chapter 3
The morning sun crept weakly through the smog, turning the sky a pale shade of gold.
Ferial stirred on the couch, her hand and arm throbbing dully beneath the rough bandages.
The sounds of District Twelve seeped through the walls—distant voices, cart wheels creaking, a vendor shouting about stale bread.
Her grandmother was already awake, stirring a pot of porridge that smelled faintly of oats and water. There was no sugar, no milk—just the bland taste of survival. Nothing like what the werewolf enforcers ate or any other wolf. Just pure oats and water.
“Morning, Nana,” Ferial murmured, pushing herself upright.
Her grandmother turned, her smile soft but tired. “Morning, child. How’s the hand?”
“It’s fine,” Ferial lied, hiding the wince as she flexed her fingers. “Just a little sore.”
Her grandfather, sitting by the window patching an old pair of shoes, snorted. “You call that fine? Looks like you wrestled a furnace.”
Ferial laughed weakly and joined them at the table. The three of them ate in silence for a while until she cleared her throat. “Nana… Papa… there’s something happening this weekend.”
Both of them looked up at her.
“Abdie said the Alpha Supreme’s son and his Beta are coming to our district,” she explained. “They’re supposed to visit the civic center and hand out food parcels. Real food, apparently. Even meat.”
Her grandmother’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “Meat?” she whispered as if afraid the word might vanish.
Ferial nodded. “That’s what the enforcers were saying. They’re doing it for all the human districts, one by one and at random.”
Her grandfather scoffed. “The wolves don’t give anything for free. Don’t go getting your hopes up.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But if they’re handing things out, we should at least try. We can’t keep living on boiled potatoes and dry bread.”
Her grandmother reached over, touching her cheek with weathered fingers. “You’re right. Go with Abdie, but be careful. Crowds bring trouble. Wolves bring more.”
Ferial smiled faintly. “We’ll be careful.”
---
The weekend came quickly, and with it, a rare buzz of energy that rippled through District Twelve. Word spread fast—humans lined up in the streets before sunrise, their faces drawn but hopeful. For the first time in years, it felt like something was happening.
Ferial wrapped her scarf around her hair, slipping on her best shirt—one that wasn’t torn at the sleeves—and met Abdie near the edge of the district. He was already waiting, grinning ear to ear.
“Ready for the feast of the century?” he joked.
“Feast? If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get a sniff of it,” Ferial teased. “But yes, I’m ready.”
The walk to the civic center was long and crowded.
People filled every alley and side street, carrying empty bags and containers, some even clutching scraps of paper hoping they’d be called by name.
Children sat on walls, their feet dangling, while older humans argued softly about whether the rumors were true.
By the time Ferial and Abdie reached the square, it was packed. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, dust, and anticipation.
“Spirits above,” Ferial muttered. “There’s no way we’re getting in there.”
Abdie laughed. “You’re just not thinking creatively enough. Maybe if we climb the roof…”
She smacked his arm lightly. “Don’t even think about it.”
He grinned. “Fine, fine. But I’m telling you, if there’s meat in there, I’m willing to die trying.”
They found a spot near the edge of the crowd, where they could at least see the huge screen mounted on the civic center wall.
The setup was unlike anything District Twelve had ever seen—bright lights, sleek black vehicles, and rows of wolf enforcers standing guard, their armor gleaming.
Cameras hovered in the air, small and silent, capturing every angle.
“Guess the whole continent’s watching,” Abdie murmured. “Wouldn’t want the wolves to look bad on their big day.”
Ferial smirked. “You think they woud even remember we exist when the cameras aren’t around?”
He shrugged. “Maybe that’s the point of all this—to remind themselves we’re still alive.”
The murmurs of the crowd quieted as a deep voice echoed over the speakers.
“Citizens of District Twelve,” it boomed, calm but commanding. “Today marks a new era under the leadership of our future Alpha Supreme.”
Ferial craned her neck to look at the screen.
The image changed, showing a tall man stepping onto a stage flanked by others—his presence alone silenced even the restless crowd.
