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I find him barely breathing.

His brown hair is matted with blood, and his right eye is swollen shut. The other one opens from time to time, blinking slowly and closing when it can't focus on anything. His hands are bloodied and raw, as though he'd fought hard to avoid winding up here. When he turns slightly, I realize his neck is marked with bruises and a deep cut that looks fresher than those on his hands, and his collar is caked with blood.

I stare at the man in front of me, the papers in my hand growing heavy.

Dr. Branger does not like Violet.

I learned this the day Owen arrived, hours after the madness in the reading room. By dinner, everything had quieted down. I'd awoken on the grimy floor, rubbing my arm and pushing myself upright. The room was nearly empty, except for a sleeping Aidy, a grumbling Bobby, and a scowling Pete. Pete was the first one to notice I was awake, and he offered me his hand, silently helping me up.

Once I was on my feet, he told me that what had followed was a shit show.

The blind rage that had overcome Violet seemed to affect every person in the room. It spread like a virus, causing patient after patient to lose it. There was no doubt that lingering traumas and disorders were triggered by her animalistic behavior and the fighting. Pete told me the orderlies did what they could, injecting patients as quickly as possible with a short-term paralytic that caused a brief unconsciousness. It was new, he explained, while rubbing his neck where they'd stabbed him. They'd started to use it in extreme situations, though it was hard to make sure it was injected properly. After they'd gotten to almost everyone, they'd then left us to sleep if off, except for Violet and Owen.

My stomach turned over sharply when he told me Violet hadn't been sedated entirely, but had been taken from the room.

I tried not to think about what they'd done to her, because there was no way it wouldn't be pinned on her. The quiet girl, the one who could barely make eye contact, lunging for a patient with a death glare and the intent to cause him physical harm wouldn't be overlooked.

So, I was shocked to see her walk back into the room moments after I was on my feet, her gaze downcast and her skin pale. She stumbled a bit, obviously drugged and hazy as she made her way to the couch, collapsing onto it with great effort.

"You okay?" I asked her, watching as she shook her head no.

She didn't say anything else.

She sat there for a good minute before drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her forehead on them. She stayed that way, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Violet, what'd they give you?" Pete asked, taking the seat across from her. She flinched, but finally raised her head up.

"I don't know. It was different this time. Through an IV."

Pete looks at me, comically choosing this moment to gesture with his head, a silent command for me to do something. I'm not sure what he thinks I should be doing, but I finally walk over to her, slowly taking the seat beside her.

"Do you feel alright?"

I keep my voice even, remembering the time when I'd sat in a Dauntless infirmary while a woman had attempted to fix my teeth. I had gone in with one broken tooth, but I could clearly remember the overwhelmingly shitty feeling of wanting to flee every time she came closer to me. I'd tried to hold still while they made sure I had no permanent damage, but it was uncomfortable enough that it made my spine hurt. The woman had spoken briskly, reminding me that bravery and survival were worth more than a few knocked out teeth, and had grown impatient when I asked to leave.

I'd never gone back once she was done.

I wonder if Violet feels the same thing now, the creeping, crawling desire to just run, all while knowing you can't.

"No."

She sounds exactly like they want her to: drugged and sick. I stare at her, her skin pale and her eyes unfocused when she moves over a fraction of an inch towards me.

"My arm hurts where they put in the IV. I don't know what was in it. It felt…hot."

"Vi, you want anything? Water?" Aidy joins in, standing to the side, pursing her lips in disdain. The look on her face tells me she's seen this before. But before I can question either of them, my luck in this shit hole comes to an abrupt end.

Dr. Branger appears with a surprising grimace on her face, her eyes narrowing when they finally land on us. I can feel Violet's racing pulse and the shaky way she's breathing, both increasing at the very sight of her. Her body's response reminds me of the first time an initiate completes their simulation, their nerves fried and their mind whirling as they try to process what just happened.

I know why they're watching her. What happened and her reaction don't make sense; it was all too extreme, considering she rarely raises her voice. It seems highly unlikely that she'd lose it like this, and I can't figure out what was going on with her.

I'm not the only one who thinks that. Dr. Branger stops directly in front of us, taking a long look at the girl beside me, her gaze dripping with disapproval. There's something strange in the way her eyes flick to Violet's hands, her nails now digging into my skin. There is a tense moment of silence until Dr. Branger finally leans in, trying to coax her to follow her somewhere. I watched passively until Dr. Branger loses her cool and reaches for her in anger, eventually grabbing her by the hair until Violet yelps and scrambles off the couch. She stumbles, then moves to sit back down.

Dr. Branger's eyes narrow.

Violet's reaction wasn't normal, and it's clearly not what they want.

"Get up, Violet."

I shove myself in between them, standing up until I tower over Dr. Branger.

"Stop."

