A/N: Oopsie for promising a posting schedule on my last chapter. Life is crazy, but it's calming down, so I will try to do better in the future.

On that same note, I wanted to let everyone know that I'm only doing basic grammatical editing when it comes to posting these chapters. They're months old at this point and I want to focus on my future stories and how I can improve them, rather than worry about an unattainable perfection here. Please frame any constructive criticism through this lens.

Original A/N: It was a last-minute decision to Frankenstein some chapters together so I hope the two timelines make sense! TY & hope to hear from you soon :)

Chapter 2: Reaping Day

Amber wears a pink sun-faded dress that is reserved specifically for this one occasion: The Reaping. When she had grown out of her previous set of Reaping clothes, she had traded them for this dress and spent the next week mending it. Sewing is a skill and hobby her mother had taught her. Not an uncommon one for women in her district, but still something that she had always been able to leverage financially.

Ivy fidgets with the ends of her dress awkwardly. The clothes, which bring a sense of comfort to Amber, bring Ivy even more anxiety. Amber silently pins her blue fabric in place.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." As soon as the words leave Ivy's mouth, she seems to regret them. Amber can see it in the way her teeth clench and her eyes dart away.

"You're welcome," Amber answers simply.

The walk to the town square is crowded with the slow and steady migration of people. The buses carrying children from the outlying lumber colonies must've arrived because streams of guardian-less children funnel around them.

Weston, who had been pacing around the house for hours, forges their path. He's always been the most skilled at navigating swarms of people. Amber grasps the back of his shirt to ensure she's not separated. Behind her, Ivy completes the chain by gripping her wrist.

At the square, Amber and Ivy stand in line to check in. Weston must also check in for mandatory viewing. There's a variety of locations one could view from, but most families with Reaping-aged children chose the town square. Something about being there must give the illusion of control.

When it comes time to split up, Amber embraces Weston for as long as she can before watching him disappear into a pack of lumberjacks from his crew. They pat his back knowingly and she sees him turn around one last time. His eyes look sad.

"It'll be okay," Amber assures Ivy as they file into the holding area for 17-year-old girls. They find the squares on the ground that correspond with the number they were given at check-in.

"I know," Ivy swallows hard. "I just want it to be over with already."

None of the surrounding children speak to each other. Amber keeps her hands interlocked with Ivy's. It gets louder with every passing moment. Peacekeepers commanding orders, bets being taken, others already crying. People filter into the square, onto rooftops, and pack onto balconies. It's not long before the claustrophobia begins to set in.

The large screens that have been hung around the square have imagery from District Seven fluttering across the screens. Rivers, endless stretches of trees, the market bustling with activity, all prerecorded many years ago. All framed to make it look much more beautiful than it really is.

Finally, when the time comes, the mayor of District Seven comes up and gives a speech. He runs through the nation's history, and for the first time in Amber's life, the speech changes. It acknowledges the destruction of District Twelve. States that respecting the Capitol is the sole path to prosperity. The whispers from the crowd grow. The Peacekeepers keep their fingers hovering over their triggers, daring anyone to step out of line. Nobody does.

The district escort appears next. Her name is Celestia Nyx. It's not a name anybody District Seven would ever bare, but maybe that's why it was chosen for her. She wears a large purple grin that matches her even larger purple wig. Even from this far in the crowd, Amber can see how unnaturally white her teeth look. Amber wonders if it's possible that she came from outer space.

Celestia talks in a strange high-pitched way that is also unique to the Capitol. When she laughs at her own jokes, the microphone throws feedback that makes Amber wince. In her huge platform shoes, she towers over the mayor and even the Peacekeepers on stage.

She huffs in disdain when nobody claps at her speech about the Capitol's generosity. Collecting her composure again, she turns in the direction of the first bowl. "Without any further delay," She draws her arms up, "let's get started!"

Celestia toddles over to one of the two glass bowls. The female tribute is always drawn first. Amber's palms sweat.

Ivy barely moves her lips, managing to make out a whisper to Amber. "Don't forget our promise."