He wore a fitted dark uniform with silver insignias glinting on his chest, and though his face was calm, his eyes were sharp, the kind that missed nothing.
“That’s him,” someone whispered nearby. “The Alpha Supreme’s son.”
Abdie leaned close to Ferial. “Well, he definitely doesn’t look like someone who’s ever gone hungry.”
Ferial chuckled under her breath, watching as the camera panned across the other wolves beside him—men and women dressed immaculately, all with that same quiet authority.
The man on the screen began to speak. His voice carried effortlessly, deep and even, the kind of tone that could command armies.
“Our country's strength depends on every life within our territory. For too long, the human districts have gone on in silence. My father’s reign brought stability, but it is time to bring balance.”
His words were met with cautious murmurs. Ferial frowned slightly, unsure whether to believe him.
“Starting today,” he continued, “we are launching a program to restore dignity to the human settlements. This begins with nourishment—the most basic need of all.”
On the screen behind him, large crates were wheeled out. Wolves in uniform opened them, revealing parcels stacked neatly inside. Cameras zoomed in as meat, grains, and vegetables were distributed to the humans standing near the stage.
The crowd around Ferial erupted into noise—cheers, disbelief, desperate voices calling out. People pushed closer, but the gates stayed shut.
“Well,” Abdie said dryly, “looks like they’re feeding the front row first. The rest of us just get to watch.”
Ferial bit her lip. “It’s still something. Maybe they’ll bring more.”
He raised a brow. “You really think they’ll remember us back here? Half of them probably don’t even know this side of the fence exists.”
Nearby, an old man laughed bitterly. “They’ll hand out a few baskets for the cameras and vanish before sunset. Same old story.”
Ferial sighed but couldn’t help glancing back up at the screen. The Alpha’s son was speaking again, shaking hands with the humans closest to the stage, smiling in that careful, practiced way leaders do.
“He looks too serious for all this,” she murmured.
“Probably allergic to kindness,” Abdie muttered, earning a quiet laugh from her.
They stayed there for hours, watching as wolves handed out parcels under the relentless glare of the cameras. Some lucky humans left the gates with packages clutched to their chests, tears streaming down their faces. Others pushed forward only to be shoved back by enforcers.
Ferial’s stomach growled softly, the smell of cooked meat wafting faintly from the center. She pressed her hand against her abdomen and sighed. “Do you think they’ll bring any here?”
Abdie shrugged, though his tone was gentler now. “If they do, you get the first pick. Burned hand’s gotta count for something.”
She smiled faintly. “Deal. But if it’s rotten meat, I’m blaming you.”
He laughed. “At least we’ll die full.”
As the event wound down, the voice over the speakers thanked the crowd and promised continued aid. The cameras began to retract, and the enforcers started clearing the area.
One of the large screens showed a close-up of the Alpha’s son for a final moment. He was speaking with his Beta, expression unreadable, before looking briefly toward the distant crowd—toward the camera that happened to be filming the outer edges of the district.
For just a second, Ferial felt his gaze sweep past her. It was ridiculous—impossible—
Then the screen went dark.
The crowd began to scatter, muttering, some in disappointment, others in hollow hope. Ferial and Abdie stood there a while longer, silent as the enforcers started dismantling the stage.
“Well,” he said finally, “that was anticlimactic.”
Ferial exhaled softly. “At least we tried.”
They began the slow walk home through the evening chill, the streets buzzing with fragments of rumor—people swearing they’d been promised more aid, others claiming the Alpha’s son had smiled at them.
Abdie nudged her lightly. “You still thinking about your royal wolf handing out meat for the cameras?”he laughed.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m thinking about dinner.”
He grinned. “Good. Because I’ve got half a loaf of bread and a dream.”
Ferial laughed, the sound soft and weary, but real.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, she glanced back toward the civic center one last time. The stage lights were gone now, leaving only shadows where the wolves had stood.
And though she didn’t understand why, something told her that this wasn’t the end of it. The Alpha’s son wasn’t finished with District Twelve and neither were her hopes for a piece of meat.