onto his father's back, the two walked to the front door, where Abel's gift awaited under a simple white sheet.

"Your new means of transportation!" her father announced as Yarrow whipped the sheet off. Under it laid a neat, wooden wheelchair, its wheels covered in rubber to let them run smoothly. Handles arched off the back and a neat parking brake sat on the side.

Mr. Cochran gently lowered his son onto the wheelchair with Yarrow's help.

"You can hold onto the sides, see?" she murmured, grasping his small hands and placing them on the sides. Abel looked at his new seat, wonder reflecting on his brown eyes. He grinned a goofy smile to the both of them, and they smiled back, the skin around the edges of their eyes crinkling.

She took his hands.

"Listen, Abel," she said softly, pulling her younger brother into a hug. His hands twitched. "The next few hours are going to be a bit scary, like when it gets dark and when you hear weird noises at night. But it'll be okay, okay? Dad will be with you. I'll be with you shortly."

She looked at her brother's blank eyes, eyes that gave no sign that he understood a word that she said. She rubbed the backs of his hands with her thumbs, wishing that there was more she could do.

They left the house, Mr. Cochran pushing Abel's wheelchair. They quickly disappeared into a stream of families, Abel's eyes widening at the sheer amount of people, strangers that he had never seen before in his small life. They went to the city square, where Peacekeepers hoarded the kids into their own little sections.

Yarrow held Abel's hand as a Peacekeeper pricked the other one. He only made a small noise in surprise, and, after Yarrow's blood was checked, the family moved into the square.

"I'll see you two later," Yarrow said, kissing Abel on the forehead and nodding at her father before going to the seventeen-year-old section.

The Reaping began as per usual. Yarrow felt her fists clench shut, and slowly loosened them, her breathing steady. Just one more year after this. One more year, and then she would never have to worry about these Reapings again.

But there's still Abel, a cruel voice whispered to her. Poor Abel, her younger brother that she just loved so, so much. A brother that could not walk or speak, cursed to this fate through a premature death. A brother whose only memory of a mother's embrace is one of thin arms, arms wrapped around its child as its owners took its last breaths.

The thought of him having a fraction of a chance in the Games was sadly laughable.

He can't be chosen, he can't. She felt thankful, somewhat. Despite the loss of their most beloved mother, the family was doing well. There was no reason for him to sign up for tesserae.

As long as I'm here, we can survive.

She didn't hear the official call out the female tribute.

She did, however, feel a hand land on her shoulder.

She turned her head and saw her friend, Olivia, who she was sure was not there just a moment ago. Olivia's dark eyes were wide and she was shaking, and––

"Yarrow Cochran?" the Capitol announcer repeated, her voice trilling.

She felt blank as the sea of adolescents departed for her, starting her pathway.

Yarrow slowly took Olivia's hand off her shoulder and, in a dreamlike state, walked––no, floated to the stage, ascending the steps. The air was deathly silent, but her heart pounded in her chest, so loud, much louder than the hammering of the nails earlier in the morning, so loud that the entire District could hear.

But only silence greeted her, silence as the announcer stated her name once more to confirm to the audience, silent when she asked for a volunteer.

Her eyes locked with Abel.

She stood, trying not to tremble, in the center of that stage as the male tribute was chosen.

She couldn't help it, though––her face twisted itself into a frown as she watched the male martyr step up the stage, his face reflecting the fear that she felt writhing inside of her.

His face, however, lacked the deep creases of age, although it held scars from obvious work. She stared, dumbfounded, as he stood not far from her. He was just but a boy.

They shook hands. His eyes were wide, scared, and she wished that she could do more than just squeeze his hand, hoping that her eyes told him that it was alright. It was okay, they'll be fine.

When they both knew with every speck of their hearts that this was absolutely not the case.

The Peacekeepers took her away to the Justice Building. Yarrow waited in a room laced with soft colors, her hands tightly intertwined on her lap. She stared at the ground.

The door opened, and wheels skidded across the ground as her father and Abel rushed in. He parked the wheelchair, immediately running to his daughter and pulling her into a tight embrace.

She clung onto her father, her face buried in his shoulder as she grit her teeth, eyes screwed almost to a close because she could not cry, she could definitely not cry.

"Yarrow... My dear sweet daughter," her father murmured in a cracked voice, his hand stroking her long hair. He pulled away from her, and his face was lined with pain. "You look so much like your mother. How can I... How can I lose you?"

Yarrow looked down at the floor, fists clenched tightly. She looked up again, and this time a single, glistening tear ran down her cheek. "You have to take care of Abel, dad. You have to."

They both knew that it was near impossible. The factories called for its workers nearly sixteen hours a day. Without a job, even a middle class family like they were nothing.

He slipped a metallic piece into her hand. She looked at the round, warm coin at her palm.

"My father gave that to me," Mr. Cochran said softly, his eyes trained on the coin, too. "He knew what it was like, living this life. Of course he did. He told me, 'Son, whenever you are afraid of life's path for you, or you feel melancholic over the burdens weighing your shoulders, give this coin a rub with your thumb, and know that I am with you.'"

He closed his eyes at the memory, then opened his eyes to meet his daughter's. "I want you to do the same when you're out there, my girl."

She didn't have to say anything, just flung herself into her father's arms again, for what they both knew would be the last time.

Yarrow looked at Abel. He was staring, his mouth parted just the slightest in surprise. She leaned down and hugged him.

A pause.

"Yarrow?" Abel asked.

She stared at him.

"Are you leaving?"

His pale hand clung onto her wrist, and finally her face fell, and she clutched onto his hand with both of hers and pressed it to her face, feeling her own heart tear and rip until it was nothing more but just shredded tissue.

Abel did nothing but put his hand up to her head, patting it once, twice. She looked up at him with tearful eyes, and he smiled at her softly.

"Good bye."

The Peacekeepers came and, under her father's futile protests, said a faint good bye.

Author's Note: I was going to write more with Yarrow and Olivia, but I felt like the ending was meant for her and her family. I assure you, though, that Olivia definitely went to visit Yarrow. They are best friends and have been since childhood.