"Never," Amber responds.

Her heart pounds in her chest as Celestia gets closer to the bowl. So did the hearts of all the girls around them. At this moment, the district is one in their fear. Everyone with something to lose. Silence sweeps over the crowd. Everyone's fate lies in the perfectly manicured hands of Celestia Nyx.

Celestia's fingers, displayed on all the screens in Panem, twirl around the bowl until it catches a slip of paper. A smile creeps across Celestia's features as she makes a show of unfolding the slip.

Celestia clears her throat before beginning to enunciate the name. It all sounds wrong due to her strange accent, but Amber's heart drops directly into her stomach after the first syllable. Amber's mouth is agape and she is completely paralyzed by the time the name finishes echoing across the square. Not just any name. her name.

On the morning of the Reaping, Amber crept out of the house at dawn to partake in the errands she had been neglecting. Trees full of green leaves line the gravel road. For a district known for cutting down trees, they sure do have a lot. This is because of the longstanding tradition of planting a tree each time a baby is born. It means each tree tells its own story. If she was bored of walking, Amber would often make up stories about the older trees. Who that person is and what their life was like. Her parents had chosen an oak tree for her.

"They represent strength and courage. That is who you are," she could hear her father's voice echo in her head. Amber has never been quite sure that she lived up to the symbolism.

Amber traveled along her usual path, bouncing between her normal hidden spots within the district boundaries to collect goods she could trade. Her mother commonly slipped out of the gates to gather and grow herbs, but that is too much of a risk for Amber, especially with how things have been as of late.

Still, the outskirts are a good place to start. Amber follows along a creek hidden by clusters of trees that eventually dam up into a pond. The grass and vines grow uncontrollably here, but Amber is experienced at navigating the paths. She has her mother to thank for the lessons on how to survive. Even when she passed, she left dozens of paper scraps with important details scribbled along them. The notes have allowed Amber to sustain her family's diet, even through the most brutal winters.

At home, Amber continues to grow her mother's potted plants as well. The repurposed jars mainly consist of herbs that grow in small patches. Not nearly enough to sell. So, Amber forages for her main commodity: wild berries. They are forbidden to pick, but that only matters if you are caught. With the newly cut wages, Amber was forced to take the risk.

Amber picks what is ready for harvest and fills her wicker basket. She drapes a cloth over the goods and makes her way back to the gravel road.

"Miss Clark!" She startles when she hears her name called from behind her.

She stops and slowly turns to see that it's a Peacekeeper flagging her down. Although he wears a masked helmet, Amber recognizes him immediately and determines there's no longer any threat. She keeps her stance and lets him jog to approach her. He's lanky and awkward like the fawn still getting used to its limbs.

"Good morning, Mr. Waters," Amber greets. Although the Peacekeeper uniform haunts her dreams almost nightly, Amber couldn't imagine one this young and gentle being scary. Most of the others, especially the new ones, are angry and stern. They have a real hatred for the district people. This one, weirdly enough, seems to have taken a liking to her.

"Er, well, you know you can call me Evander, right? At least when my bosses aren't around." Evander twists his body around to make sure nobody was watching. Of course, it's just the two of them. The sun had just barely begun to rise.

"Ok." Amber blinks. Evander doesn't say anything else. She sways in the silence for a moment before glancing around her again. He doesn't talk, so Amber asks, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Evander jumps to attention again. Strange how a boy like him could survive with the cruel collection of Peacekeepers that have recently been shipped in. He would occasionally slip change into Amber's basket when she wasn't looking, but he never asked for anything in return. Ivy had warned Amber to be careful around Evander, but Amber had long determined him to be harmless.

"Um, I just wanted to say happy-" Evander sharply cuts himself off. "Uh, well, no. I guess I meant to say good luck. Today, at the Reaping, you know."

"Thank you," Amber musters up as much cheerfulness as she can manage. Evander couldn't possibly understand how she was feeling, but he was trying. He either grew up in District Two, where volunteers jump at the first opportunity, or the Capitol, where the Games are beloved and children do not have to fear the Reaping. Amber pushes the thought aside. Either way, it's not his fault where he was born.

