It was Reaping Day. The seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

Y/n's eyes drifted across the sea of faces. Families crushed together, hands clasped tight. Mothers with hollow cheeks. Fathers with fists clenched at their sides. The youngest children, some no older than twelve, stood in the front rows, trembling despite the summer heat.

Peacekeepers lined the perimeter, white uniforms stark against the gray buildings. Their rifles weren't just for show.

The silence that followed was suffocating.