Jason seems to spare little thought to the bargain, as if the answer for something so small is foregone. As if he's tossing away paper plates or locking the door when he leaves, something automatic, something disposable. "Fine. Can't say I'm much a fan of your Stylist's tastes anyway. I'll drop him a line to give you leeway."

He paces around the kitchen for a moment, feeling the way his nice shoes are starting to split a seam, how he's going to have to get those fixed because he can't afford a new pair.

"You're aware what you get if you win, aren't you? That the children in your District will have enough to eat this winter?"