One of Loki's brows shot up as she correctly guessed the reason for his movement. Oh but she was clever. Cleverer than most citizens at the Capitol by a mile. It was a real shame, then, that they could never be friends. Not after tonight. Not after she learned what he did to earn his seat here in paradise.
Something seized in Loki's stomach, then. He had been a fool to talk to her for any longer than thirty seconds. He should have known better. Forming relationships, tense as the were, with past Victors was one thing, but trying to befriend a Victor in one of his own Games? Unthinkable. It didn't matter how smart she was, or how sad she was. Loki had done the job that he had come here to do, and that was all.
Except. It wasn't all, and he knew it. These Games were different from the others, and everyone here could see it. Even if they just thought that they were more exciting. They were different because they let the whole Capitol feel as if they had lost something, too, when Pietro had been killed. But they didn't understand. Not like Wanda.
Not like him. Loki swallowed dryly, his eyes darting unconsciously back to Thor. He had come back. And he hadn't. Loki knew that there was nothing in the world that he could have saved Pietro. Why, then, after only one conversation with his sister, did he feel responsible?
"He's not the only lucky one," Loki intoned, his voice quiet enough to keep it out of range of the microphones all around them. He met Wanda's eyes, forcing himself to look into the face girl whose brother he'd helped murder on national television. Then he murmured, "I meant what I said before. I really am... sorry."