The air in District 12 tastes like coal dust and dread.

It's Reaping Day.

The square is packed tight with bodies, all wearing the same hollow-eyed expression. Peacekeepers line the edges, their white uniforms stark against the gray buildings. The sun beats down, but no one feels its warmth.

On the stage, Mayor Zackly adjusts his glasses, flanked by two empty chairs. One for the male tribute, one for the female. And between them, the glass bowl filled with every name of every child in District 12.

Across the nation, cameras are already focused on District 1, where polished, beautiful tributes prepare to volunteer with practiced smiles. But here, there are no volunteers. Only victims.