Another moment passes. "Well, if there is nothing else, and if you don't mind, I need to be on my way," she tries her best to keep some warmth in her voice. Evander most likely has at least eighteen years left to serve. It must be lonely to be away from home for that long, no matter where home is.

Evander straightens his posture. "Where are you going? The streets can be dangerous at this time of day, and I'm not busy right now, so I can escort you. If you want, that is."

Amber takes a moment to ponder the options and decides his presence doesn't bother her. Sure, maybe it is odd to walk with Evander trailing directly behind her right shoulder, but Amber feels indifferent to it. He can't walk with her due to specific rules about Peacekeeper mingling. Amber figures he's probably just bored. Not many other people would entertain his ideas.

She briefly wonders if Evander knows she's on her way to conduct an illegal trade. If he did, he definitely wouldn't say anything about it. He would just wait outside anyway. That's harmless enough.

"Amber Clark!" The name rings through the square. No, through Panem. Her name.

Nobody in the crowd moves. Her body suddenly feels numb. Amber's subconscious takes over for her and she stumbles on her first step forward. The cameraman must have found who everyone has turned to stare at because the screens have all begun to project her horror-struck face.

A murmur begins to cut through the silence. Even if they didn't know her name, they knew her face. The Clark girl. The family that has always been so hardworking yet so unlucky.

Is death really what fate wants for her?

"No," Ivy whispers hoarsely. Amber continues forward. Ivy doesn't let go of her hand. "Please don't," she's choking on her words, begging her not to leave. Begging for an alternative that doesn't exist. "Amz, please."

The world is spinning. It's as if everything is artificial, a dream she could awaken from at any moment. Amber pulls her hand from Ivy and clumsily enters the aisle. She turns to Ivy one last time. "I'll see you in a little bit," she says. She has to be strong.

Two Peacekeepers come to her side, each taking hold of an arm. She appreciates that they keep her from collapsing.

"Amber!" Her name is yelled again. It's desperate and raw. Weston. She turns her head behind her as they pull her away. "That's my sister! Let go of me!" He's attempting to push past a line of Peacekeepers but tenses and becomes deathly silent when an elderly man puts his hand on his shoulder. She thinks he's telling him something, but Amber is too far away to hear what it is.

Amber turns back to the Peacekeepers. She curiously looks at who is tightly holding her right arm. She recognizes that posture, even through the helmet. It takes her a moment to place it.

Evander Waters.

They stop. She curiously looks at her own reflection in the helmet's visor. He had taken a liking to her, but now he is escorting her straight into the Capitol's grasp. Amber knows she's silly for having ever questioned his loyalty to them. For ever thinking that maybe her relationship with him could protect her from this loyalty. She was stupid.

As if reading her mind, Evander loosens his grip. Maybe he feels guilty or maybe he could read Amber's judgment, but that doesn't matter anymore. Celestia ushers the Peacekeepers forward and they lift Amber to her place on stage.

Amber trades her berries at a bakery in the Canopy, a wealthy merchant neighborhood within the District. It's much different than the neighborhoods of the Undergrove that primarily consist of large extended families of mill workers and lumberjacks crammed into small, closely placed homes. The baker's wife had been sobbing all morning. Her eldest son's twelfth birthday had been recently. She had given Amber more than they previously agreed upon for the berries that could be mixed into loaves or made into jams. Amber had tried to correct her, but the baker's wife claimed it was necessary.

Maybe that's what used up all of Amber's Reaping Day luck.

Next, she made her way to one of the many taverns. They specialized in District Seven's secondary trade that has never been officially recognized: Liquor. To District Seven, it was a point of pride, but it also gave the district the reputation of being filled with alcoholics. It's not true whatsoever. The only people who could afford to drink such copious amounts were the Peacekeepers. The District Seven taverns, however, were much more than a place to drink. They are a gathering point for people to play games, relax, eat, and socialize all together. A year ago, some were burned down after accusations of being affiliated with the rebellion. A message to the others. This afternoon, they will be overflow seating for the Reaping. During the Games, they would be packed with those hoping to catch a glimpse of their District's tribute.

