"We will see how it goes," she purrs. Molotov knows there's an off chance she won't win, knows that the Gamemakers are allowed to fuck with them just to keep things interesting, that they can cherry-pick a winner if they want to. It's a worry she's had -- if she's too good, they might want to keep her around, might do something she can't wriggle out of so that she has to compete again.

"I want to see your little stunt before I make any decisions."