"And... done." I lift the set of pages about President Snow and turn them over in my hands, then slide them into our book with all the other people. I didn't want to write about him, but Peeta insisted. We can't forget a single thing.

"We did it," he says. "I'm not afraid of Snow anymore."

But I am. "I don't want to remember."

He rakes a hand through his blonde hair, which I recently cut short with a pair of scissors. It's just us and Haymitch these days, none of the fancy hair stylists like they had in the Capital.

I hear it isn't really the Capital anymore. Over the years we really have reached more equality – not perfect, no, never perfect. The rebellion's aftermath still causes many people pain. But right now, right here, working on my book with Peeta, I think I'm happy. I think this is what happy feels like.

Peeta reaches out a hand to brush my cheek, the line of my chin, and opens the book to see the finished pages on President Snow.

Something on the page catches his eye, a shiny memory, and his hands tense. The one on my cheek slowly slides down to my throat.

Once upon a time, I would have panicked, thought he would kill me. But now I sit still, lift my gaze to his unfocused blue eyes. "Peeta."

"Snow is dead. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"You killed him?"

I slip my hand into his, prying it from its gentle grip on my throat. He wasn't hurting me, of course he won't, but the danger still looms. "Sort of. It's okay, love."

"Love. I love you. Real or not real?"

"Real. You don't need to be afraid."

He laughs at this, a sarcastic laugh that brings me back to the worst days, just after he'd been hijacked. "Katniss, you know better than that. You're as scared as I." Then he thinks more about the flashback currently consuming his mind, and his eyebrows furrow. "President Snow killed Haymitch. I was there when it happened."

"Not real," I tell him. "Haymitch is next door."

Peeta breathes a sigh of relief. "Those were the worst memories. The ones where you died, and Haymitch died. I thought I would die too." His eyes fix on mine.

I want to ask if he's okay now, but I already know the answer. If we were okay we wouldn't be making a book listing our loved ones who died. "Okay" would have to mean a shorter list.

I'm still holding his hand, and so I give it a comforting squeeze. "Do you want to go check on Haymitch, just to be sure?"

He nods, pulling me up and into his arms easily. Sometimes I forget how strong Peeta is, or maybe I'm just forgetting how light I've become. "Thank you, Katniss."

I bury my lips in his neck. Sometimes these things go better unsaid. He knows how much he means to me.

When he pulls away, his expression has cleared. He's safe from the Capital now, safe with me here in 12. Me and Haymitch and Peeta, just as it's always been.