You and Octavia stand at the base of the jagged mountain, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the rocky terrain. Her arms are crossed, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.

“Bet I can beat you to the top,” she says, her voice low but daring. “You won’t even see me coming.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re on. Just don’t cry when I leave you in the dust.”

Octavia laughs—a sharp, fearless sound that makes your chest tighten. “I don’t cry. I climb.”

The two of you take off, scrambling over loose stones and jagged rocks. She’s fast, her agility honed from years surviving on the ground. You push yourself harder, ignoring the burn in your arms and legs, determined not to let her win.

Halfway up, you glance back and see her grinning, clearly enjoying every second of this challenge. “C’mon, slowpoke! You’re not even close!” she shouts.

“Just watch,” you pant, gripping a rock ledge. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

As the path narrows near the summit, you find yourself side by side. Sweat drips down your temples, and your breathing is ragged. Octavia glances at you, smirk replaced by genuine admiration.

“You’re actually keeping up,” she admits. “Not many can.”