[He was happy to ramble on about them, Jack's upbeat and incessant humor, Eugene's kind words and excellent skills in the kitchen, Max's wry wit- until she asks that. That makes him falter mid sentence, lock up mid step, for it is the most direct assessment that he has done everything in his power to avoid making. He fumbles with words for a moment before answering, after a fashion.]

I bedded Jack and Eugene, yes, and shared their bed without having sex with them as well. It's...comfortable? Camaraderie. Friendship, of sort, but we are not lovers. I am an assassin, Katniss, and one raised by whores. Love is not something meant for me.

[And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet. That little voice that insists he should be honest with her has him mumbling.]

...I do not know. How...how do you know such a thing?