I say the word authoritatively, remembering Dr. Erin mocking my lack of control here, and it's like all the air has been sucked out of the room. She glares at me and smooths her skirt down.

"Eric, while I appreciate your help in the matter, this is not your business. She hasn't been taking her medication. She's becoming violent and unreasonable." She pauses, stretching out her neck to the side. "She needs to be treated appropriately for causing such a disturbance. The first step is that she needs to be reevaluated."

"No," Violet pleads. "No, not that."

"I don't think you've ever really seen violent and unreasonable." I widen my stance, and I force myself to speak slowly. "Defending yourself is not unreasonable. Ever stood in the middle of a factionless riot while they senselessly tried to harm anything in their path? Ever had to try to talk one down from killing their friend just to make a point? That's unreasonable. What happened in here was not unreasonable."

Dr. Branger stays silent, inhaling sharply. I flash back to my talk with the doctor, and I wonder how I ever missed the similarities between her and Jeanine before now.

"You'd do well to mind your own business. This has nothing to do with that," Dr. Branger retorts. "Violet is clearly exhibiting signs of drug dependency withdrawal. There is proper treatment for that, and it's not sitting next to you."

I smirk at her, because there is no way Violet is withdrawing from anything except maybe the illusion that this place could ever help her.

"She's..."

"I'm fine," Violet interrupts, surprising the both of us. "Dr. Branger, I just… Owen wouldn't move and I panicked. I wanted to sit here and he wouldn't leave. I always sit here. It wasn't right of him, and he finally left. I'm sorry I jumped on him. I just needed him to move."

Her defense makes my teeth hurt.

"The nurses said they have reason to believe that you haven't been taking what's been prescribed to you. Leona thought she saw you spit something out last night," Dr. Branger continues undeterred, and I wonder if she conducts all her business out in the open like this. "Violet, it's important that you take your meds. We don't want any ideas running through your mind."

Her words hit a nerve with me and I stare at her.

"You prefer her to not think at all?" I ask, feigning innocence.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Dr. Branger presses her lips together. "Again, this is none of your business and I need you to step away."

"Nah, I'm good right here."

"Do you wish to be sedated again tonight? Have you not had enough of that for today?" She grits her teeth together, and I spy Owen in the doorway, watching intently. To his credit, he looks apologetic, though that means absolutely nothing to me. In fact, in my book, he's more than dead.

"Dr. Branger, hey, you know, can you just take me to my room…" he calls out, but she doesn't move.

"Leave her alone. She's taking the medication. Did you miss the part where he tried to stop her from breathing?" I close the gap between Dr. Branger and me, looking down at her until she averts her stare.

"Eric, you know nothing about her. I'm telling you—"

"Leave. I said she's taking the meds. There's nothing more that needs to be addressed here," I inform her, and she shakes her head roughly.

"This isn't Dauntless, Mr. Coulter. You have no authority here..."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. I'm sure I get some kind of patient survey when I leave here. I bet Jeanine would be interested to hear about my stay." I smile at her, sharp and dark, and I can see the exact moment that she relents under my totally baseless claim. I could very well be in here for ages, but Dr. Branger might believe my bluff.

Fortunately, she does.

She steps away, shaking her head. "Fine. I'll let you see for yourself. But I'm warning you, you'd better watch it. We'll see how well your next one-on-one goes."

"I look forward to it."

Violet's fingers touch mine, pulling my fingers out of the fists they've formed, and she tugs me back towards her as Dr. Branger turns to stalk over to Owen. He looks back over his shoulder, throwing one more long, pained glance at me, as though I'll be swayed by his sad expression.

"I'm pushing up your treatment for tomorrow, Mr. Coulter."

"Good," I snap, when she finally leaves, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Will you kill her?" Violet asks me, loud enough that Pete laughs.

He stops when I answer her, my voice firm and clear as I commit to memory the sight of Dr. Branger's face staring me down, the way she reached for Violet's hair, the way she felt it necessary to exude her full authority over this place by threatening everyone in it.

"Eric?" she asks again, her voice returning to normal.

I nod.

"Not right now, but I will."

"Wow, well, for starters, my name is Owen, and I'm an alcoholic. Oh wait, this is the wrong group for that. Okay, wow, none of you seem to be laughing. Tough crowd today."

Owen stands beside Dr. Erin, a wide smile plastered on his face as he rambles on at his forced audience. No one is really listening to him, not even Dr. Erin. She's staring in my direction, her eyes fixed on my bare feet propped up next to Violet's bare feet. Part of my punishment, the blistering burn for standing up for the one person who deserved it, was the loss of my shoes and all of my and Violet's privileges. I rolled my eyes, even when she told me I'd have to reattend art therapy, though it was refreshing that she realized that it was truly a punishment.

Her fingers hover above her keyboard, ready to type out a fevered report; I can tell she wants to do more, but something is stopping her.

