The sun hung low over the ridgeline, casting long golden streaks across the Seam. Haymitch Abernathy wiped coal dust from his neck with the hem of his shirt, the scent of smoke and sweat clinging to him as he trudged the narrow path past rusted fences and tired houses. His legs ached from hauling sacks of kindling all morning, a breeze tugged at his dark, curly hair, still damp from work. The scent of ash and wildflowers mixed in the air.

He was going to see his girlfriend—Lenore Dove Baird.

She was usually with her geese near the edge of the meadow by now, singing soft songs. Haymitch could already hear her voice in his mind, light as down feathers. But today the hill was empty—no white geese, no Lenore Dove.

His heart sank a little, until he spotted a flutter of blue skirt near her home. She stood beneath the porch awning, braiding her hair. When she caught sight of him, her face lit up. Haymitch grinned despite himself and walked up the narrow steps.

"I missed you in the meadow," he said, brushing a curl from her cheek.

“I missed you first,” Lenore Dove said, teasing.

They hadn’t spoken in a day and a half, and that felt like a year in Seam time. They stood close, too close, hands brushing. He leaned in to kiss her—

“Lenore Dove!” a sharp voice cracked through the air like a whip.

They froze.

Uncle Clerk Carmine stood across the yard, thick arms crossed, eyes like cold nails. Haymitch straightened, jaw tight. Clerk's leather belt gleamed with soot and pride, and his presence always made Haymitch’s shoulders stiffen.

“I told you to keep away from her, Abernathy.” Clerk Carmine’s voice was low but threatening.

Lenore Dove stepped between them, her chin high. “Uncle—”

“You hush.” Clerk Carmine’s eyes didn’t leave Haymitch. “What’d I tell you about slinking ‘round my niece?”

“I know what boys like him want.” Carmine stepped forward, his boots crunching the gravel. “I know his family. Rebels, bootleggers. His father burned in the mines, and his boy’s headed the same way. He’s the kind that dies young.”