None of these reasons are why Amber is entering the tavern today. The televisions inside play the Capitol Network, as required. They are between Reapings at the moment and scenery from other districts floats on and off the screen. Large mountains and a modest inner city. Amber tries not to look for long, making her way to the countertop.

"Miss Clark!" The elderly bartender greets her. "What brings you here today?"

Amber returns the smile, sets her basket on the counter, and hops into one of the stools lining the bar. Many mill around and even a few Peacekeepers gather at a table by the door. She heard them making bets regarding the Reaping when she walked by.

"Do you not remember" Amber reaches under the cover of her basket and pulls back out a delicate white cloth. "You asked me to repair this handkerchief for you."

"Ah yes!" The bartender laughs, taking the handkerchief from her hands. "Excellent craftsmanship, as always." He hugs it close to his chest. "It belonged to my mother and I want to gift it to my granddaughter today. It will be good luck in the Reaping."

"I'm so happy to have helped," Amber is genuine. It was stories like this that made her want to keep helping people. It's fun to be a part of their journey and to see them so excited.

The bartender puts a few loose coins into Amber's hand. "I know it's less than we agreed upon, but I'm sorry to say it's all I can spare at the moment. I can complete the payment later this month."

"Don't worry about it. This is plenty." Amber tucks the coins away. Anything was better than nothing and the repairs hadn't required much material. Before Amber can hop out of her seat, the bartender stops her again.

"Wait! I have something else for you." He digs deep in his pockets, first checking his right, then his left, before finally locating an item in the pouch on his shirt. "It's not much, but it seems like something you would like. I found it on the ground of the tavern months ago, but an owner never came to claim it."

Amber lets him place the object in her palm. A small, green beaded bracelet in the shape of flowers. Amber allows his shaky hands to clasp it onto her wrist. It fits perfectly.

"It's beautiful" she marvels.

"It's all yours!" The bartender reaffirms. Amber thanks him, hops down from the stool, and scurries out the door before the Peacekeepers can recognize her presence.

Outside, Amber notices her companion, Evander Waters, has left without saying goodbye. This means he was probably called to some other duty. This is a relief to Amber as he couldn't come on her next mission anyway. She needs to go to the market. Not the one in the square with the beautifully decorated window displays, but rather the one closer to her house with its rows of tables made of scrap wood and crates. That's where those not fit enough to work in the forest or mills make their living. It's lovingly nicknamed the Cache. It's been destroyed three times now by Peacekeepers, but the district people continue to find new ways to trade.

As she gets closer, a wave of people move in the opposite direction. Odd for it only just now reaching midday, but the flow of the district has been beginning to pick up. Curiously, Amber waits to the side for the small crowd to pass before moving closer.

She flips the corner, collides with an immovable figure, and gasps. Before she gets a chance to process who she's bumped into, his eyes are cutting into hers. Head Peacekeeper Gaius Peltz. The very last person Amber wants to see ever, let alone on Reaping Day.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!" Celestia sings out. Her arm swirls the papers around the second glass bowl. Was the Reaping always so fast yet so painfully slow? Amber's head spins. She tries to scan the audience, but nothing is sticking in her brain. What had happened to her siblings?

Celestia's arm stops and her long, sharp fingernails, which might as well be claws, lock onto a target. She pauses for suspense, a thing Amber hates. She realizes she's holding her breath. She probably hasn't breathed at all since arriving on stage.

Celestia dramatically squeals "York Farley!"

Amber exhales, attempting to place the name. As he's located in the crowd, the camera locks in on his face, projecting it across the square. She thinks she's seen him in line for the train to the forest before, meaning he must be a lumberjack on a different crew. He's certainly from the Undergrove, but not any of the neighborhoods near her. She recognizes some of the boys around him. It denotes York as eighteen.

