The motion of the train was the only thing that kept Rowan from losing all sense of time. Now and then the steady rhythm beneath his feet faltered, the carriage slowing hard enough for the pull of inertia to shift his weight from where he crouched with his back against the wall. Whenever that happened, new sounds crept through the metal around him—muffled pounding, distant shouting, once the sharp edge of a scream before it vanished again. The noises never lasted long, swallowed up by the thick steel of the compartment until Rowan was left alone with the hum of the engine and the uneasy feeling that he was being carried farther and farther from home.
When the crackling announcement finally broke through the darkness, it made him flinch despite himself. The cheerful familiar voice of Lucky Flickerman followed, bright and theatrical, and spilled out rules and welcomes and promises of luxury aboard the Train of Panem. Rowan listened without moving, catching every word out of sheer instinct, the way he would listen for a branch snapping deep in the forest.
Then came the click of the lock.
For a moment, Rowan didn’t move.
Somewhere beyond the door he could hear others reacting—metal sliding, footsteps spilling into corridors, voices raised in confusion or excitement. The sudden noise made the small room feel tighter around his chest. The air inside had long since grown stale, too still, too quiet. No wind. No leaves. No forest.
He pushed himself to his feet slowly.
The door slid open with a soft mechanical hum, revealing a corridor far brighter than his eyes were ready for. A few tributes hurried past the opening without sparing him a glance, drawn down the train toward whatever food or spectacle the Capitol had waiting. Rowan watched them go before finally stepping out himself.
The train smelled wrong—too clean, too polished. Rowan kept close to the side as he walked, letting the louder groups drift ahead of him toward the bustling cars further down.
Voices and movement thickened as he passed the dining car. The smell of rich food drifted out into the hall, drawing most of the others inside.
Rowan kept going.
Car by car, the crowd thinned until the corridor finally opened toward the rear of the train, where a wall of glass curved high overhead, the evening sky stretching wide above the train. Beyond it, the countryside rushed past in a blur of dark fields and distant tree lines.
He moved closer until the glass surrounded him.
For the first time since the cell door had closed behind him, Rowan drew a slow, steady breath. His calloused hand lifted to rest against the cool surface, eyes following the dark shapes of forest as they flickered past in the distance.
The train roared onward through Panem.
And Rowan Burl stood quietly beneath the glass sky, watching the world he’d been taken from disappear mile by mile.
