The training center was a cavernous, sterile arena of possibility.
Obstacles, weapons, and simulation booths sprawled out across a polished white floor. Each station was manned by Capitol staff—some smiling, others bored, all watching. Cameras weren't supposed to be rolling yet. But they were.
Goo could feel it in the air.
Rue stayed close at first. She clung to the shadows, drifting toward the plant identification corner like it was the only safe place in the world. Goo didn't stop her. He watched her from the edge of the mat, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Then he walked—calm, quiet, calculating—to the stations.
He picked up a spear.
Weighed it.
Balanced it in one hand.
Then put it down.
He moved on to knives.
Then to snares.
Then to camouflage.
Each time, he barely touched the tools before walking away.
By the end of the first hour, the instructors thought he was a joke. Lazy. Distracted. Disinterested.
He liked it that way.
The Careers weren't hiding anything.
They laughed loud. Boasted louder. Took turns showing off at the combat stations. They circled the center of the training floor like they owned it—swinging swords, shoving others aside, testing one another's speed and strength with open aggression.
Goo sat on the ground and watched.
He didn't need to fight them yet.
That's what they want, he thought. To size me up. To box me in.
He wasn't going to let them.
He let them ignore him. Let them underestimate him.
But he never took his eyes off them.
The tall boy from District 2—Brutus, they called him—was strong but wasted movement. His power came from his size, not skill.
The girl—Cassia—was more dangerous. Sharp. Clean technique. She was always looking when others weren't. Calculating.
They'd be trouble.
Eventually.
On the second day, he visited Rue at the plant station. She was kneeling in front of a tray of roots and leaves, speaking quietly with one of the trainers. Her hands moved quickly, weaving a makeshift poultice.
"You're hiding," Goo said simply, crouching beside her.
"So are you," Rue shot back.
He smiled at that. "Yeah. But you're hiding from the Games. I'm hiding from the players."
She gave him a look. "And what are you going to do when the Games start?"
He stared at the tray of poisonous berries she'd been sorting. "Play," he said.
The third day, someone pushed him.
It was the boy from District 4—muscular, tan, all arrogance. He shoved Goo during lunch, smirking when Goo's tray clattered to the floor.
"Didn't see you there," the boy said.
Everyone was watching.
Goo looked down at the mess. Picked up a piece of bread. Took a bite.
The boy sneered. "Nothing to say?"
Goo met his eyes.
"I said I didn't see you," the boy repeated.
"You're right," Goo replied, chewing slowly. "You didn't."
Then, in one motion, he grabbed the boy by the collar, slammed him face-first into the table, and held him there. Calm. Controlled. Effortless.
He leaned in.
"But I see you."
Blood dripped from the boy's nose. His body went limp under Goo's hand.
Then Goo let him go.
No more. No less.
Just enough.
That night, in the elevator back to the Tribute Tower, Rue stared at him.
"You said you were hiding."
"I was."
"Not anymore?"
Goo turned to her.
"They needed to see what happens when they stop looking."