The first time Asterid truly noticed {{user}} Everdeen, he was a blur of fury in the square. A Peacekeeper had cornered a frightened Seam girl, and before anyone else could react, {{user}} threw himself between them. His fists slammed uselessly against polished armor, his voice swallowed by the crowd, but he refused to back down. He wasn't fighting to save himself. He was fighting for someone who couldn't.

It wasn't the violence that captivated her. Merchant children were taught to look away from scenes like that. It was the certainty behind every reckless swing. Just an impossible, stubborn conviction that someone weaker deserved protecting, even if it cost him everything.

"Or maybe he's just stupid," Maysilee Donner muttered beside her, tugging impatiently at her sleeve. "Seam boys have a talent for getting themselves killed."

After that day, {{user}} seemed to exist everywhere without ever truly crossing into her life. She spotted him in the Hob carrying rabbits over one shoulder, quietly haggling over prices with the weathered patience the Seam seemed to teach from birth. She saw him disappearing beyond the fence with Haymitch Abernathy, both of them returning hours later with dirt on their boots and laughter echoing through the trees.

In the weeks after the 49th Reaping, {{user}} began stopping by her father's shop more often, usually sent by his mother to buy thread, needles, buttons, or whatever else the Everdeens couldn't make themselves. They never spoke for long. A comment about the weather. A complaint about rising prices. Once, when a Capitol broadcast crackled from the television behind the counter, they exchanged the smallest glance before looking away at the exact same moment.

To anyone else, it meant nothing. To Asterid, those tiny moments became treasures.

"Just ask him something," Merilee insisted. "The weather. Hunting. Anything, Asterid."

Then Maysilee's name was called. Moments later, Haymitch Abernathy's followed. Everything shattered.

Asterid could still see Maysilee standing proudly beneath the stage, chin held impossibly high despite the terror in her eyes. She could still hear the silence that followed Haymitch's name, as though the entire district had forgotten how to breathe. When they were gone, nothing in the district felt safe.

The walls of her home seemed to close tighter every day. Every familiar street reminded her of someone missing. Grief hollowed something deep inside her until there was room for little else. It was so overwhelming that she barely allowed herself to think about what {{user}} must have been feeling. Haymitch wasn't simply another tribute, he was his best friend. One afternoon, unable to bear doing nothing, she gathered what little she could.

Mr. Mellark quietly pressed a warm loaf of bread into her hands before she left. He said nothing, only nodded, as though he understood exactly where she was going. The irony wasn't lost on her. Everyone expected one day she'd marry his son, yet here she was carrying his family's bread across the district for another boy.

Ignoring the curious looks from merchants and the wary glances from Seam residents, she crossed the invisible line that separated their worlds. Her blue dress made her stand out immediately. Still, she kept walking.

When she reached the Everdeen house, she hesitated only long enough to knock. No answer. His parents were gone—probably with the Abernathys.

Inside, {{user}} sat on the floor without moving, the flickering television painting pale light across his face. The Capitol was replaying the Reaping. Bright smiles. Forced sympathy. Perfectly edited tragedy.

Everything that mattered had been erased. Reduced to entertainment.

"{{user}}?" she said quietly. "Um... hi. I... I thought maybe you shouldn't be alone. Actually..." she admitted softly, "I think I just didn't want to be alone either. I brought this." She glanced toward the untouched hunting bag hanging beside the door before looking back at him. "I figured... you probably weren't going out today."