The waves crashed violently against the jagged rocks, the sea restive and unyielding, mirroring the restlessness that lingered in the heart of District Four. The salty air whipped through the narrow streets, tangling in the hair of the fishermen and traders who worked tirelessly along the shore. It was a district bound by water, its pulse tied to the rhythm of the ocean—the constant ebb and flow, the cycle of life and death. The sea never stopped, and neither did the people of District Four, their lives shaped by the tides, their survival carved into the sharp edges of the rocks and the depths of the water.

In the shadow of the cliffs, nestled near the edge of the coastline, stood the Copal family's cottage—a modest building of faded wooden planks and weathered stone. The salt air had worn the house down over the years, its once-bright blue paint now peeling in strips, exposing the wood beneath. Sea grass and wildflowers grew in tangled patches around the base, evidence of the harsh winds that swept across the coastline. Inside, the smell of fish and saltwater lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of the herbs Aurelia's mother used to grow. The walls were lined with makeshift shelves, crammed with jars and tools—practical, not decorative. The cottage was small, just enough space for the Copals to live in, and yet it felt too large for the family of four that called it home. Despite the coziness, there was a weight in the air, an unspoken sadness that clung to the beams and floorboards. A family who had lost too much, their world growing smaller with each passing year.

Aurelia Copal stood before the mirror, staring at her reflection as the sunlight filtered through the small window of their modest home. Her sun-kissed blonde hair fell in soft waves down her back, catching the light, but she didn't pay much attention to the way it framed her freckled face. Today was Reaping Day, and there was no time to think about things like her appearance. Her eyes, the color of the ocean just before a storm, lingered on her reflection, focusing instead on the girl she'd become. Strong, tough, but barely holding it together.

The simple light blue dress clung to her athletic frame, the only thing she could bear to wear on a day like today. It was clean, but worn from years of use. Just like everything in her life, nothing was ever new. Not for her family. She carefully adjusted the fabric, making sure the hem didn't drag too low. It wasn't a day for attention.

The memories of her brother, Farius, always haunted her on this day. The same day she had to dress up like this, knowing it could be her name called from the bowls of fate. He had been her family's hope, the one who might bring them out of their pain and poverty. Instead, he had lost, his body returned home, a pile of broken pieces and faded dreams. The thought twisted in her stomach like a hook.

Today was different, though. It was the last time she would be eligible. The last time the name Copal would be thrown into the Reaping bowl. Aurelia would age out of the system this year, one more year of uncertainty that her family wouldn't have to bear. The one consolation.

Her name was entered 19 times, not a small number due to having to take tesserae just to eat. Four people for the past three years, Fairus had always insisted on taking on the tesserae before he was reaped, but after it was up to Aurelia. Twelve extra entries, and she had never been able to forget that. In a district like District Four, there were people who went hungry, who traded their names for food, who had no choice but to be entered again and again. Aurelia always tried her best not to be one of them. She worked in the general store, after school, so they wouldn't have to starve. But she never could quite make ends meet, so this was the price she paid.

She turned away from the mirror, straightening her shoulders as she heard the sound of her dad coughing from downstairs. Every year, the same routine. The heavy, sick feeling in her chest never quite left.

Aurelia's heart ached as she went down the stairs. Her dad was already sitting in his chair, his legs long gone from the shark attack years ago. It had been a brutal, unrelenting fight for survival, and now he was weak. Very weak. Cancer, they said. But nothing could be done about it in District Four, or any of the districts for that matter. It was just another disease no one cared enough about to treat.

She helped him into his wheelchair, her strong hands supporting him, as he struggled to meet her eyes. He was pale, his skin loose against the bones of his face, and his eyes were clouded with exhaustion. Aurelia's heart wrenched with every step. He wasn't supposed to be this way. He had once been her protector, her rock. Now, she was the one holding him up as they walked to the spectator's area.

Her grandparents, both ancient in their own ways, were ready as well. They were there, every year, never able to help, always too frail to do anything but watch as the rest of the district's young people went through the ritual. She settled them in their place, checked their blankets, gave them the kind of reassurance she couldn't give herself. Her dad pulled her into an embrace then, the tears welling in his eyes. She squeezed him back tightly, not able to find the words to ease the weight of this day.

It was always too much.

Finally, she made her way to into the square, standing with the other 18-year-olds, her stomach knotting tighter as the prissy old woman from the Capitol took the stage, her voice artificially sweet and insufferable. Aurelia stood at the back, the same place she always stood, silently steeling herself for the inevitable.

The woman prattled on, going over the usual speeches and introductions, but when she spoke of the mentors for the year, Aurelia's stomach churned. Mags and Finnick.

