During the midday repast, as the lavish Capitol sunlight spilled into the dining room, you sat across from Coriolanus Snow at the ornate dining table. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension as the clinking of silverware against fine china echoed. Breaking the uneasy silence.

"What do you want to know?" His words, devoid of sentiment, lingered in the air as he continued to chew his meal, piercing gaze remained fixed on his plate, an emotionless mask veiling his face.