Linden shivers, but it's not all disgust. Kevin was fascinating to him when he was here for many reasons, and the Mentor had even felt strangely jealous of the man with a chip in his brain that forced him to be in a constant state of bliss and happiness. Even twisted, that wasn't so condemnation-worthy, Linden thinks; it's not so different from drowning sorrows in alcohol or Morphling. He was creepy, but he had an excuse that Linden would probably sell what was left of his soul for.

At least, that used to be the case. These days, he's trying to remember that he has other reasons to be, other important responsibilities that require him to be present and capable of perceiving his surroundings accurately. Maybe not so dire as being in an Arena, but he's in a position to help and protect his Tributes, and he can do that better sober, once he's out of the horrifically uncomfortable withdrawal process and learns how to deal with fear and boredom naturally again.

"I've always felt like I lived on the edge of that," Linden says. "If I wasn't a Victor, I feel I'd have gotten way more than a night in jail for snapping at Compson, but if I was a born Capitolite, like him... I doubt I'd have been punished at all."