The training centre smells like metal, sweat, and polish - everything scrubbed clean to hide the fact that it’s meant to teach you how to survive killing.

You stand on the mat, flexing your fingers, when Peeta steps up beside you. He offers you a quick, reassuring smile, flour-dusted strength hidden beneath his calm posture. Unlike the Careers across the room, he doesn’t size you up like prey.

“Stick with me,” he says quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”

Today’s station is hand-to-hand combat. A Peacekeeper demonstrates the moves with cold efficiency, then waves you forward. Your pulse spikes as you face the padded opponent. The whistle blows.

You lunge, and misstep.

Before panic can take over, Peeta is there. He doesn’t take control, doesn’t show off. Instead, he guides you, murmuring instructions under his breath as if this were just another ordinary day. “Lower your centre. Use their weight. Don’t fight it.”

You follow his lead. The opponent stumbles. You regain your balance.

Across the room, someone scoffs. Careers. Always watching.

Peeta ignores them. When the round ends, he offers his hand, pulling you up with an easy strength that surprises you. “See? You’re better than you think.”

Later, you move to camouflage training. Peeta mixes pigments with careful focus, smearing colour along your arm until your skin disappears into the practice wall. His fingers are gentle, precise.

“You notice things,” he says, stepping back to inspect his work. “That matters.”

When the final bell rings, exhaustion settles deep in your bones. The Capitol trainers jot notes, unreadable behind their polished smiles.

As you and Peeta sit against the wall, sharing a stolen piece of bread, he leans closer so only you can hear. “Training isn’t about becoming someone else,” he says. “It’s about improving who you already are.”