For once, it makes me smile.

I'd trudged to the bathrooms to get ready for bed, heading to sleep so I wouldn't spend the night analyzing what had happened. Luck was on my side, for once; I was out before the guards made their rounds. The morning arrived far too quickly, and after a bland breakfast, I was ushered to group therapy where I discovered we were being forced to listen to Owen speak. I hadn't seen Violet since the reading room, but she walked in right behind me. She wordlessly took the seat next to me, her arm touching mine as she sat down, and once Owen stood up, we took his chair and decided to share it as a communal footstool.

As part of our punishment for failing to welcome Owen with open arms, we were treated to an early session of group therapy. Owen stood before the group the same way I had, forced to offer up the most intimate details of his life, except he was actually willing to talk. Through a rambling story of wows and okays, Owen told us his name, that he was new here, and that he was excited to learn about himself. His words were vomit-inducing, enough that even Bobby had wrinkled his nose.

"What's with this guy? No one cares about him," he muttered, slumping in the chair beside me. He shared the same group dislike of the new patient, mostly because of what had happened in the reading room. It warmed my cold, dead heart that he'd jumped on the bandwagon, since Bobby was becoming less easily influenced.

"He's no one," I announce loudly, causing a few people to turn their slow, dull gazes in my direction.

We'd taken up the back row, leaving the front and middle sections to the patients who were too drugged to really participate. Aidy was sitting near the end, twirling her hair around and trying to count each individual strand, and Bella was sitting beside her, a put out expression on her face. She'd been disappointed to find the front rows already filled up, so her sniveling had to be done from afar.

"Wow, yeah, thanks, Eric. Thanks for that," Owen answers, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, I didn't think you and I would have a problem. I was thinking we could move past what happened yesterday."

"Where do you think he'll be staying? Eric, isn't your room empty? Don't you need a roommate?" Aidy teases, giving up on her counting.

"You do have an extra bed," Aidy continues, and Violet looks up at me. I immediately notice that she looks far more at ease than yesterday. Her eyes look bright when she smiles, and I can't tell if she thinks Aidy is funny or not.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll suffocate him in his sleep if he tries to spend the night." I wink at Violet, smirking when Aidy snorts.

"Eric, would you like to share your plans for murder with the rest of the group or just Violet?" Dr. Erin asks. She's still watching us, having overheard our conversation with her supersonic hearing, and I roll my eyes.

"Just with Violet," I answer, my tone dripping with boredom.

"Rude. You could at least include me," Aidy announces, waking up a sleeping Pete. "You can't plan a murder two seats away and think I don't want to hear about it."

"Wait, what did I miss? Who's getting murdered? The new guy?" Pete sits up a little straighter, rubbing his eyes and turning towards Violet. "Hey, does that make you and Eric official? Murderous boyfriend is what does it for you, huh? Forget walks under the moonlight and flowers. You'll settle for the strangler."

"Stop it, Pete," Violet whispers, but I can't help but notice as she squirms beside me. "It's not like that. I was wrong to go after Owen, even if he deserved it."

Her words sound parroted but hollow. I can tell she doesn't really believe them, and she's repeating them for Dr. Erin's sake. They've probably been programmed into her brain, burned there until she could say them without thinking.

"Wow, are you for real going to let him kill me? No one is concerned that guy over there is plotting my death?" Owen puts his hands on his hips, his blonde hair bouncing as he jerks his head towards Dr. Erin. "You're not at all worried about this?"

"Didn't you try to kill Violet yesterday?" Dr. Erin questions him, and Owen shrugs and looks directly at Violet.

"It was self-defense, wouldn't you say? I wasn't expecting that from her. But, uh, the truth comes out when we least expect it. "

"Sure. Violet is very threatening. And you aren't in his room. Eric is not allowed to have a roommate," Dr. Erin answers dryly, and I can tell she's trying not to smile. "You'll get your permanent roommate assignment after your clinical assessment. And I can promise you, no one will murder you in your sleep."

"That's what the last guy said," Bobby mutters, and everyone turns to look at him.

"What last guy?" Aidy asks, her interest clearly piqued now.

"That's right. You don't even know him because he was murdered." Bobby sings the last part, drawing it out for all to hear.

"That never even happened," Aidy tells him, and I decide I've had enough of this show for today.

"As entertaining as this is, I'm out." I stand up, stretching and nearly smacking Violet in the head. "Thanks for the informative session. Owen, stay the fuck out of my way, or I won't show as much restraint next time."

"Eric, sit down. This class isn't optional," Dr. Erin reminds me, but I shake my head.

"Migraine. I'm headed to the nurse so I can take something before it gets bad and I throw up in here. I don't think you'd want to clean that up." I wink at her as I step over Bobby, not bothering to wait for a response from Dr. Erin. I strut out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me. I can hear the class talking, a few people jokingly retching as Dr. Erin struggles to regain control of the class. I stand there for a full minute with my hands behind my head, staring at the blinking lights and wondering just exactly how Owen knows Violet.

