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Summary
She tosses her head, shaking off "unqualified" with disdain. "Well, I have watched you in the pit, for the last four months. I know you are a better fighter than you have let on. I know you need a standard bearer, and I have my means. And," she pauses, and he realizes she has fixed him with a look, "I know who you are."
Another round of that adrenaline cocktail, this time undiluted, straight up. He should name it. Lady in Red.
"Is that so?" he answers neutrally, calculating.
"Mmm," she nods. "Something about you always struck me as off. Parkinson too. So I did some fairly painstaking research. Called in some favors from friends in high places," her mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk.
The window of opportunity is narrow, he thinks. Decision made. Don't fuck this up.