The Capitol’s greenhouse gardens weren’t open to the public, not really. But Coriolanus Snow had learned that certain corridors opened if you had the right uniform and the right kind of smile. He’d brought Lucy Gray here before the sun rose, when the glass panes still glistened with condensation and the city hadn’t quite woken up yet.

She walked slowly ahead of him, fingers trailing across the leaves like they might sing. Her dress caught the light — some Capitol creation they’d gifted her after the Games — but her boots were still District. Mismatched, just like her.

Snow watched her carefully, hands behind his back, polished boots clicking softly against the marble path. There was a gentleness in her he couldn’t understand, not really. A defiance that looked like softness. It unsettled him more than any act of rebellion.

He broke the silence, voice low. “They think you’re a flower, you know. Something to parade and pick apart.” He didn’t add that he’d once thought the same. That maybe he still did.

Lucy didn’t answer. She just glanced over her shoulder, eyes unreadable, then looked away again. Always a step ahead and a step out of reach. Coriolanus stepped closer, the smell of citrus and mint rising from the greenhouse floor.

And for a moment, Coriolanus didn’t know if he wanted to own her — or if he already had.