The Justice Building is a polished, no-nonsense edifice of all steely, straight, gray architecture. I have never had cause to be in here before. Families of dead tributes are not given any awards or medals for their losses. Tributes are nothing but pawns on the Capitol's huge arena gameboard.
The inside is how I expected it to be, square rooms painted pearly shades of gray and green, simple, wooden furniture. Instead of sitting on the chaise that has been offered for relaxation during my goodbyes, I stand defiantly in the center of the room. I am a tribute now. No weakness.
My father enters first. He is a tall, muscular, imposing man with skin that is tanned and rough like mine and dark hair that covers his head and falls onto his chest in a scraggly beard. My brothers are not with him. Perhaps they are still slaving away in the Nut, though my father has allegedly been informed of his son's departure.
We stand in silence as he eyes me up and down. I stare squarely into my father's eyes, challenging him to give me his approval or go away now. I must show him I have no fear.
Finally, he says, "Looks like you're finally on your way."
"Yes," I answer.
"Don't fail me like Flint did. Make me proud, son," he says brusquely.
Soon enough the Peacekeepers are in the room, ready to escort my father away.
He leaves me with, "You know what to do."
That's it. No hugs, no encouraging words, not even a pat on the shoulder for good luck.
The next visitor isn't quite as firm as my father. She comes in, glancing around nervously, looking shaken. It's my mother, a lean, pale, blue-eyed version of me. I have her face, as I'm told.
She crosses over to the couch, and sits, then her eyes dart up to me. "Sit, Cato, please," she begs.
I hold my ground. She bites her lip, then quickly gets up and pulls me into her arms.
"Mother!" I begin, outraged, but she only holds me tighter.
"Cato, please listen to me. I know what your father told you, to hunt and fight and take down the others and do everything to impress everyone with your strength. But…but…" her eyes shine with tears. "If it comes down to it, run, Cato. Flee. Do what it takes to come home." She draws a shaky breath. "Flint already made that mistake once. It cost him everything."
I stare into her blue eyes. "Flint was weak and foolish. I know better."
She looks terribly upset. "He made a mistake, Cato! A mistake anyone can make! Please, just don't let me lose another son!"
"Let go of me," I say, pushing her away, and she sinks onto the chaise and cries.
She cries until the Peacekeepers drag her away, and then I sit, shaking her ideas off like insects crawling all over my skin. My father is the one with the real advice to follow. In the Hunger Games, it's fight or flight. And the fighters are the ones who come out on top.
I don't expect to have any more visitors, but then the door is pushed open by Cinnabar, a girl in my classes in school. She has shining, deep red hair. I've admired her for quite a while, but she never seemed interested in me. Oh well. When I when, she'll be queuing up to be my girlfriend.
She blushes when she sees me. "Cato, is it?" I nod. "I came to see Clove. She's my best friend," she explains. "But I wanted to wish you good luck. And give you this."
She stands on tiptoe and quickly kisses my lips before scurrying out of the room unaccompanied. I smirk. It's about time she came around. I'll just have to remember her when I come home, if I can, among all my other suitors.
Finally, the Peacekeepers come back one final time, to collect me. My eldest living brother, Micah, is among them. He gives me one gruff nod as a salute as I get into the car that will take me to the train, and eventually, the Capitol. I wonder where Clove is, and if she had more visitors than me. No matter. I'll be seeing mine again.
There are Capitol reporters and cameras all over the train station, trying to catch a glimpse of the mighty Cato and Clove. I catch sight of her face and can tell she hasn't been crying. Her bravery is once again commendable. I smile as the cameras flock to my face like bees to honey. It feels wonderful to be admired, and this is only a taste.