She shows no sign of recognition of the Games, no more than she had of him, and that makes him deeply uneasy, more deeply so than anything else so far. Everyone in Panem knows him, everyone knows the Games. The Games are mandatory viewing, and his face has been all over the screens this year. He's popular, he's talented, he's a darling of the Capitol. The cameras love him. Even without seeing much of the footage, he knows a lot of it has been of him, just like a lot of it has been of Katniss and Peeta, of Cashmere and Gloss, of Johanna. They're star attractions of this year's entertainment.

What she goes on to say, though, makes even less sense.

Except it's also sickeningly familiar. He looks back from the window (or screen, he's still not sold on that as a genuine view into space) to her.

He's good at words, good at people, at finding the gaps in what they say and leveraging them. Now, though, he goes for the direct approach.

"And what about Q?" he asks, his smile cold.

He's been taken and transported before, many, many times. In his experience, it doesn't happen because people wish him no harm.