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Breaking The Habit
Epilogue
Ashleigh Thomas

When I was seven years old, I jumped a Dauntless train. The car I happened to land in was full of families who gawked at me like the abnormality I was, an Erudite girl who didn't quite fit. After a few minutes of mutual staring, another girl about my age stepped forward and, quite bluntly, asked me why I wasn't in Dauntless. That was how I met Ivoree Luck, who would become one of my closest friends, especially after I transferred.

But the real story comes after I jumped off the train and broke my leg. When they rolled my bed into a room, I was introduced to Eric Matthews, a surly blond child who had never been close to anyone even near his own age. I changed that. And then, like an idiot, I fell in love with him. Despite my so-called bravery, despite the fact that I ranked third at the end of initiation, I could never bring myself to tell him. I just watched as he gave his heart away over and over, visited him in the hospital room we jokingly considered "ours" after all his drug trials. I never felt closer to him (before we started fucking, that is) than I did in that room.

Which is why, when I come to, I know exactly where I am.

I awake with a jolt, hyperventilating, heart racing. Something feels incredibly off, though I can't quite put my finger on what it is. The room looks exactly the same as I remember, not a needle out of place. There are machines next to me, though, that I recognize as life support, and I realize they must have been hooked up to me. I can't remember what happened, but when I reach up to push my hair out of my eyes I find a bandage on my forehead. I probably have a concussion, I reason. That would explain my memory loss.

It takes a minute and several tries, but I manage to stand up to survey the room. I am in a standard-issue blue Erudite hospital gown, my feet bare, bandages covering most of my arms and legs. Something really bad must have happened to me. The other bed is occupied, but a sheet is covering the humanoid shape that lies on top of it. They must have died in between visits from the nurse. I feel bad for their family. It's hard to lose someone you love. I would know.

I pick up my charts from the end of the bed and examine them. Blunt force head trauma is listed as one of my injuries, which would explain why I can't remember what happened to me. Everything else looks normal, though. My eyes fall on an abbreviation, T.O.D., with a number next to it. A time. Something begins to click into place in the back of my mind. I've worked here before, with my sister, and I've filled out these same charts more than once. T.O.D. stands for time of death. That couldn't possibly have been filled out for me…unless…

Frantic now I look at the top of the chart, next to my name. Test Subject 173.

The door bursts open then and two Erudite guards march in. When they see me standing up, they pin my arms behind my back and hold me immobile in the center of the room. I'm too shocked to fight back. The door swings open again and through it steps the last person I want to see.

"Good, she's awake," Jeanine says.

The guards push me forward, and I stumble. My eyes land on the chart on the other bed, and I see the name on it and for a moment I can't breathe.

Abraham, Christian, Test Subject 98.

"Bring her to my office," she says to the guards, gesturing without even looking at me. "We have much to discuss."