Chapter 1

Tomorrow


Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

I tell myself over and over again — I only have one more day of this. Tomorrow, I can escape.

Finally, I sit up in bed, wincing. The fresh bruises on the backs of my thighs are starting to blossom and the pain is barely bearable when I'm sitting upright. Getting through school today will be a feat. I take a deep, cleansing breath and count: One, two, three, four. Alright, I can do this.

When I'm dressed and have my schoolbooks in hand, I shuffle quietly out of my room and down the stairs. Maybe he won't hear me leaving.

"Tobias!" I turn towards the kitchen, where my father sits at the table with two bowls of oatmeal.

"Yes, Father?" I come down the last two stairs and steal a look at the front door. I got so close today.

"Come sit and enjoy breakfast with me, will you?" he says in his quiet, steady voice. I know it is not a question, but a threat. I do have to live here for another full day, after all.

I don't meet my father's eyes, but I can feel them boring into me. I set my schoolbooks on the seat next to mine, my mother's old seat and begin eating my food in silence.

My mother, each morning, would take my schoolbooks and chat idly with me about my favorite subjects while I ate my oatmeal. My father would glare at her, but it was my favorite part of the day. I haven't enjoyed that in nine years. I know she's in a better, safer, calmer place, but I can't help wishing each day that she was alive and home with me. He was easier to face somehow when she was here.

I have two more bites left when he says, "Have you been thinking about Choosing Day, Tobias?"

My fingers tighten over my spoon and it starts to shake on its way to my mouth.

"Do you have any big plans?" His voice is low and even as always.

I cower slightly under his gaze. "No, Father."

"Good." He seems to relax. "I wouldn't want you doing anything rash. As much as I've tried to rid you of it, you still seem to have a rebellious streak." I look up at him, anger washing over me. "It will be the death of you."

A chill runs over me. I grab my books and sprint for the front door. Once I'm outside, I'm safe. Safer. I take a moment on the front stoop. One, two, three, four. Now. Now I can face the day.

The gray wool of my trousers rubs my thighs as I walk, reminding me of my bruises, reminding me why I'm leaving.


After finishing Computing Technologies is lunch. Then, I'll take my aptitude test. I have no idea what it entails — no one does — but it can't be worse than what I've already faced in my life.

I didn't pack my lunch last night, so I sit in silence with the other Abnegation kids, watching while they eat.

Of course, each of them offers me a bit of their lunch, some offer me their entire lunch. I politely refuse and fold my hands on my lap. I don't think I could eat right now anyway. I have too much nervous energy coursing through me. Which faction will I be aligned with? I close my eyes and chant to myself, Not Abnegation, not Abnegation. Obviously, I don't have to choose the faction I'm aligned with, but it makes it all the more difficult to get through initiation.

When I open my eyes, a tall, dark-haired Erudite boy with glasses and a bowtie is walking by the table, staring at me. He has a sneer across his face.

"Worried you're not going to make it back into Abnegation, Stiff?" he laughs and moves on. I shiver, but remind myself: He is not as bad as Father.


"Tobias Eaton," the tall Amity woman calls.

I wring my hands and stand up. I count my steps as I approach her. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. She smiles at me kindly and holds the door open for me, something I'm not used to. I duck my head and walk through into the testing room.

Each wall is covered with mirrors, something I haven't seen in years. My father doesn't believe I should be tempted to focus inwardly more than I already do, so he just removed the mirrors from our house entirely when I was 12. There were only two to begin with.

I've aged. I barely recognize myself — I move my hand, though, and so does my reflection. It has to be me. For the first time, I can see the patchy beard I've been growing for the last year or so out of necessity. I look like a man almost. I was a boy when I last saw myself.

But my father is right, the world cannot see any marks on my body.

"My name is Frances. If you'll have a seat, Mr. Eaton, we can begin." She puts her hand on my shoulder. I flinch and can't stop myself before groaning in pain.

In Abnegation we rarely touch each other. It makes you too aware of yourself when you're meant to focus on those around you. Father doesn't pay much heed to that, though.

The deep cuts I got two weeks ago from on my shoulders are still healing. It's the reason I haven't been carrying my book bag.

"Are you alright, Mr. Eaton?" She sounds genuinely concerned.

I plaster on my smile that I've been taught to imitate from the other Abnegation kids. It makes people uncomfortable to see a sad child. "I'm fine, Frances, thank you for asking. How are you?"

She scrutinizes me for a moment then indicates the chair again. It looks like a dentist's chair, a chair I'm not particularly fond of.

I walk over and sit gingerly on the chair, being careful not to let my pain show in my face again. I don't need people finding out now, just when I'm almost out.

"If you'll just swing your legs in, there, that's good. Now, drink this." She hands me a glass of what looks like water, but I have my doubts. I drink it unquestioningly. You mustn't be too curious or it will be the death of you, my father's words ring in my ears.

I hand her back the glass and she smiles. I look up at the brightly lit ceiling and feel my eyelids slide closed.