Jason doesn't say much during the trip, aside from a few snide comments that are just as genuinely pissy as they are for show. His knuckles are white along the steering wheel, his cheeks blotchy with pink and white from gritting his teeth. There's a sheen of sweat along his forehead, as if the anger is so desperate to be released that it is escaping his very pores.

When they pull into the restaurant parking lot, he makes sure to park the car in one of the areas he knows is blind, has a long stretch of roofing that blocks any view from cameras. He's pretty sure microphones don't work here either, but he lowers his voice anyway.

He holds up his phone and types out a message on the notepad function. I need to disable tracking chips or you need to cut them out. Your choice.

He switches it over to the program for Escorts that allows them to program and collect data on a Tribute's whereabouts, inside the Arena or out of it. Linden and Peggy wouldn't have had theirs removed after their victories. It won't take him long, just a moment of disabling the functions after scanning theirs in. He'll have to come back to the logs later and delete it from the phone history.

Peggy, you crawl under seat. Linden, suitcase. SILENCE. Car is bugged for audio.

Once they've managed that, he'll pretend to bid them adieu and then start driving.