Chapter 1
||Derek
Reaping day.
Derek had spent most of the day trying to calm down, but nothing could make his mind shut up. He ruffled his dark hair, staring at his pale face in the mirror.
God, how he hated his reflection.
He was beginning to look more and more like his sister as the years passed on—a comparison he heard often. But now, looking at himself, he hated how much his own face resembled Serena. Even the faint brown freckles scattered across his nose seemed to be in the same pattern of hers. It felt wrong—frustrated, he splashed his face with a cold stream of water and left the bathroom, wiping his face with a dry towel. Maybe if he rubbed hard enough, the freckles would come off, his features would blur, and he wouldn't look so familiar.
He’d gotten dressed too early, Reaping wouldn’t start until another hour. But to be fair, he didn’t know what else to do anyway. He just couldn’t keep his mind off that damned announcement.The president’s words kept playing on loop like a broken record in his head.
As a reminder to the rebels that even their most loved ones will be punished if they dare question the Captiol's power, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the family and friends of the previous year's tributes.
Laughable, he thought, if it weren’t so terrifyingly real.
Derek remembered the night the announcement was made. How his father’s face had paled. How his mother dropped the mug in her hands and started shaking, and how he felt himself tense and suddenly lose ability to breathe. He remembered how his hand flew to the necklace around his neck, the cool metal of the pedant pressed between his fingers. Serena had left him it before she went to the Games.
She said she’d come back.
Derek blinked, trying to breaking out of his trance. This was not a good time to be stuck in rumination.
The clock on his bedroom wall was ticking; he could hear the sound of his parents getting ready upstairs, their footsteps shuffling across the tiled floor. He willed himself to leave his room, finding his mother descending the staircase.
“Good afternoon,” he offered stiffly, and his mother gave him a curt nod in response. His gaze shifted to her outfit.
Derek rarely saw his mother in her white dress; it seemed reserved for special occasions. She looked silly, dressed for a reaping when she was well past reaping age. Her hair was braided the same way she’d done Serena’s last year, leading him to wonder if that was the only hairstyle she knew how to do.
But did it truly matter? Ruth Miller was not the type of woman who focused on mastering various hairstyles. She wasn’t even the type of woman that wore white dresses. She was an engineer, usually dressed in grey boilersuits with her hands smudged with ink, wearily bent over blueprints.
Derek looked away. His mother should not be attending a Reaping, it felt wrong. But she was going to, her name was written on a slip of paper sitting in a big glass bowl this very moment.
Ridiculous.
It was all absolutely ridiculous.
His mother carried on, walking into the kitchen and starting to slice up bread. Derek heard footsteps behind him and turned around. His father had come down too, giving him a pat on his shoulder—but the gesture felt awkward. He took note of his father’s greying hair and the sag in his shoulders. Marcus was too old for competition, Derek could not remember the last time he’d seen his father run.
He touched his necklace again, closing his eyes and trying to inhale.
This Reaping was going to be a disaster.
They joined Ruth at the table, quietly sitting down for their meal. Derek tried to endure the clumsy clatter of the tableware. What was the point? They already had lunch, and it was too early for dinner. Plus, all they were eating was stale bread. But he used his knife and fork anyway, imitating his parents.
The walk to the square was silent. It was strange seeing the area so empty—there was still a fair amount of people lined up around the perimeter, likely there to just watch the show, but only half a dozen of other people were standing near the stage.
Derek recognized Cy’s family from the Victory tour. He’d tried to forget most of it, like Barbeau’s disgustingly charming face and the shallow, written speech he gave that made his blood boil, but he did remember the grey eyed siblings shedding tears with their father on the other platform. They now stood closely together near the stage, he could faintly make out the tears brimming Cy’s father’s eyes.
Then there were two children whom Derek assumed were Cy’s closest friends, a skinny towhead boy and a girl with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, both young and petrified. Derek couldn’t bring himself to look anymore, he quickly adverted his gaze.
He made his way near the other side of the stage with his parents, his steps feeling heavier and heavier as he walked. Then he heard a patter of footsteps behind him; someone else came into the square. He almost stopped breathing when he turned around, those stale green eyes meeting his gaze for a flicker of a moment.
A skinny girl with thick brown curls, wearing a faded blue dress that was obviously oversized.
Eva Stein.
Derek stopped and stood along his parents, trying not to look back at her. Maybe she was imaginary, and he was becoming delusional. But she was real; Derek could feel her presence behind him. He could hear the crowds murmur on the sidelines.
It was decided now. This Reaping was really going to be a disaster.
Derek inhaled. No one had heard of her since the previous Reaping, so the last person who saw her was probably Serena—he vaguely remembered Eva visiting her before Serena had left for the games. He’d assumed Eva was dead all this time, and so had everyone. Beaten to death by her parents—or possible suicide. Those were the main speculations among the people.
He wasn’t sure how he felt when he heard the rumors. He’d believed for many nights that Eva was the reason his sister was dead, but that was grief driving him. He knew it was wrong to condemn her, this girl who always wore long sleeves and bruises on her face, this girl his sister had loved so, so much. Derek did not feel hatred towards her like he once did, but still he wasn’t sure what to feel now, with this supposedly dead girl standing here looking very much alive.
He didn’t want to think about her now. He blinked and looked towards the stage. He could see Sapphire Stone, the escort of District 3, petite and dressed in a frivolous cerulean gown with pearls decorating her azure curls. She looked bright as ever, grinning widely. He wondered if she ever acknowledged the fact that she was practically a blue-haired grim reaper to this district. The Mayor stood next to her, his small dark eyes like coins, his grey hair slicked back.
The clock struck four, and he walked forward to the podium. Sapphire stepped aside, smiling at the audience.
The Mayor cleared his throat and started telling the story of Panem in that same stoic tone he used every year, but to Derek it was all gibberish. His eyes were glued to the Reaping Balls, looking at the little slips of paper. There were so few of them this year.
God, he didn’t want to think of who would be reaped, he really didn’t.
Let it be someone else, he thought as he glimpsed at his parents’ wearied faces. Please don’t let it be them.
The Mayor began reading the list of past District 3 victors. Only one was still alive. Derek watched as Monica Klein made her way up the stage, towering over the Mayor and Sapphire. She was fierce and beautiful as always, dressed in a gray suit and her dark hair in a neat bun. A short applause was given. Her amber eyes narrowed, scanning the audience.
The Mayor and her exchanged nods stiffly, and Sapphire was introduced. She sashayed to the podium and gave a painfully dazzling grin. “Happy Hunger Games! And may the Reaping begin!”
“Males first,” She smiled, dipping her hand into the ball as she pulls out a slip of paper. She smooths it out and squints as she reads.
Derek pressed his pendant between his fingers tightly.
Please. Let it be someone else.
“Marcus Miller!”
A death knell. Derek felt his blood run cold.
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Author's Notes:
Hi guys! Sorry this chapter wasn't as suspenseful or interesting, I wanted to focus on Derek's inner thoughts more bc he's just a very sensitive and sentimental lil boy alright🥹also for the sake of the story I've redesigned him to be 15.
As for the reaping time, yes y'all have probably seen my question post lol, I looked at the map of panem and just made up a schedule myself. I honestly don't know if it's accurate enough, but if it's not just bear w me🙏
Also, we're getting Eva's pov next! lmk your thoughts!! <33
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