Timber

Chapter 7: Restless Night

Hazel's mind, far from resting, replayed the events of the Capitol's broadcast. The images of the old arena being demolished lingered in her thoughts, vivid and unsettling. She remembered how the room had fallen silent, her family's faces reflecting a mix of alarm and confusion. The destruction of the arena wasn't just a spectacle; it was a symbol of change, a herald of unknown horrors to come.

She could still hear Snow's voice in her head, smooth and chilling, promising a revolution in the Games. 'A revolution,' Hazel thought bitterly, 'or just a more creative way for the Capitol to kill district children.' She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, the shadows dancing in the faint light.

The Hunger Games were always a time of anxiety, but this new development added an extra layer of fear. 'What kind of horrors has the Capitol concocted this time?' she wondered.

Hazel turned on her side, pulling the blanket closer. Her mind was a whirlpool of worry and anger, not just for the tributes who would be thrown into whatever unknown hell the Capital had in store but for all of the people in the districts and the fragile safety they clung to. The room felt stuffy, almost suffocating in its stillness.

After another hour of chasing sleep but only running in place, she couldn't take it anymore. Maybe a glass of water would help, she thought. Gently, she slid out of bed, her feet touching the cool wooden floor. She moved quietly, mindful of the creaking floorboards, not wanting to disturb the peaceful slumber of the twins.

Stepping out of the room, Hazel entered the dimly lit hallway, her steps light as she made her way towards the kitchen.

Hazel's steps halted as she neared the living room, the low, tense voices of her parents reaching her ears. She lingered in the shadowed hallway, just out of sight, her initial intent to get water forgotten.

Fern shifted uncomfortably on the worn love seat, her fingers intertwined in her lap. The crackling of the fireplace filled the brief silences, casting a warm but flickering light that danced across their worried expressions. Her blue eyes, usually filled with kindness, now held a deep concern. Light brown hair, usually neatly tied back, fell in loose strands, framing her tense face.

Oren, sitting beside her, appeared more composed but equally troubled. His features, usually so assured, now reflected the gravity of their conversation. His closely cropped hair and the lines on his face, usually marks of his resilience, seemed to deepen in the firelight.

"The destruction of the old arena... it was more than just a spectacle," Fern's voice faded in, barely above a whisper. "It's a display of what they can do, a warning to all of us. The Capitol wants to show that they can and will change the rules whenever it suits them."

Oren, his gaze locked on the flickering flames, nodded slowly. "Complacency isn't an option, Fern. We can't let fear paralyze us. We have to be wise, but we can't cease fighting for what's just."

Fern's voice trembled with anxiety. "Oren, they're watching. Your actions... they're drawing attention."

Oren's response was firm, his tone tinged with an unwavering resolve. "What kind of example would I be setting if I didn't stand up for what's right? I can't, in good conscience, stand by and watch."

"You're risking too much," Fern insisted, her frustration evident. "This isn't just about principles. Our family's safety is at stake."

"Protecting our district, our home... isn't that a fight worth fighting?"

Fern's voice softened, carrying a note of vulnerability that was rare for her. "And what about your... your communications with Garth? Have you thought about the consequences of that?"