Satan and St. Paul (Hunger Games OC x OC)

3.

Chapter Three: Training Days

The training center was a vast, open space filled with every kind of obstacle, weapon, and survival tool imaginable. The other tributes moved through the area with varying degrees of confidence, sizing each other up as they practiced their skills. The Careers were the most at ease, moving from station to station with the arrogance of those who had been training for this their entire lives.

Maggie stood on the outskirts, overwhelmed by the noise and activity. She watched as tributes launched into combat training, practicing with knives, swords, and axes. The sight of so much violence made her stomach turn, and she found herself gravitating toward the less threatening stations—those focused on survival skills like knot-tying, fire-starting, and plant identification.

She was carefully studying a station on edible plants when a shadow fell over her. Maggie looked up, her breath catching in her throat as she saw Boaz standing beside her. His presence was as imposing as ever, and for a moment, she was struck by how out of place he seemed in the gentle world of plants and herbs.

"You're wasting your time here," Boaz said, his voice low and even. "Those won't help you in the arena."

Maggie swallowed hard, trying to steady her nerves. "I... I don't know how to use any of the weapons. I thought maybe... maybe if I knew what I could eat, I'd have a better chance of surviving."

Boaz's gaze flicked over the plants, then back to her. "You'll need more than that to survive. The Careers won't give you time to forage."

Maggie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She knew he was right, but the thought of picking up a weapon terrified her. She was no fighter—she had spent her life avoiding conflict, not seeking it out.

Boaz seemed to sense her hesitation, and for a moment, his expression softened. "Come with me," he said, nodding toward the weapons station. "You'll need to learn how to defend yourself."

Maggie hesitated, fear clenching at her heart. But there was something in Boaz's eyes—a determination, a resolve—that made her nod and follow him. He led her to the station where various weapons were laid out, each one gleaming under the harsh lights.

Boaz picked up a small, simple knife and handed it to her. "Start with this. It's easy to handle and can be thrown if you need to."

Maggie took the knife with trembling hands, the weight of it unfamiliar in her grip. Boaz moved behind her, his large hands covering hers as he adjusted her hold on the knife. His touch was firm but not rough, guiding her with an unexpected gentleness.

"Hold it like this," Boaz instructed his voice a steady rumble in her ear. Maggie's heart pounded in her chest as she tried to focus on his instructions. "Your grip needs to be firm, but don't squeeze too tightly. You need to be able to react quickly." he pauses, squeezing her hand a little tighter, "Good."

Maggie nodded, trying to absorb everything he was telling her. She could feel the strength in Boaz's hands, the way he seemed completely at ease with the weapon. It was a stark reminder of how different they were—he was a born fighter, and she was just a girl who had never even held a knife before.

Boaz stepped back, giving her space. "Now, try throwing it. Aim for the target."

Maggie stared at the target in front of her, a simple wooden dummy with a painted bullseye on its chest. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. With a quick flick of her wrist, she threw the knife.

It missed the target entirely, clattering to the ground several feet away.

Maggie's face flushed with embarrassment, but before she could say anything, Boaz stepped forward again. He picked up the knife and handed it back to her, his expression unreadable.

"Try again," he said, his voice calm. "And don't overthink it. Just let it flow."

Maggie nodded, biting her lip as she took the knife from him. She tried to do as he said, not thinking too hard about what she was doing. She raised the knife and threw it again.

This time, it hit the edge of the target, barely sticking into the wood.

A small thrill of accomplishment shot through her, but it was quickly tempered by the knowledge that she was still far from proficient. She looked up at Boaz, expecting to see disappointment in his eyes, but instead, she saw something else—maybe a hint of approval.

"Better," he said, nodding slightly. "Keep practicing. You'll get the hang of it," he says encouragingly.

Maggie felt a small surge of hope at his words. If Boaz, who seemed so sure of himself, thought she could improve, maybe there was a chance for her after all. She nodded and returned to practicing, determined to get better, even if it took all day.

Boaz stayed by her side, offering quiet advice and correcting her technique as she practiced. His presence was intimidating, but strangely, it was also reassuring. He didn't coddle her, but he didn't belittle her efforts either. He simply helped her, guiding her with the same steady resolve that he applied to everything else.

As the hours passed, Maggie's throws began to improve. The knives started hitting closer to the center of the target, and while she was still far from being a skilled fighter, she was making progress. She was even starting to feel a little more confident, a little less like the helpless girl who had first stepped into the training center.

When they finally took a break, Maggie was exhausted but pleased with herself. She had never expected to get this far, and she couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could survive the arena.

As they sat down to rest, Boaz looked over at her, his expression as unreadable as ever. "You did well today."

Maggie blinked, surprised by the compliment. "Thank you," she said softly, still not quite believing it.

Boaz nodded, then turned his gaze back to the other tributes who were still training. "You're not like them," he said quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself. "You're... different."

Maggie wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she stayed silent, letting his words hang in the air. She wasn't sure if he meant it as a good thing or a bad thing, but she chose to take it as a positive. After all, being different was better than being just another target in the arena.

As the day drew to a close, Maggie found herself reflecting on how much had changed in such a short amount of time. She had gone from feeling completely out of place and terrified to having a small glimmer of hope. And Boaz, despite his intimidating presence, had helped her get there.

For the first time since she had been reaped, Maggie felt like she might have a chance. It was a slim one, but it was there.

And maybe, just maybe, Boaz Thornwell would be more than just her ally in the arena. Perhaps he could be her protector, her guide through the nightmare that awaited them both.

As they left the training center, Maggie couldn't help but feel a tiny flicker of determination light up inside her. She wasn't going to give up. She was going to fight, to survive, and to prove that even a scared little rabbit could find the strength to stand her ground.

And with Boaz by her side, maybe—just maybe—she could make it through this after all.