The air in District 12 tastes like coal dust and despair. It clogs my lungs as I swing the pickaxe, my arms burning from hours in the mines. I'm not supposed to be here—girls my age are meant to stick to scavenging or trading—but rules don't feed my sister. Mira's too young to know how close we are to starving, and I'll keep it that way as long as I can. My name is Lilia Thorn, and this is my life: work, hunger, and the constant dread of Reaping Day.
Today, that dread is a living thing, clawing at my chest. The Reaping for the 76th Hunger Games is hours away, and the square is already buzzing with nervous energy. I slip out of the mines, wiping sweat and grime from my face, and head home to find Mira. She's sitting on our rickety porch, her blonde braid swinging as she hums a tune our mother used to sing. Her eyes, too big for her twelve-year-old face, light up when she sees me.
"Lilia! You're back!" She bounds over, wrapping her arms around my waist. I hug her tightly, ignoring the ache in my bones.
"Ready for the square?" I ask, forcing a smile. She nods, but her grip on my hand tightens. We both know what today means. No one's safe, not even kids like her.
The walk to the square is silent, the crowd's murmurs growing louder with every step. Peacekeepers line the edges, their white uniforms glaring against the gray of District 12. I hold Mira's hand, my thumb brushing over her knuckles to calm her—or maybe to calm myself. The stage looms ahead, where Effie Trinket's pink wig bobs as she chatters about "honor" and "glory." I tune her out, my eyes scanning the faces around me. Everyone looks hollow, like ghosts waiting for a death sentence.
When Effie's hand dips into the girls' bowl, time slows. My heart pounds, a drumbeat drowning out her voice. And then—
"Lilia Thorn!"
The world tilts. Mira's gasp is the only sound that breaks through the haze. I feel her small hands clutch at my arm, but a Peacekeeper is already pulling me toward the stage. My legs move on instinct, each step heavier than the last. The crowd parts, their eyes a mix of pity and relief. I'm not their sister, their daughter. I'm just another sacrifice.
Onstage, Effie's smile is too bright, her voice too chipper. "Come now, dear, don't be shy!" I want to scream, to run, but I stand there, numb, as she moves to the boys' bowl. I don't hear the name she calls. All I can think about is Mira, alone now, watching me from the crowd.
The Peacekeepers escort me to the Justice Building, where I'm supposed to say my goodbyes. Mira's sobs echo in my ears as she's dragged away, promising to wait for me. I slump against the wall, my hands shaking. In my pocket, my fingers brush against the only thing I have left of my mother—a tarnished silver pendant she gave me before she died. It's shaped like a crescent moon, etched with a strange symbol I've never understood. I clutch it, the metal warm against my palm, and for a moment, it feels like she's here with me.
Then it happens.
The pendant pulses, a faint glow spreading from the symbol. My breath catches as the air around me shimmers, like heat rising off the pavement. Before I can scream, the room vanishes. The cold stone floor is gone, replaced by polished wood. The dim light of the Justice Building gives way to a cavernous hall lit by flickering chandeliers. Voices—sharp, unfamiliar—echo around me. I stumble, catching myself on a table carved with intricate patterns. Where am I?
"Who the hell are you?" a voice snaps.
I spin around, my heart racing. A boy stands a few feet away, maybe a year older than me, with dark hair falling into his eyes. He's dressed in black—leather, of all things—and there's a dagger strapped to his thigh. His hand hovers over it, like he's ready to gut me. Behind him, a girl with fiery red hair and a guy with a bow slung over his shoulder watch me warily. They're not Peacekeepers, but they're not from District 12 either. Their clothes, their weapons, the strange tattoos on their skin—it's all wrong.
"I—I don't know," I stammer, my voice hoarse. "Where am I?"
The boy's eyes narrow, but before he can answer, the pendant in my hand flares again. A wave of energy surges through me, sharp and electric, and I gasp as the symbol on it burns into my vision. The room spins, and I hear the boy shout something, but it's too late. Darkness swallows me whole.
When I open my eyes, I'm still in the hall, but now I'm surrounded. The boy from before kneels beside me, his dagger sheathed but his expression hard. "You're not a mundane," he says, like that's supposed to mean something. "That rune on your necklace—it's Nephilim. Who are you, and why did you portal into the New York Institute?"
I stare at him, my mind reeling. Nephilim? Institute? None of it makes sense. All I know is that I'm not in Panem anymore. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
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**Author's Note**
Hey, everyone! Welcome to *Flames of the Shadows*! This is my first fanfic blending *The Hunger Games* and *Shadowhunters*, and I'm so excited to share Lilia's journey with you. What do you think of her so far? Any guesses about what's up with that pendant? 😏 Drop a comment and let me know—I love hearing your thoughts! If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote and add the story to your library for updates. New chapters every week! 💖