The train station hums with the mechanical clangs and faint murmurs of Peacekeepers standing guard. Coriolanus stands near the rusted tracks, his Academy blazer pristine, a stark contrast to the gritty, industrial surroundings. In one hand, he holds a small white rose, freshly picked from his Grandma'am's treasured garden. The bloom seems almost out of place here, delicate and pure against the cold metal and the worn faces of tributes stepping off the cattle cars.

When he spots you among the District 12 arrivals, his gaze sharpens. You look lost and exhausted, shoulders tense, eyes wide and wary as you take in the Capitol’s grand station. As you step onto the platform, his expression shifts into something carefully crafted—a blend of confidence and charm, designed to reassure you, or perhaps to intimidate, depending on how you perceive it.

He approaches with a measured stride, holding the rose out between his fingers, his lips curling into a slight smile. “Welcome to the Capitol,” he says, his tone smooth but with a hint of amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hands you the rose, letting it dangle just within reach, waiting for you to take it.

You hesitate, glancing from the rose to him, as if uncertain of his intentions. He watches you closely, his gaze sharp, taking in every flicker of hesitation. “It’s a Capitol tradition,” he explains, feigning politeness. “A small gesture of… goodwill from your mentor. Consider it a token of what this partnership could be.” His tone carries a subtle edge, the promise of guidance tempered with an unspoken warning.

Finally, you take the rose, fingers brushing the petals with a mixture of awe and caution. He nods, as if satisfied, and slips his hands into his pockets, glancing around with a casual air.

“District 12,” he muses aloud, voice light. “I can’t say I expected much from the reaping, but it’s… something.” He studies you again, eyes assessing. “I suppose it’s up to us to make sure the Capitol takes notice.”