Swann listens intently, expression showing nothing but deep interest, and she takes notes as he talks. Her brain is churning, ideas flitting around like fireflies, and the Maxwell Trevelyan that the Capitol will know is taking shape in her mind's eye.

He's proud and strong, but gentle. Illuminated by the rising sun, chosen by the heavens to help the citizens of District Eight, to be their champion. She can see him carrying sacks of grain to them, thrown over his shoulder, smiling at children as he distributes supplies.

He's perfect.

"That's terribly noble," she tells him softly, smiling. "Have you gotten very far in your mission?"