As the workday came to a merciful end, logging vehicles creaked under the weight of the weary workers as they huddled inside. Hazel sighed and did her best not to breathe in the humid body odor filling the cab as they were ferried down in the valley.

  Instead of the overwhelming aroma of sweat and salt, she focused on the panoramic view of the forest they were leaving behind. Hazel relaxed her forehead against the foggy glass, taking in the serene beauty of their surroundings. Yet, the tranquility of the forest seemed at odds with the turmoil within her. The lush greenery mix of pines, oaks, willows, and ferns wished them an almost melancholy farewell.

  The rest of the lumberjacks, despite their hardened exteriors, also bore a different kind of weariness. A kind crafted from restless nights and near constant buzz of anxiety.

  As the lumber trucks ferried the rugged group. His head lolled as it was his turn to attempt to stave off fatigue. His eyelid fluttered until he finally succumbed, resting his shoulder against Hazel's.

  She battled to keep her burgeoning smile to herself. Since Rowan had turned fourteen, he rarely allowed much physical affection. He barely let her hug him anymore.

  When he was a little toddler, he had practically begged her to hold his hand on a daily basis. The memory warmed her heart and also sent a wave of sadness through her. Time had gone by faster than she realized.

  Bending toward him, she whispered in his ear, "You can sleep on my shoulder if you want, Ro."

  A vague grumble followed, but within a few minutes, his curly head laid against her shoulder like a bony pillow. The jolting of the interior and the hum of the engine didn't stir him. All of it was merely white noise to her worn-out brother.

  Silus eyed him, sending Hazel a knowing smile. "Too feisty for his own good today."

  "Wore himself right out." Hazel agreed with a quirk of her lips.

  "I can still hear you both," Rowan groaned sleepily.

  Hazel's shoulders shook as she held back a soft laugh.

  Sometimes, the job, while dirty, smelly, and taxing, had moments that made it all worthwhile.

  Sometimes.

  Upon reaching the mill, the truck stopped abruptly, jolting Rowan from his semi-lucid state.

  With a metallic twang, the back door swung open, signaling the end of their journey. Hazel, Silus, and Rowan, along with the rest of the crew, piled out in a dusty heap.

  Hazel stretched her arms, trying to ease the stiffness in her muscles. "Another day in paradise, right?"

  "Thrilling. Now off to the paper mill for another round of excitement." Silus stretched, wiping the sawdust from his forehead. Recently, he took evening shifts at the paper mill. They needed the extra income and double wages to keep their larger-than-average family afloat.

  "Have fun making toilet paper. I'm heading to the hospital," Hazel added, rolling her shoulders to release some tension.

  "I'd much rather make it than help someone else use it," Rowan replied, shaking the dirt from his hair.

  Like Silus, Hazel had taken on additional work at the local hospital, aiding in whatever way she could, from cleaning linens to assisting the nursing staff with minor tasks.

  "Yeah, yeah." Hazel groaned, "It's not all we do. It's more splinters and sprained ankles than anything else. Maybe a new baby or two. Besides, I'll only be able to sneak in a few hours before the curfew."

  Adjusting his backpack and preparing to leave, Rowan joined in their light-hearted exchange. "Well, while you two are off on your exciting adventures, I guess I'll be at home, keeping the twins and Sage entertained."

  "Yeah, you got the short end of the stick there, Row," Hazel winked at him.

  Hazel's attention was diverted to a scene unfolding at a distance. An animated Foreman, Thron Pilner, was gesturing wildly with a clearly agitated demeanor.

  Standing opposite Thron's fervor was Oren, her stepfather. His broad shoulders were squared as he listened. As the Head of Lumber Distribution, he had honed his patience over the years.

  Holding the responsibility of overseeing the lumber production and dispatch meant he was used to his fair share of drama and rarely did much get under his skin.

  As Oren finished his conversation with Thron and made his way toward the three. His stoic demeanor softened upon seeing his children. "How are my three favorite lumberjacks this evening?"

  "Good day, Dad," Silus replied.

  "No complaints," added Rowan.

  Oren watched them for a moment, tapping his fingers against his lips. Finally, his scrutiny fell to Hazel.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She squirmed, "Is everything alright?"

  "Pilner has quite the story about you three today," Oren answered, crossing his arms and waiting. "He, of course, has his version. But I'm more interested in hearing yours."

  Oren's gaze shifted between Hazel and Rowan, a silent prompt for more information. Hazel hesitated, her eyes darting to Rowan, who stood with his arms crossed, with a scowl forming.

  "You know how tense things can get with the reaping coming up," Hazel finally said.

  "Oh?" Oren prodded.

  "People say things they don't mean..." Hazel mumbled.

  Rowan cut her off, "He meant what he said, Dad." His voice was tight, his stance rigid.

  "Who said what, son?" Oren's voice was even, but his posture subtly changed, leaning in with an alertness that spoke of his concern.

  Silus cleared his throat, adding to the conversation. "Foreman Thron, he... he made a comment about Hazel being our sister and not looking like us."

  Oren's eyes moved slowly over each of his children, absorbing Silus's words. A faint nod followed. "I see."

  Silus hesitated before adding, "And Holt ... he said some things. About our family. About Mom and you...and Cedar."

