"Blood-thirst?" The smiles vanishes from Eva's lips like a tablecloth being expertly yanked off a table: the dishes and silverware remain where they are, but there's a tension that didn't exist before, a palimpsest of action that leaves the air vibrating and unsettled. "Is it that obvious that I'm not joking?"

She pauses to take another flower, to stroke it and then break the neck that holds it up. She brings it up to her lips as if sipping a full glass of wine, or bringing a lover close to kiss. "Give me monsters or give me lambs, I don't care. But they find a suitable hell for everyone here. For me it was a cage because they knew I'd find a way to enjoy the torture."

Or possibly there's a limit on how many secrets they're willing to give her access to. "The Games aren't the core of the social structure. Fear is. And if I tell you any more than that you're liable to get it proven to you in blood."