Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.

My bother comes to say goodbye to me in my room at the Justice Building. He's two years younger than me, but still so much taller and muscular in comparison. When he places his hands firmly on my shoulders, however, they're gentle while his voice is more serious than I've ever heard him. "Get a knife," Cole says, boring deep into me with our mother's grey eyes, "that's what you're good with."

"I know."

"And use the camouflage Papa taught us."

"Right."

"And don't eat the nightlock."

"Cole..."

"And don't let Char get to you."

"Cole."

"And win," his voice cracks.

I pull him in for a hug. "I'll try," I promise him, but he's not satisfied.

"You will, sis. You have to."

He hugs me tighter and I allow a few tears to spill onto his best shirt. "Take care of Buttercup Two for me, okay? You know Mother won't." I try to lighten things when he finally lets go of me.

Cole nods. "Will do. I have to go now. Mom and Papa want to see you alone."

My heart sinks into my stomach and I frown. "They'll see me later, though. Why would they come in?" Cole shrugs and when he opens the door to leave, my parents give him a comforting hug before rushing in. My mother embraces me first. She tries not to cry and it results in a painful, choking sound. Papa wraps his strong, baker's arms around the both of us and kisses my forehead.

"Why are you here?" I asked confused. "This isn't goodbye, you're my mentors." They say nothing. "Right?"

Mother lets herself cry now. "Tell her, Peeta."

They let go of me and, with shaky hands, Mother braids my dark hair to look like hers, something she does when she's upset, I've learned. It helps her calm down and stop crying. Meanwhile, Papa takes a deep breath and pins something to the collar of my white reaping dress. It's my mother's mockingjay pin.

I can't stand it anymore. "Please, tell me what's going on! I thought..."

"So did we," Papa whispers, "but Coin, it seems, has other plans for us." His blue eyes, my blue eyes, look at me with a level of seriousness I've only seen once before, the day Coin announced she was reviving the Hunger Games.

A sudden thought occurs to me and I feel sick. "You're not going to be mentors?"

"Oh, we'll still be mentors," he says solemnly, "for District Thirteen." I feel the room spin as the realization sets in. "The Gamemakers," my father continues, "and Coin agree it wouldn't be fair for us to mentor our daughter. And Thirteen's only mentor died earlier this year."

"Then who...?"

"Haymitch," Mother says as she ties off my braid. "Trust him, darling."

I almost laugh at this. "Why would I not trust Haymitch? He got you out of the Games alive. Twice."

Papa brushes a loose hair behind my ear. "What your mother means is to be careful of who you do trust. You are the biggest target out there, I'm afraid, so be careful of who you make alliances with, if you even decide to make alliances. I wouldn't even trust Effie if I were you, though she has changed considerably."

My mother steps in. "You can trust us. You can trust Haymitch." She puts a hand on my shoulder. "No one else, do you understand?"

"Yes." I nod.

Mother smiles a little. "We love you," she speaks softly. "Real or not real?"

At this, I smile, too. "Real or Not Real?" has been a sort of game in our family ever since I can remember. In our family, we value trust and honesty more than anything in the world. It's all we have holding us together while Coin's Capitol pries others apart. So we have to remember what's real: our family values, our love for each other, our loyalty to each other, the horrors of the Hunger Games, things like that. So when my mother asks if her and Papa's love for me is real, I throw myself into their arms and whisper, "Real."

"My brave girl," Mother says.

Papa agrees. "Smart girl. She'll outwit them all."

"With Haymitch's help." I add. They're about to say something, but I beat them to it. "I'll make sure he stays sober, don't worry." They accept this, Papa with a soft chuckle.

A Peacekeeper opens the door and informs us our time is up. My parents kiss my cheek but before they leave I have to ask them one more question. "You believe I can do this. Real or not real?"

Mother answers for the both of them. "As an only friend once said to me, 'I'm betting on you.'"

Papa winks and they leave, but I am not comforted by her words. Mother didn't say "not real" but she didn't exactly say "real" either. I'm going to die.