He stalks on stage silently. Peacekeepers escort him as if he has anywhere else to go. Amber can't tell if York is truly amazing at hiding his emotions, hasn't processed them yet, or if he's just incredibly angry. Regardless, he is a large boy: tall, broad, harboring dark eyes and closely cropped hair. He's the type of boy that will have sponsors.

Celestia rests her hand on his shoulder. Compared to Amber and the mayor, York makes Celestia's enhanced height look almost normal.

Everything about Gaius Peltz strikes Amber with fear. She knows him well, although they had barely exchanged words. They didn't need to. He is the man who accused her father of being a thief before staining the streets with the blood of him and her mother. Amber wasn't even of Reaping age, but even she understood that it was unfair. Everyone knew her father was an honest man. Everyone loved him. Still, to this day, she hears endless talk of what good people they were. That's what made it all so confusing. Rumors spread that it was a coverup. That they targeted him because they knew her mother and him had more influence on the Undergrove than the Peacekeepers themselves. Those rumors followed her everywhere. It's what made being a Clark dangerous, even with Evander Waters seemingly looking out for her. It's why she had to be even more careful to avoid the attention of this man who hates her. Who is staring into her soul right this moment. Paralyzing her.

The last place Amber wants to be on Reaping Day is anywhere near this man. She pulls herself together, quickly apologizes, and attempts to flee in the direction she came, but he orders her to halt. The sound of his voice sends shivers up her spine. She begins to tremble as she slowly turns back toward him.

"Where are you going?" Gaius demands.

"Home," Amber says concisely, her eyes pinned to the gravel. "I was going to take a shortcut, but I see now that this road is closed."

Gaius scans her up and down, surely skeptical of her response. "What's in the basket?"

Amber clenches it tighter. "Bread. I bought it this morning." She doesn't dare to look up and begins to silently wish for him not to look through her belongings. He would surely find the greens she has illegally collected this morning with the intent to gift to an elderly cook. She holds her breath.

Gaius isn't convinced. He begins to reach for the basket, but his attention is pulled away at the last moment. It's two of his subordinates asking for further instructions.

Amber feels frozen in space. Then, a hand grabs her arm and swiftly pulls her away before Gaius can remember she's there. Amber lets the figure drift her down a chain of narrow alleyways. When she looks up, it's a familiar face that sends her a rush of comfort.

It's Bran, Ivy's closest friend who always manages to keep an eye on Amber as well. His family lives just a few houses down from hers. He had essentially become another brother to her.

"Don't you know better than to be here?" He asks, crossing his lean arms.

"I guess not." Amber bites the insides of her cheek. She was still shaking from the collision with Gaius.

"Well, lucky for you, I do," Bran is lighthearted, attempting to soothe Amber. Even in the shadows of the alleyway, his dark eyes gleam with a playful energy. "I'm heading home. Do you want to walk together?"

Bran was like Ivy, with a knack for making trouble and narrowly escaping it. About six months ago, however, Ivy had been detained and brought to the stocks for punishment. Accused of defiant behavior or something of the sort. Bran stepped in to take the punishment for her, earning him scars along his back that will last a lifetime. If Amber thinks about it, she can still hear Ivy sobbing. She can still hear Bran's pained attempts to not scream. The way the blood ran down his brown skin. The image is so at odds with his usual demeanor.

"I told Birdie I'd meet her at the Cache," Amber explains.

"Birdie," Bran sighs, leaning back and rolling his eyes. "Of course."

As if on cue, a ginger head of hair rounds the corner and calls her name. Even in the growing crowd, she is unmistakable.

"Good morning, Birdie," Bran greets.

"You too," Birdie is distracted in her response. She interlocks her arm under Amber's. "I just got here. What's happening?"

"The Cache is being smoked out again," Bran explains to the two girls. "Seems like most everyone got out okay. A few are detained, but with the Reaping, I doubt they're held long."

"Pity," Birdie pouts. "I was so excited to see…" She trails off, waving the conversation away with her hands.

