TOBIAS

We spend all day working on our proposal for the school in the Fringe. Johanna wants to have everything done before tomorrow, so we can spend the morning wrapping up any last minute details, not reworking the bulk of it. She pours over census reports and sociological studies on the relationship between jobs, education, and violence, or lack of it. A lot of the data we have access to is old and, probably, incredibly outdated, but we can't help that. And I put my skill with the computer to good use, creating a visual presentation to go along with the proposal.

By the time we turn off the lights and lock the door to the office, we are both exhausted. I consider canceling on Zeke, who's supposed to work out with me tonight, since I'll be gone for a few days. But I don't think about it too seriously. I know I'll feel better once I get there.

So I step into one of the building's many bathrooms and try to quickly unbutton my shirt. But, as always, I end up having to slow down and force myself to be deliberate. I'm not sure when I'll ever get used to that. My fingers, so nimble with knives and guns, and even Tris, can't seem to maneuver button holes. I pull on a fitted gray tee that was stuffed in my bag and change into a pair of loose sweats.

I jog to the Dauntless compound for my warm-up and think about how thankful I am that the Dauntless leaders thought to have a second entrance. I've had enough of heights recently and, if I had to choose between jumping off the roof of that building and getting a little exercise, I'd head home right now. I don't even want to think about tomorrow. Just what my body can do, here, tonight.

I let myself in and see that Zeke has already turned on a few lights, so I don't have to find my way in total darkness, though I could. I pass the fear simulation room but don't let my eyes linger. I expect the case that held my needles is still lying where I left it. I've never been back inside to check.

I make the familiar descent down to the central area, my body hugging the wall naturally and my mind automatically relaxing with the soothing sound of the rushing water in the chasm. I'm always surprised by how much I miss it.

The muted impact of fists rhythmically hitting the punching bag echoes down the hallway when I near the training room. Zeke doesn't have a lot of finesse, but he gets the job done, and I eagerly pick up my pace, enjoying the coolness and the raw strength I feel, here.

"Hey, how'd you ever make it through Dauntless initiation?" I taunt as I walk into the room and easily take up a position behind the bag, holding it steady for him.

"Oh, shut up," he huffs between punches. He whips around and plants a strong side kick into the bag, knocking me backwards.

"Good one," I laugh, rubbing my hands together.

"Yah, you want a turn? I've been going at it for awhile already. And, of the two of us, we know who really needs the practice," Zeke says, backing up from the bag.

I grin and move into position. Dust motes rise in the dim light around us, hanging in the stale air. Who knows when this room was cleaned last—or if it ever was. Who cares. I don't.

My body feels settled and powerful. I tear into the bag with a flurry of punches, beginning with a jab-cross-hook-uppercut combination. After about twenty repetitions, I switch sides. I'm not sure why I felt so tired earlier. I hardly feel winded, now. Every muscle feels perfectly primed. I continue to mix it up until Zeke interrupts me.

"Alright, alright. Now that you've got that out of your system, how about we get to the part we've both been waiting for—a little one-on-one?" He raises his chin and beckons to me with his hands.

My lip curls and I walk confidently to the middle of the floor, hands up. Zeke doesn't hesitate and comes in fast with a set of jabs, but I block him and roll to my right, elbowing him in the back. I dig an uppercut into his side, and he shuffles a few feet away.

"Dude, fight fair," he chokes, rubbing his side. He's a little slower returning to ready position, now.

"How is that not fair?" I ask with a smile, advancing again into the circle of light surrounded by darkness and shadows.

He thinks I'm going to lead with a punch and ducks. I anticipate his counter movement and lunge forward, grabbing him in a headlock. Zeke tries everything he can think of to force me to release him, alternately clawing at my arms and elbowing me in the midsection. I steel myself against it, grinning.

This is nothing. As if I'm absorbing all his energy and growing stronger as he expends it. I drag him down to the hard mat and flex my arms around him, tightening my hold. He is stuck. And he knows it.

"It's not fair," he gasps, signaling his concession with the loud slap of his hand on the floor, "because you never let me win!"

We both stand and grin at each other, catching our breath.

"Now why—would I do that?" I ask, laughing. "You want to go again? Or have you had enough?" I say, wiping beads of sweat from my face with my shirt.

"Hell, yes," Zeke says in all seriousness, cracking his neck, then his knuckles. "Someone's got to bring you down, Four."

"You're welcome to try," I challenge, before heading back to the center of the floor.

When I reach my apartment, my shirt is a damp, dark gray and every exhale seems to further rid my body of the tension and anxiety that's plagued me. It was a good day, I think. And feeling the way I do at this moment, I'm willing to hope that tomorrow will be a good day, too.

I push through the door and am greeted by the smell of something warm and spicy. Evelyn stands in the kitchen, preparing two plates. I head back to my room and take a quick shower, just long enough to wash the salt from my skin and throw on some dry clothes that are probably clean. When I re-enter the living area, she's putting the plates and forks on the table.

"Um, thanks for waiting for me," I say, scratching the back of my neck as I take a seat.

"Of course," Evelyn says, looking at me with a small smile. She says a lot with those little smiles that she never says with her words. But it doesn't bother me, because I know this language. "You had a good day?" she asks, settling into her chair.

"Not bad," I concede, suddenly overwhelmed by the meaty aroma in front of me. I am famished. "You?" I ask, between large forkfuls.

"It was good. I got to drive one of the passenger trains for the first time, today. I liked it," she says, her eyes shining. She more than liked it, and I decide I'm glad for her.

"Another week or so of training, and my supervisor says I can test for my operating license," Evelyn says contentedly. I nod, and we eat in silence for awhile, both of us absorbed by our meals and our days.

I am scraping the last bits from my plate when Evelyn ventures to ask, "Are you packed?"

I shake my head. "Not much to pack, really."

"Are you ready?" she asks pointedly, though she never lifts her eyes from her plate.

"Everyone keeps asking me that," I mutter, getting up to take my plate to the sink. I rinse it off and set it on the counter.

I come back to the table and she looks up at me, eyes open and accepting. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I say simply. "Hopefully, I'm tired enough to sleep, tonight."

She nods and pats me on the shoulder on her way to the kitchen.