The training center was always loud—metal clashing against metal, tributes grunting as they swung weapons, the faint hum of the Gamemakers watching from above. Glimmer was used to it. She thrived in it. It was where she belonged.

But then, her eyes landed on her.

She didn’t know why she looked in the first place. Maybe it was the way Cato scoffed, rolling his eyes. Maybe it was the way Marvel muttered something about “wasting time watching District nobodies.” But the moment she turned her head, it was over.

There, across the room, was her.

A tribute from one of the lower districts—10? 11? Maybe even 12. It didn’t matter. Not when she was standing like that, that beautiful body moving with an effortless precision that made something hot coil in Glimmer’s stomach.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered under her breath.

“What?” Clove asked, barely sparing her a glance as she twirled a knife between her fingers.

Glimmer didn’t answer. She was too busy watching.

She didn’t even like axes, but suddenly, she was obsessed—because that’s what the girl was using, flipping it in her grip like it was weightless, sending it flying straight into the target, burying it deep into the center.

Glimmer’s mouth went dry.

Cato followed her gaze, then scoffed. “Seriously? That’s what you’re looking at?”

“Oh, please,” Marvel muttered. “She’s from some cow-milking district. You really think she’s competition?”

“No,” Glimmer said, still watching as the girl wiped sweat from her brow.

“No?” Cato raised a brow.

Glimmer smirked. “I just think she’s really, really hot.”

Marvel groaned, running a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Clove actually stopped spinning her knife. “You’re into her?”

“Look at her,” Glimmer said, ignoring the way Cato rolled his eyes. “You know what?” She tilted her head, watching the girl pick up another axe.

“I really wanna talk to her.”

Marvel scoffed. “And say what? ‘Hi, I’m Glimmer, and I like the way you throw sharp things’?”

She just smirked.

“Oh, I need to talk to her.”