  Oren pondered for a long time, eyes downcast. This wasn't the first time this topic had come up, and Hazel guessed it wouldn't be the last. Oren's finally filtered to Hazel, "What others say about us doesn't define who we are. It's our actions and our integrity that truly matter."

  "Yes, of course. Silus handled it. It really wasn't a big deal," She added.

  Oren's eyes shifted to Silus, a hint of pride in his smile. "Of course." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to ensure only they could hear. "If anyone asks, you three got a good talking-to about today, alright?" His eyes flicked briefly towards Thron, who was still observing them from a distance.

  The siblings nodded in understanding.

  Oren straightened, "Make sure you're home before curfew. I believe mom's making apple pie tonight."

  At the mention of more apples, the siblings groaned in unison, the thought of any more apple-themed food less than appealing.

  Oren's eyebrows shot up. "That's not the reaction I expected." Across the yard, a voice called Oren's name. He spun, yelling over his shoulder before returning to the three, "See you at home, just remember to keep your heads down. Keep a low profile, especially around Thron. He's not in the best of spirits these days. And be home for the curfew, no exceptions."

  "We will, Dad," Silus assured him. As Oren walked away, he playfully ruffled Rowan's hair before crossing the yard and disappearing into the lumber mill's head office.

  Rowan grumbled a bit more before he wished his siblings goodbye before he began a light jog home.

  Silus gently tapped Hazel on her arm, his expression soft yet concerned. "Be careful at the hospital," he paused, his voice lowering, "try to come straight home tonight, alright?"

  Hazel nodded, a faint unease flickering in her eyes. "I will see you soon,"

  "Haze," he urged.

  "Curfew. I got it. I'll do my best," she promised as she backed away, waving off his concern as she hastened her pace.

  The urgency of the curfew drove Hazel's brisk walk to the hospital.

  In a district where the mainstay of work was in the lumber industry, the risks of injury were some of the highest of all professions in Panem.

  The knowledge she gained there was invaluable, primarily when accidents occurred in the woods. Basic medical skills had come in handy more than once, allowing her to provide first aid to injured lumberjacks before they could get proper medical attention.

  The hospital itself was modest, with a humble crew of medical staff. Its resources were just as limited. While not destitute, it was also not cutting edge. It lay somewhere in the middle, much like District Seven itself, a fairly accurate reflection of its place in Panem's hierarchy.

  Yet, within these walls, Hazel enjoyed the change of pace. The hospital was quite removed from the rough-and-tumble environment of the logging site. It was less based on brute strength and more so on problem-solving and compassion. However, it was no less hard work.

  When the days were bad at the hospital, they were brutal. Those were the times she would rather swing Oliver until her skin blistered away than be there.

  As she entered the hospital, a wave of eye-burning antiseptic hit her, a striking difference from the fresh, earthy aroma of the forest. She wrinkled her nose, still not used to the clinical scent even after her months working there.

  She snaked her way to the nurses' station, where Mrs. Larkin, the elderly charge nurse, organized patient files. Mrs. Larkin's long white hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked up as Hazel approached, her eyes softening.

  The woman had worked at the hospital for so many years they had lost count, and no one wanted to admit it. Her presence was more ingrained in the paint on the starkly white walls.

  "Ah, Hazel, just the person I wanted to see," Mrs. Larkin greeted. "We're sending everyone who isn't essential home early tonight. The curfew's got us all adjusting our schedules. I won't keep you long tonight, dear. Just some basic tasks, and I want you clocked out by 6:15. You need to be home before that curfew."

  Hazel grasped the clipboard firmly, scanning Mrs. Larkin's list of tasks. She began moving through the hospital's corridors, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking over linoleum.

  The fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, highlighting sparsely furnished rooms.

  She set to work occupying her hands and hoping, in turn, to distract her mind. Snapping on a pair of rubber gloves, she wiped down various commonly used surfaces. At supper time, she assisted in distributing patient meal trays. Once the meal was completed, she lent a hand to the nursing staff with a few odd tasks.

  One called on Hazel to assist with changing bandages on a patient with freshly removed stitches. As she carefully unwrapped the old bandage, her mind flashed back to her first day at the hospital.

  One of her first encounters was with Dendron, a particularly skilled logger who ended up on the wrong end of a botched felling. He was just out of surgery with a newly amputated arm.

  The sight had made her stomach churn. Back then, her inexperience with such gruesome injuries had sent her rushing to the bathroom every fifteen minutes, fighting the urge to vomit.

  Hazel couldn't help but think wryly that her mother's asparagus cooking spree at that time certainly hadn't helped. Over time, she had grown accustomed to the gruesome nature of the hospital.

  After assisting with several more bandage changes, Hazel peered at the hospital clock. It was nearing time to leave. Rushing back to Mrs. Larkin, she called, "I'm heading out now, Mrs. Larkin." Hazel said, her voice tinged with gratitude.

  "Take care on your way home, dear," Mrs. Larkin responded without looking up, focusing on her work. "And stay safe."

  Hazel offered a brief smile and a nod before leaving. However, a glance at her watch showed it was only 6:15 PM.

  An inkling of an idea tickled at the back of her mind. Silus had urged her to come home after her shift. He wouldn't want her to deviate.

  Biting down on her lip, she considered it. On one hand, Silus would be disappointed if she broke her promise. But on the other..., if she played her cards right, he didn't have to know.

  And she had just enough time if she hurried.