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

4.

The next morning dawned gray and overcast, matching the somber mood that had settled over District 11's tributes. The tension in the air was palpable as Maggie and Boaz made their way back to the training center. Today was the final day of training before their private sessions with the Gamemakers, where they would be judged and scored. Their performance today could determine whether they received valuable sponsors or were left to fend for themselves in the arena.

Maggie's nerves were frayed, her mind racing with worry. The fear of failing, of being judged unworthy, gnawed at her like a relentless beast. But she knew she couldn't afford to let her anxiety show. She needed to be strong—if not for herself, then for Boaz, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to protect her.

Boaz, on the other hand, appeared as calm and composed as ever, his expression a mask of indifference. But Maggie had learned to recognize the subtle signs of his tension: the slight clenching of his jaw, the way his eyes flickered toward potential threats in the room. He was on edge too, but he hid it well.

As they stepped into the training center, they were met with the sight of tributes honing their skills for the last time. The room was filled with the clatter of weapons, the thud of fists against punching bags, and the occasional sharp cry of pain as someone pushed themselves too far.

Maggie swallowed hard and looked up at Boaz. "What should we focus on today?" she asked, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

Boaz glanced around the room, assessing the other tributes with a critical eye. "We'll stick with what we've been doing," he said after a moment. "Knife throwing for you, hand-to-hand combat, and axe for me. But today, we'll push harder. We need to make sure you're ready for anything."

Maggie nodded, grateful for his steady guidance. She knew that without him, she would have been completely lost. They moved to their respective training stations, and Maggie began practicing her knife throws with renewed determination.

As the hours ticked by, the tension in the room only grew. Tributes whispered among themselves, eyeing each other with suspicion and fear. Everyone knew that by tomorrow, they would be in the arena, fighting for their lives. Friendships formed in the training center would mean nothing when survival was on the line.

Maggie's focus wavered, her mind drifting to the horrors that awaited them. She tried to push the thoughts away, to concentrate on her training, but it was difficult. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself in the arena, helpless and alone.

A sudden voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Keep your eyes on the target." the voice spoke, a hand gripping her chin in the direction of the target.

Maggie looked up to see Boaz standing beside her, his expression stern. He had finished his own training and had come to check on her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed by her lapse in concentration.

Boaz shook his head. "Don't apologize. Just focus. You're doing well, but you need to stay sharp."

Maggie nodded and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. She raised the knife and threw it, this time hitting the center of the target. A small smile tugged at her lips as she turned to Boaz, hoping for a sign of approval.

Boaz gave her a curt nod. "Better. Keep it up."

They continued training together for the rest of the day, with Boaz offering quiet words of advice and encouragement. Despite his intimidating presence, Maggie had come to trust him more than anyone else in this place. He was her anchor in the storm, the one person she could rely on when everything else seemed uncertain.

As the afternoon wore on, the tension in the training center reached a boiling point. Tributes were on edge, their nerves frayed as they anticipated the private sessions with the Gamemakers. Maggie couldn't help but feel a knot of dread in her stomach. She knew that whatever score she received could determine her fate in the arena.

When it was finally her turn, Maggie felt her heart rate spike. Boaz gave her a reassuring nod as she stepped forward, but she could see the worry in his eyes. He was concerned for her, and that only made her more determined to do well.

The private session room was cold and sterile, the Gamemakers watching her with detached curiosity. Maggie's hands trembled as she picked up the knife, but she forced herself to focus. This was her chance to prove that she wasn't just a helpless girl. She had to show them she had the strength to survive.

Taking a deep breath, Maggie threw the knife with all the precision and force she could muster. The blade struck the target dead center, embedding itself deep in the wood. There was a moment of silence as the Gamemakers exchanged glances, then a few of them scribbled notes on their pads.

Maggie's heart pounded in her chest as she awaited their judgment. After what felt like an eternity, the head Gamemaker, a stern-looking woman with sharp features, gave her a curt nod.

"You may go," she said, her tone emotionless.

Maggie nodded and left the room, her legs feeling like jelly. As soon as she was outside, she was met by Boaz, who had been waiting for her. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of pride in his eyes.

"How did it go?" he asked quietly.

"I—I think it went well," Maggie stammered, still trying to process what had just happened.

Boaz nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Good. You did what you needed to do. Now we wait."

They returned to the waiting area, where the other tributes were gathered, their faces pale and anxious. The scores would be announced later that evening, and everyone knew that those numbers could make or break their chances in the arena.

Maggie sat beside Boaz, her nerves on edge. She knew she had done her best, but she couldn't shake the fear that it might not be enough. She glanced at Boaz, who was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched. She could tell that even he was feeling the pressure.

As the evening wore on, the tributes were called to gather in the main hall for the announcement of their scores. The room was silent as the names were read out, each tribute's score appearing on a screen for all to see.

Maggie's heart pounded in her chest as the names were called one by one. When her name finally came up, she held her breath, her eyes fixed on the screen.

"Maggie Bellemont—7."

A wave of relief washed over her. It wasn't the highest score, but it was respectable, and it showed that she had potential. She glanced at Boaz, who gave her a small nod of approval.

When Boaz's name was called, the room seemed to hold its breath.

"Boaz Thornwell—10."

The number hung in the air, a testament to his skill and power. The other tributes exchanged nervous glances, and Maggie felt a surge of pride for her ally. He was strong, and now everyone knew it.

As the scores continued to be announced, Maggie couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. She had a chance—maybe a small one, but a chance nonetheless. And with Boaz by her side, she felt a little less afraid.

But she knew that the real test was yet to come. The arena awaited them, a place of unimaginable horrors where only one would emerge alive. Maggie could only hope that her growing strength and Boaz's unyielding resolve would be enough to see them through.

For now, all they could do was wait and prepare for the battle that lay ahead.