Amber laughs. Birdie had been wanting to go talk to the boy who specializes in repairing trinkets. Birdie didn't actually have anything she needed fixed, but she had found him handsome. She had dug through all of her father's belongings to come up with a pocket watch that needs a new battery and planned to bring it to him today.

Bran shakes his head with a smile. Even without saying anything, he knows enough about the girls to know their antics. "I see you two have each other covered. Say hi to V for me." Bran waves over his shoulder as he walks off. With their father gone, he's the only one to still call Ivy by that name.

"Bye!" Birdie and Amber respond in unison, giggling as Bran exits view.

"What are we gonna do now that the Cache is gone?" Birdie hums in disappointment.

The two girls had met in school, but things changed after they came of Reaping age. Amber went to work, but Birdie is one of the few children in the district still working on her education. It made her hands soft and her outlook odd, but she really did try to understand. Amber likes that about her.

"I don't mind," Amber says before suggesting they walk by the river and look at the wildflowers. It's a favorite pastime of Birdie's and her eyes light up at the suggestion.

"How are you?" Amber asks as they walk. Birdie has always been emotional on Reaping Day.

"Nervous, obviously." The closer Amber looks, the more she can see the feeling overflowing out of Birdie. Her strange body language and oddly timed laughs.

"Me too." Amber holds her basket tighter. She thinks about telling Birdie about her run-in with Gaius but chooses not to relive the situation.

"My father thinks that as long as we get through today then maybe things will start to go back to how they were," Birdie makes the claim with her voice lowered.

"I hope he's right!" Amber holds onto the optimism. Birdie's father was often right about a lot of things.

"You know," Birdie nudges her shoulder, eager to change subjects. "I miss being able to see you so often. I think you should consider your options. I can introduce you to the cobbler's son. He's…" She draws out the syllables to give herself enough time to find an appropriate description. "Nice enough."

Amber shakes her head, amused by Birdie's statement. "I miss you too, but you know how I feel. I'd much rather continue in the forest than become a cobbler's wife." Amber takes a moment to consider all of the boys she knows. "I just don't think I've met my soulmate yet."

"I know," Birdie doesn't hide her disappointment. "But you've met most all of the decent, eligible bachelors in District Seven, so you better start making some decisions! All boys need a bit of home training, but most of them are totally fixable!" Birdie has a tendency to be a bit overdramatic, but Amber finds it endearing. "Either way," Birdie continues with a stubborn tone, "If you ever change your mind, let me know. Anyone, Canopy or Undergrove, knows they would be lucky to have you. Besides," Birdie throws her hands up defensively, "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be comfortable." A comfortable, Canopy life. It seems so boring.

"Right," Amber can't help but laugh at Birdie's show. "I promise I'll let you know."

Birdie makes Amber shake hands to finalize the promise. By this point, they have reached the point during which they would have to go in different directions to go home. Amber agrees to walk the extra distance to Birdie's house. It's a bit of a walk and she's on a tight schedule, but Amber feels the need to take full advantage of her limited time with Birdie. Days off are hard to come by.

On the walk, the gravel streets become cobblestone, and the two girls talk about anything but the Reaping. A woman leans out the window as they come up on the two-story home. "Elizabeth Monroe!" She shouts, "Get in this house right this moment!"

Birdie's mother has never been the biggest fan of Amber. Birdie said it has something to do with the Clark family's tendency for finding trouble. Amber could understand that but acknowledges that Mrs. Monroe has even more of a tendency for dramatics than Birdie herself.

"Mother, please stop! I'm here now!" Birdie's cheeks flush as red as her hair in embarrassment. In a rush, she gives Amber a tight embrace.

"I'll see you after, okay?" Amber promises in an attempt to reassure her. The new Reaping organization structure required them to stand by age level and alphabetically by family name, meaning Birdie would be far away.

"Definitely!" Birdie bounces on her toes. Amber examines her face. The cheerfulness juxtaposes a small pool of tears.

"It's going to be fine!" Amber gives her one more tight hug before finalizing their farewells. "I promise."