It was bad enough, Wyatt had found, to receive gifts from excited sponsors when you killed someone, but to get one from a friend of the fallen, intended, but too late... his heart went out to her.

Hand steady on her shoulder, he opened his mouth, unsure if there was any way to really soothe something such as this, but intending to try -- when he was cut off by the arrival of another canister.

He frowned at it, as it descended, coming a soft rest a few feet away. He'd gone almost the entire arena without seeing the things once, and now there'd been three in a matter of days.

He couldn't say much for the Capitol's timing.

He looked back at her, a silent question, and then went to pick it up. Bending carefully, he scooped it into his arms and cracked it open, fishing out the note.

"This one's for ya," he said softly, offering it out to her.