Finnick Odair. Of course. He was District Four's golden boy, a mentor every year. Every year, they wheeled him out to remind the world that even a district could create a pretty face to flaunt. But it was Mags's turn as well this year. The crowd was still, not surprised to see this.

But all Aurelia could think about was the inevitable—the moment that would shatter the fragile life she had built, the moment that would steal her away from the people who needed her most.

The Capitol woman moved with slow, deliberate elegance, her manicured fingers dipping into the massive glass bowl, swirling the countless slips of paper as if choosing a fate was some grand performance. The crowd stood frozen, the only sound the whisper of the papers shifting against each other.

Aurelia's stomach twisted as the woman finally plucked a single slip from the sea of names, unfolding it with a practiced flourish.

She smiled, and then—

"Aurelia Copal!"

The name rang out, slicing through the silence like a harpoon through water. Her breath caught, her body stiffened. For a second, the world tilted, the sun overhead too bright, the heat pressing against her skin like a vice.

For a moment, everything around her blurred—the sea breeze that usually carried the scent of salt and freedom now felt like it was choking her. She swallowed thickly, forcing the rising panic down into the pit of her stomach. Her breath was shallow, but she forced her legs to move, each step a struggle as all eyes in the square seemed to focus on her.

She could hear her father's sobs in the distance, could see his trembling hands clutching the armrest of his chair as tears streamed down his weathered face. Aurelia clenched her fists at her sides, determined not to break, not here. Not in front of the crowd. Not in front of the Capitol and everyone watching. She let her gaze flicker across the crowd, settling briefly on her dad's face before she forced herself to look away. His tears were enough to undo her, and she couldn't afford that now. She shuffled forward and took her place on the stage.

The Capitol woman, as expected, was already calling out the name of the male tribute. Thomas Clearby, a nervous fifteen-year-old, his face pale and frightened as his name was called. But before he could even step forward, Ky Buckle, that cocky, insufferable sixteen-year-old from the wealthier part of the district, stepped forward. He had the gall to volunteer, as if his eagerness didn't already make him a target in Aurelia's eyes. She could barely suppress the flicker of disgust that flared up in her chest. Ky Buckle, with his crooked grin and overconfident swagger, had always been the type she couldn't stand.

She did her best to keep her face neutral as the Capitol woman announced his name with a pleased smile, and the crowd responded with a mixture of relief and pity. Ky's gaze flicked toward her as he shook Clearby's hand, but Aurelia refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she stared straight ahead, willing herself not to react, not to show him the fury boiling just beneath the surface.

The crowd's murmurs seemed to echo in her ears as she tried not to be sick. She barely heard the announcements of the tribute's districts or the cheers of the onlookers. All she could focus on was getting through this next part—the part where she would have to say goodbye.

They ushered her into the district government building, where the air felt thicker, suffocating. The walls were barren and cold, as though they were designed to remind her of how little room there was for hope here.

Her family was already waiting inside—her dad's face crumpled with emotion, her grandparents sitting silently, their hands resting in their laps. Aurelia felt her throat tighten as she stepped inside. She went to her father first, pulling him into a tight hug, ignoring the way his frail body trembled against hers.

"Don't worry about me," she whispered, the words catching in her throat. "I'll be fine."

Her dad's voice cracked, but he didn't speak. Instead, he squeezed her tightly, as if he were trying to imprint the feel of her into his memory. When he pulled away, his eyes were red, and his lips trembled as though he wanted to say more, but couldn't. The silence between them said everything. She was all he had left.

Aurelia moved to her grandparents next, her hand resting on her grandmother's frail shoulder, her heart aching for the life they had built here, a life that had never been easy but had been theirs nonetheless. "I'll be back," she promised, her voice steady despite the way her chest felt as though it were caving in. They didn't speak, but her grandmother's hand on hers was enough. It was all she needed.

With one last glance at her family, she let herself be led toward the door, where the Capitol woman was waiting with a bored expression, already looking past Aurelia as if the goodbyes had no meaning. As if her family's sorrow was just another performance for her. Aurelia didn't look back. There was nothing left to say.

The doors shut behind them with a soft hiss, sealing them inside the opulent train car. The scent of warm bread, roasted meats, and something sweet—maybe fruit pastries—filled the air. A long table sat in the center, covered in silver platters piled high with food. More food than Aurelia had seen in one place in her entire life. Her eyes went slightly wide despite herself, her stomach twisting with a mix of hunger and unease. This was meant to fatten them up, make them look healthy, desirable, like livestock before slaughter.

