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Everyone had something to show off in the training center—from monkey-climbing bars to stations for memorization, traps and snares, close combat drills, and long-range weapons. Chaos buzzed throughout the room, filled with groans, grunts, and the harsh clash of armaments.
Estella rubbed her temple, feeling a headache creep in from all the tumultuous noise, her sensitive ears not taking it well. Her eyes scanned the area until they landed on Rue, who lounged casually on the net strung high above the training floor. The girl balanced a knife between her fingers, her gaze flicking around the room, possibly searching for its original owner. Estella followed Rue's line of sight and found Cato, clearly confused and patting himself down, his expression twisted in frustration.
Smirking to herself, Estella saw the perfect opportunity to stir the pot—a delicious little moment to ignite some tension between the Careers. The training center was a chaotic buzz of movement: metal clashing, weapons being hurled at targets, grunts and shouts of exertion echoing off the walls. Yet in that frenzy, Estella moved like a shadow. Marvel stood at the far side of the room, slightly apart from the others, sharpening a blade as if he could intimidate the steel into slicing better. He was cocky, always had been. That was what made him such a satisfying target.
Estella narrowed her eyes, watching his stance, the rhythm of his hands, waiting for the beat between movements when his focus would momentarily waver. Everyone else was too engrossed in their own drills to notice the subtle stalk in her posture as she crept behind him, gliding through the gaps between tributes like smoke. Just as Marvel shifted his weight and instinctively glanced over his shoulder—some sixth sense tickling at the back of his neck—Estella mirrored him perfectly.
She moved with deliberate precision, tilting her head just slightly, as if she, too, had felt something and was turning to investigate.
That subtle imitation, the synchronicity of motion, gave her just the cover she needed.
In a blink, her fingers ghosted into his side pocket, and in one smooth, practiced flick, the dagger nestled there vanished into her grip. The cool steel slid into her hand without resistance. Before Marvel could blink twice, Estella had already melted back into the crowd of tributes, ducking between two boys sparring with short swords and using the clang of blades to mask her retreat. She didn't look back—there was no need. The job was done.
With her prize in hand, she made her way toward the climbing nets, barely sparing a glance at the others as she scaled the ropes with the ease of someone who'd been scaling walls her entire life. Her limbs moved like liquid, swift and sure, finding every foothold and knot without pause. Within seconds, she reached the upper level, crouching just beside Rue, who was lounging in her usual perch, her legs dangling casually over the net as she absentmindedly twirled a different knife between her fingers.
Rue flinched at Estella's sudden appearance, instinctively drawing a breath to scream—but Estella moved quicker. She reached out and clapped a hand over Rue's mouth, eyes twinkling with mischief as she pressed a finger to her lips in a silent plea for quiet. The younger's alarm faded into confusion as she watched Estella slowly raise the stolen dagger, letting it balance precariously on her pointer finger like a circus trick.
