Quintus, unfortunately for Linden, doesn't miss the body language cues--especially because that position is one he finds himself in from time to time, struggling to quite catch his breath against the poor elasticity of his repaired lung. He thinks back to that incident at the bar, recalls Linden's deer-in-the-headlights stare, the taut panic in his frame. So different from this pathetic posturing, this begging for sympathy.

(It gets harder as time passes, Emily had told Quintus when he'd asked. The endless media parade, the deaths of Tributes, the nightmares. There are so many ways to break a person, especially one already damaged.)

"I know," he says, and after a moment's hesitation he finds himself taking a step closer and lowering his voice. "How sick are you, Mr. Lockhearst?"