Ky, of course, had no such hesitations. He plopped down in the nearest chair, grabbed a roll without a second thought, and tore off a bite, chewing loudly as if he'd done this a hundred times before. Aurelia shot him a brief glance but said nothing. Let him gorge himself. It wouldn't change the fact that in a week's time, he'd have to fight for every bite.

She let her gaze flicker around the train car, finally settling on the two figures standing near the head of the table. Finnick Odair and Mags Flanagan. Their mentors.

Finnick looked as he always did—effortlessly golden, his sea-green eyes sharp despite the easy smirk tugging at his lips. He was leaning casually against the back of a chair, watching them with something unreadable in his gaze. Mags, small and weathered but kind-eyed, stood beside him.

Before Aurelia could say anything, Mags stepped forward, reaching for her hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm as she gently led Aurelia toward the table. There were no words, just a quiet insistence, and Aurelia understood. Eat.

She hesitated only a moment before pulling out a chair and reaching for a plate. She took a piece of fish—something familiar, something from home—and a small roll. The rich scent of butter and herbs made her mouth water, and she realized just how hungry she was. So, without another thought, she started to eat.

Finnick settled into a chair across from them, lazily swirling a goblet of water in his hand. His gaze flicked between Aurelia and Ky, assessing, calculating, though his expression remained unreadable.

"Alright," he said, tone light but laced with something sharper beneath it. "Let's start simple. What can you do?"

Ky sat up straighter, eager to answer. "Trained at the Academy since I was twelve," he said, puffing out his chest. "Blades are my specialty—knives, swords, spears, doesn't matter. I can throw, I can fight, and I'm fast." He leaned back, smirking. "Careers always make it far."

Aurelia didn't bother to hide the way she rolled her eyes. Cocky. Overconfident. A walking target.

Finnick didn't react to Ky's boasting. He just turned his gaze to her. "And you?"

Aurelia shrugged, swallowing another bite of fish. "I'm a fisherman's kid," she said casually. "I can tie knots. Swim."

Ky barked out a laugh, slapping a hand against the table. "Oh, that's rich," he snorted. "What are you gonna do, tie a bowline around someone's neck? Swim your way out of the arena?"

Aurelia just gave him a flat look, unimpressed. She wasn't about to tell him the truth—that she was one of the best fighters in her year at school, that she'd taken down boys twice her size, that if it came down to it, she could probably snap his scrawny neck before he even saw it coming. Let him think she was useless. Let him underestimate her.

Finnick, however, wasn't laughing. He was still watching her, his sea-green eyes thoughtful. Almost like he saw right through the act.

Mags, as always, remained silent. But she was watching too. And Aurelia got the distinct feeling that, despite the way she had downplayed her skills, her mentors had already learned more about her than she intended.

They talked a little longer, going over the usual—Capitol expectations, the schedule for the next few days, what little advice Finnick was allowed to give without outright breaking the rules. But eventually, Ky lost interest. He pushed back from the table with an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms over his head.

"Well, I'm turning in," he announced, like anyone had asked. "Got to be well-rested for all the killing I'll be doing soon." He shot Aurelia a cocky grin before sauntering off down the hall, disappearing into one of the train's many lavish compartments.

Aurelia didn't move.

Neither did Finnick.

The quiet between them stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Finnick simply sat there, watching her, his fingers idly tracing patterns against the tablecloth. His gaze was steady, unreadable, and yet—there was something softer in it now.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"You're Farius's sister, aren't you?"

Her stomach tightened. It had been years since someone had said his name aloud in front of her, and even now, the sound of it sent a sharp pang through her chest. But she swallowed the feeling down and gave a small nod. "Yeah."

Finnick smiled, just barely. It was different from the charming, effortless smirks he threw at the cameras. This was something quieter. Sadder. "I was his mentor," he said, his voice taking on a gentle fondness. "You probably know that."

She nodded again. Of course she knew. Farius had made it to the top four in his Games, just barely missing the chance to come home. Finnick had spoken at his funeral.

"He was good," Finnick continued. "Smart. He knew how to play the game, how to make people like him. And he fought like hell when it came down to it."

Aurelia looked down at her plate, her appetite gone. "It wasn't enough," she murmured.

Finnick was quiet for a moment, then exhaled softly. "No," he admitted. "It wasn't."

Silence settled between them again, heavier this time.

Aurelia hesitated, then glanced up at him. Something in Finnick's expression made her feel like—just this once—she could tell the truth.

"Farius taught me how to fight," she said.

Finnick's gaze sharpened slightly, but then he grinned, something almost triumphant flashing across his face.

"I thought he might've," he said.