In her second year they were given the afternoon to do their own training. They had to be there until five and be training most of the time but they had their pick of exercises. She tried to change it up occasionally, mainly it was just when people had beaten her to the knives and blocked her path before she could grab one and force them to leave.

It was late one night when he ran into her again in the dark hallways of the training centre. After hours only the second floor was open for training and only a few people stayed. He was always there until the guard passed at seven o'clock and sent him home. His father praised his enthusiasm.

He spotted her at the combat station, attempting to discover the secret of a particular chokehold on a dummy.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, laughing silently at her struggle. She looked so tiny, compared to the dummy, that it was ridiculous to imagine her ever winning a fight against an actual human being. He knew that she could do it, she was stronger than would be expected and she held a sadistic streak that peeked out when she was under pressure. That sadism was what made her so deadly but she only found it when she was truly fearful. If she wanted to become a warrior she needed to learn how to find it whenever she felt like it, in fact she needed to be it rather than just have it. Clove would one day be just a sadistic girl, that's what the training centre was for, it's the only way she could become a victor.

He entered the room but she didn't look up. 'Wouldn't that work better with a living opponent?'

To her credit she didn't even jump, maybe she had sensed him watching her. She let the dummy fall to the floor and kicked it away. Looking up at him with one eyebrow raised and her hands sitting on her hips she said, 'are you volunteering?'

'Wouldn't want to hurt you,' he said casually.

She rolled her eyes. 'You would be the one in pain after I'm finished with you.'

Something in the way she said it made him fire up slightly. He was certain that she wouldn't be able to beat him and Cato never backed down from a fight. What did he have to lose? 'Alright, you're on.'

Thus began a tradition. They would train together at least once a week. He would teach her combat techniques and she would sharpen his long distance fighting. They learnt quickly, and mainly through pain.

They learnt from their mistakes. He had scars covering his body from the sharp blades of her favourite knives and her bones ached when it was cold from his sharp blows. They each liked the pain, the reminders that they were stronger for every ache, every sting, and every bruise.

At first they would be hesitant to begin. One of them would wait until the other was struggling with something and offer to help. But once they began sparring they became fluid because both of them were built to fight.

He was obviously a physical fighter. He was impulsive and that was an advantage occasionally because he needed the element of surprise to get her off edge. He could duck and dodge her knives for hours but when she hesitated for just a second too long he had to take the lead. In an instant she would be pinned underneath him, arms over her head, the knife falling to the ground as she fell. It was his way of being. He was upfront and instinctual.

She was a mental fighter. She would plan the moves in her head, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She learnt his methods and used them against him, after a while she began to give him a second to make his move but he would regret it as soon as the blood flowed from yet another wound. She was manipulative and she loved every second of it.

They knew each other's every move. She knew that when his tongue peaked out from behind his lips that he was going to hold position for a while. He knew that her hand curling around the blade in a particular way meant she was going in for the last shot of the day.

They didn't say anything but they each considered the other to be a friend, a friend that dreamt of was to kill the other but a friend nonetheless. Allies would be a better word but it wasn't like they had something to fight together against. It was the way of their district, you don't have friends, you just have allies.

When she finally beat him for the first time, she pressed the blade into his throat just enough to break the skin. She watched, almost gleefully, as the crimson blood flowed from the wound. It most certainly wasn't the first time that she had drawn his blood but it was the first time she did it out of pure want. She had no need to make that final cut, she had already won the fight, but she wanted that little bit more.

He smirked as he watched her hovering above him. The slight pain in his neck was nothing compared to his wounded pride. He didn't mind it all that much though. She would never tell anyone that he'd lost because these trainings were theirs alone. These trainings were theirs to learn from each other and he had succeeded in teaching her. She now held that spark in her eye, the one that promised pain and misery, well beyond the moment that she had him pinned to the ground with a knife at his throat. She was his fighter now.

I would love to know what you think about this, it's very different from what I usually write so any feedback would be fantastic. Thank you to those who have reviewed the last two chapters, and favourites and alerts too.