"I... didn't know," she muttered, sounding almost abashed. "We get so little news in Three and... my family got even less than most." She wasn't even sure she could have named the Head Gamemaker in previous years. The Hunger Games had always been as distant to her as she could manage to make them, until this year made them utterly inescapable.
He really was trapped then. Sympathy softened Wanda's features almost imperceptibly and she suddenly found it easier to study his grip on the teacup than his face. But no. No, she wouldn't permit herself to feel a shed of empathy or understanding. Loki had chosen his role in the Hunger Games, unlike she and Pietro. His reasoning might have been flawed, but the job hadn't been forced on him. You don't sign a contract with the Devil and then expect sympathy when he comes to collect. Except it didn't seem Loki was actually looking for her commiseration. He was certainly being cordial to someone who had admitted to fantasizing about violently dispatching him only minutes ago. She wasn't sure what thoughts were currently playing through his mind, but they didn't seem pleasant ones.
"So, we're both stuck then," Wanda offered, tracing the rim of her teacup with a finger.