TRIS

I wake, exhausted. Spent. My body feels hollow but my chest is on fire. How is that possible? My arms and legs feel bruised. My eyes are raw. I don't want to open them.

One thought registers, crystal clear. Tobias. If I'm here, and so much time has passed, did something go wrong in the Bureau? And if he's not, here, did something go wrong in the city? I can't bear the thought. I want to burn it from my mind with the fire that rages in the rest of me.

I hear someone next to me, clearing their throat, and my eyes fly open.

It's only Matthew.

Hot tears well up in my eyes. I am spent, but angry. "Where's Tobias?" I ask, trying to keep the crazed edge from my voice. I know he will be more inclined to answer me if I can stay calm.

"We'll get to that," he assures me casually.

My eyes open wider, and I watch him with disgust, calmly sitting with his hands beneath his chin. He sighs and puts both hands on the edge of my bed, which I realize now has a rail.

That's right. They moved me. I am no longer flat, but propped up. Breathing is easier. My head is clear. I feel my body. I feel my ankles and wrists, still secured tightly, now to the bed rails. I remember a struggle.

"Where's Tobias?" I ask again, more forcefully this time, trying to control my panic.

Matthew ignores me and says, "So, what happened last night—let's not do that again. Okay, Tris?" He frowns as he pulls his own glass screen up onto his lap and taps it. "I'm sorry," he continues apologetically. He doesn't sound sorry. "But you were inconsolable. Of course, I wouldn't expect a sedative to work well on you, but Beth didn't think about that, and that just made you more frantic," he shakes his head as though this is all a regrettable misunderstanding.

"Unfortunately, the aides were forced to hold you down until you were calm enough to be moved and settled without harming yourself—or anyone else," he says, looking down his nose at me.

I press my lips together. He is not going to answer me right now. But, if I play this right, maybe I can make him.

He holds up a cup of water for me, and I drink as though I have never tasted it before. Matthew eyes me thoughtfully and produces a plate with some bread. He nods toward the food encouragingly. I think about defying him, but I know I need it. I also need him to think I'm cooperating. He relaxes, a satisfied smile spreading over his face. So I nod toward my restraints.

"H—how do you expect me to eat?" I ask dryly, staring expectantly at him and then back to the plate.

He sighs again and gets up from his chair. From a drawer on the other side of the room he procures a pair of clippers, and I wait as he methodically snips each of my restraints. When I feel the last one release me, I flip the plate in his face and launch myself off the end of the bed.