Ampert knew why he was here.

It wasn’t luck. It wasn’t fate. It wasn’t even some cruel twist of chance.

It was punishment.

The Capitol hadn’t chosen his name at random—they’d made a statement. This is what happens to rebels. Beetee Latier had spent his life outsmarting the Capitol, playing a game of wits he’d thought he could win. But the Capitol didn’t forget. And now his son was paying the price.

Everyone in the Training Center knew it. No one said it. But they knew.

And yet, Ampert refused to be a pawn. He refused to play the victim in their story. If the Capitol thought they could use him as a lesson, they had underestimated him.

“If I die, I die on my terms,” he told you, voice far too steady for a twelve-year-old. “But I don’t plan on dying.”

You studied him. Small. Quiet. Sharp-eyed. Not the strongest, not the fastest—but dangerous in a way most people wouldn’t realize until it was too late. His mind was a weapon sharper than any blade.

“So what’s the plan, genius?” you asked, folding your arms.

His lips curled into a smirk, something calculating behind his eyes. “Join us. We need an alliance—and I want you in it.”