I am on fire this week. There might actually be a decent chance I'll get this finished by Insurgent…

Breaking The Habit
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rank
Eric

There is no more doubt in my mind, I think as I disconnect the wires and electrodes from my skin. The Stiff is Divergent, and I can tell from the other leaders' sideways glances that they're certain too. However, I don't look forward to reporting this to Jeanine, as I did last year. I no longer have any desire to displace my anger into hunting Divergents. Not to mention that if Christina ever found out I was responsible for the death of her closest friend, I would never have a chance to mend my relationship with her. That would be the end. But it was never going to happen, because I refused to help.

I blink a few times, shaking off the rest of the simulation daze, and follow the rest of the leaders into the room where the landscapes are programmed. Unfortunately, I will be the one to inject her with the syringe, so all her wariness—and maybe a hint of anger—is directed squarely at me. I glance at the leader who's holding the syringe and then direct my attention to her.

"Congratulations, Tris. You have successfully completed your final evaluation." I try to make m voice sound as smooth as possible, though I'm not sure how well I'm succeeding.

"Thanks." She doesn't smile, doesn't do anything at all. I wonder if she knows about me and Christina, if she suspects anything. It's unlikely she would have told anyone, but if she did, Tris might have been the only person she would trust.

"There is one more thing before you can go and get ready for the welcoming banquet." I gesture toward the other leaders, and one of them hands me the black box containing the syringe that I'd been so desperate to get rid of just a few short minutes ago. "At least you aren't afraid of needles. This will inject you with a tracking device that will be activated only if you are reported missing. Just a precaution."

"How often do people go missing?" I should have known she would be the one to give me trouble.

"Not often," I reply, smirking as I remember the incident from a few days ago, when she'd left the compound. "This is a new development, courtesy of the Erudite. We have been injecting every Dauntless throughout the day, and I assume all other factions will comply as soon as possible."

"All right," she says, surprising me. I was expecting her to put up more of a fight. I clean off her neck and inject her with the serum. It's easier to lie to her than it is to Christina, probably because I don't care about her as much, but I still feel a bit guilty. It's unlikely the simulation will work on her, though, being such an obvious Divergent.

"The banquet is in two hours," I inform her as I smooth a bandage over the injection site. "Your ranking among the other initiates, Dauntless-born included, will be announced then. Good luck."

I can't stay in this room, with these people, a moment longer. Luckily, the other leaders seem to have forgotten I exist, because I am the last one out, and they don't tell me to follow them. I won't be helping them decide the rankings, which is probably a good thing, considering how biased I would be. Instead, I make my way to the cafeteria.

The initiates of two years ago are sitting in a group at one of the tables. Normally, at least half of the group—Four's friends—would have protested when I joined them, but it's Initiation Day, and the groups that went through it together tend to stay together in the hours leading up to and during the banquet. I sit down across from David and Ivoree, who are holding hands. Someone passes me a brown bottle, and I drink its contents without bothering to ask what they are. I've almost stopped worrying about my own death at this point, because anything would be better than the hell I'm living in right now, with my mother trying to control me and all my closest friends already dead.

"This isn't right." I turn to see who's speaking, and it's Zeke, with his head in his hands. "There should be more of us here."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. As far as I know, Zeke never gave a fuck about Asher, and didn't bother even trying to contact any of us when she died. And as for Christian…I can't help but think that some part of all of us is glad she's gone. Still, I agree with him. We started with ten and now, less than two years later, we are down to eight.

"Yeah, there should be." Someone slides into the seat next to Zeke. It's Four. He looks around at all of us, but though he meets David and Ivoree's gazes, he can't bring himself to look directly into my eyes.

"I heard about Asher," he says, not quite looking directly at me. Zeke tries to hand him one of the bottles I so recently drained, and he waves it away.

"Of course you fucking did. Probably jumped for joy, knowing she's dead."

"Eric," Ivoree says, a hint of warning in her voice. It's the first time I've ever truly heard her sound angry. David puts his hand over hers.

"I never said that," he replies softly. "Actually, we knew each other better than you might think. But we all knew her, despite how thoroughly she belonged to you. Is it really that hard to believe I'd say something kind to you about it?"

The first word in my mind is 'yes,' but I press my lips together, choosing to remain silent. I remember just as well as anybody, though from an outsider's perspective, how difficult it was to become friends with Asher, especially during initiation. A lot of people who met her when she initially transferred automatically categorized her as either a bitch or a slut, without realizing what she really was, who she really was. I had every reason to think that Four would hate her.

"Guys, stop," David said. "Just…let's remember them, okay? That's enough." Silence falls again, and I stare into my empty glass awkwardly.

"Eric." Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I jump. Max. He hands me a microphone and pulls me to my feet. "It's all yours," he says, gesturing at the crowd. I climb on top of the table clumsily and tap the microphone, eliciting feedback, until everyone is quiet.

I clear my throat. "We aren't big on speeches here. Eloquence is for Erudite." The crowd laughs. They obviously don't know my background. "So I'm going to keep this short. It's a new year, and we have a new pack of initiates. And a slightly smaller pack of new members. We offer them our congratulations." I wait for the pounding to die down before I continue. "We believe in bravery. We believe in taking action. We believe in freedom from fear and in acquiring the skills to force the bad out of our world so that the good can prosper and thrive. If you also believe in those things, we welcome you."

The cheering is deafening, but I don't stop. I need to get out of the public eye. "Tomorrow, in their first act as members, our top ten initiates will choose their professions, in the order of how they are ranked. The rankings, I know, are what everyone is really waiting for." Including myself. "They are determined by a combination of three scores—the first, from the combat stage of training; the second, from the simulation stage; and the third, form the final examination, the fear landscape. The rankings will appear on the screen behind me."

I know they are up, but I don't turn. I want to see her. I scan the tables until I find her, wide-eyed and tearful, pointing at the screen. She reaches over to hug Tris, and over her shoulder she catches my eye and mouths "seven."

Seven? Seven! A weight lifts off my chest, and for the first time in days I feel like I can breathe. She's not factionless. Jeanine can't hurt her. And as far as Dauntless leadership is concerned, there's no issues with us being together…if she happens to still want me after all this.

Max calls my name again, and I turn around to see all the other leaders facing me. My eyes flick up to the screen—Tris is first. No one is surprised. "Don't forget. We march tonight."