Why couldn't I shoot? The urge is there, echoing in my head and suffocating my thoughts. Kill her. She's a traitor, the voices-my voice-hisses. Despite everything, my fingers won't move. Almost subconsciously, my head tilts and my eyes flicker closed, only to be stopped by a hand forcing my gaze down. Her fingers are calloused and yet smooth as they grip my jaw.

I take her in. The voices screech at my hesitation, Kill her! I wait. I watch. Her mouth is pressed into a stubborn line, full lips flat. Something in the back of my mind hums to life as I watch her lips move. Her eyes, shiny with unshed tears, never falter.

I know you, I know you.

Images of a Ferris wheel, and knife throwing, and a drunk night dancing, and stolen moments twisted in sheets flash before my eyes. Tris! It was Tris. The beautiful, smart, strong, love of my life. Breathing rapidly, I carefully inch the gun away from her forehead. Overwhelming guilt at what I was about to do swirls in my stomach.

I quickly scan the room. We're surrounded, Erudites left and right. And at their center, Jeanine. Underneath me, Tris nods. My lips quirk into a smirk and I move. Twisting, I fire at the closest person. Like spooked sheep, they flinch back. I don't want to hurt them, not fatally. My gunfire is purely the distraction while Tris moves toward Jeanine. No one will touch my love.

I lose myself to the chaotic adrenaline. Like clockwork, Tris defeats Jeanine. I shut down the program. Hand in hand, we sprint down the hall, dodging the hazy, serum addled Dauntless. We keep our heads down, never losing sight of each other, exchanging small but relieved smiles.

What I don't expect is… him.

"Son."

There was no preparation, no way to convince my already muddled head that I wasn't a child. I can't move, can barely breathe. My entire body is rigid, telegraphy flight. My pulse is racing, uneasy and fast as a hummingbird's' heart. At any moment, he will hit me. I know it. I know it. I know it. His hands grab me and-He pulls me into a hug. It's wrong, it's a trick. He's trying to get something. He wants something. What? If I can give him it… maybe he won't hurt me? Oh no. Oh no. No. No, no, no, no, no.

"Hey," Tris saves me. "Hey get away from him," she says, pulling me away from my father: Marcus.

Away from him, I reorder my thoughts. I'm not weak. I'm not helpless and I never will be again, especially from him. Still, I can't control my breathing. I can't stop the hot airy bursts that betray my fear.

"Stay away," Tris practically spits at him. I love her.

The guy who I can only guess is her brother asks, "Beatrice, what are you doing?"

It's almost cometic how appalled he looks, as though someone told the brother all books were now to be burned. And yet, I can feel conflict brewing. My father's jaw tightens and I push down the irrational terror. Tris' fists are still clenched and her body betrays her eagerness to spill blood.

I choke out the words, "Tris."

"Not all those Erudite articles were full of lies you know!"

I feel more than see my father bristle, anger rising to the surface as he turns on Tris, "What are you talking about? I don't know what you've been told but-"

"The only reason I haven't shot you yet is because he's the one who should get to do it. Stay away from him or I'll decide I no longer care!"

I know it's only my imagination, but I swear I hear the whisper of a belt against wood. Desperate for contact, I slip my hand into hers, not only to calm her but myself. And as a silent thanks.

.

"We have to go," I manage shakily. "The train should be here any second."

Our merry band of misfits nods.

"Sorry."

It is barely a mumble, spoken under her breath, but it squeezes my heart painfully. Even after all this time, she doesn't understand that in my eyes she is perfect. In my eyes, there is not a thing she could do that would worthy an apology.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." I lace my fingers-which must to my dismay are shaking-with hers.