The training center smelled of steel and sweat, a sharp contrast to the sickly sweet aroma of roses that clung to Coriolanus Snow like a second skin. You stood before him, hands clenched at your sides, trying to steady your breath.

It was just the two of you now, hidden away from the prying eyes of the Gamemakers and Capitol sponsors. He had dismissed them all with a flick of his wrist, a silent command that they obeyed without question.

Now, he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, though his words were anything but comforting.

“Win,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. “Win for me, and I will give you the world. Lose, and… well, let’s not consider that option, shall we?”

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back. That would be a mistake—a show of weakness. And Coriolanus Snow did not tolerate weakness.

“You act like I have a choice,” you muttered, forcing your voice to remain steady.

He smiled, but it was not kind. It was a calculated expression, carefully crafted to unsettle. “Ah, but you do. You can fight, survive, and return to me. Or you can die, and become nothing more than a cautionary tale.”