Her eyes are closed, so she can't see the way his narrow at the word 'mercenary'. Whatever he's thinking of her, she's already combed through in her own head a hundred times over since coming to Panem. She doesn't know if she can say she left that life behind when she was taken here and then just chose never to return to her role as a 'professional superhero'.

His words ooze over her in slow motion, impeded by all the alcohol in her system, made syrupy and elastic by the mushy buzz of her senses. She keeps talking and keeps listening. It's better than sinking into the dark.

"Georgia. Georgia by way of Hollywood. You?"