"Take this, and come back if it doesn't go away. Are you seeing spots or feeling dizzy?"

The nurse watches as I swallow down what is nothing more than a mild painkiller. I don't really have a migraine, nor do I really need anything stronger to kill the dull ache behind my eyes. This nurse can tell, though at least she keeps quiet.

"No, I'll be fine."

"Good," she answers, scrawling down the medication on my chart. "Everything else is going well? You're fine with the other medications? You're taking them as prescribed, right?"

"Yes."

I resist from rolling my eyes. This nurse is nice enough, and I don't need to shit on her parade just because she believes the vitamins are working. The pills still do nothing, though I suppose there's always the chance that one day they'll kick in and actually drug me. But so far, they seem to be nothing, maybe some sort of uppers so that I'll want to trudge to my therapy sessions.

"Can I ask you something?" She puts her pen down and chews on her lip. This nurse isn't any older than Shelley, but I'm hoping she's much smarter. "Would you mind taking this down to the second floor? I'll give you the code to the door. You'll just need to take it to the reception desk and hand it off. They've been asking for these for the past two hours, but I have a few sedations that were called in and I have to go help with them. I wouldn't normally ask a patient to take them…but they're just files, and you're the only one who'll remember the code."

Obviously, she's not any smarter.

"Please? It'll give you the chance to take a nice walk."

"Can I have my shoes back? I don't want to walk down there barefoot. Germs and all." I raise my eyebrows at her, feigning horror at the very idea. She mulls it over a for a split second before she nods, leaving only to eventually return with my shoes.

"Thanks. And just like I said, they're expecting them. Don't mention this to anyone. I won't have backup for another hour, and you'll be doing me a huge favor."

She's really stupid. She should know better than to owe me a favor.

I smile, something fake and condescending, as I extend my hand out. The files are heavy and cold when she presses them into my hands, a nervous smile crossing her face.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you." I grin and leave before she can rethink her decision.

The doors to the second floor of the mental hospital are marked HIGH SECURITY.

I find it odd the way this place is laid out; it seems like a priority floor wouldn't be so easily accessible, but it is. I type in the code to open the doors — 8765 — and get a rush of satisfaction when they open up with a click.

I step through them and notice the immediate change in atmosphere.

My floor is certainly no cheerful place to be, but this floor is downright depressing. The air feels sparse, chilled to a cooler temperature that's biting and frigid. I walk past an oversized desk with no one sitting at it, waiting no more than a split second before I push through doors marked NO ENTRY. I take careful notice of a security camera in the corner, though it blinks in a pattern that tells me the battery is dying. Dauntless has plenty of cameras just like that, and plenty of dying ones, too. Initiates are made to feel like they are being watched twenty four hours a day, but there are too many cameras to really keep track of.

I wonder if the same is true for here.

The doors open up to a long hallway with rooms flanking each side. Unlike our floor, these doors are made of metal, and most are locked by a deadbolt from the outside, undoubtedly to keep the patients in. As I head down the dimly lit path, I listen to the sounds of beeping and a few exhausted-sounding machines. Something pricks at my neck when I round a corner, realizing they're breathing machines. Each one has the same rhythmic wheeze and groan as the machines expand and contract, breathing for the patient.

I frown, wondering why a mental institution is housing patients on respirators — especially so many of them — when Erudite hospitals usually oversee that level of medical care. I can't stand here and ponder the question any further, however; a distant noise reminds me that I'm on borrowed time and need to keep going.

I continue on through the grimy darkness, and I'm oddly tempted to call out a hello. I feel unwelcome here, like I'm stumbling upon a place that's darker than I could have imagined, but I keep walking, forcing myself forward.

After all, there might be something here that can help me.

I come to the end of a hallway with two options. I stand beneath a buzzing yellow light and I quickly debate left or right. I choose left, hoping my sense of direction will kick in and lead me to what I'm looking for. I suppose it does. When I come upon a sign that reads STAFF ONLY, the walls change to a green color. This wing of the floor is a bit brighter; I stalk past six rooms with curtains instead of doors, then past an empty nursing station, before I find the doors marked INTAKE.

"Bed nine."

The activity starts right in front of me as those doors burst open. Two large male nurses come through, dragging a man with them. He looks unconscious at best. He is pale, bleeding from his mouth and nose, and his wrist is bent at an odd angle with gaping, dried out wounds just above the bend. They waste no time in shoving him into one of the rooms, glancing curiously at me when they're done.

"You lost?" one asks, and I wave the files at him.

"I'm supposed to drop these off. I was sent down here by—"

"Doctor will be right back. Wait there. Don't go any further."

He points to the side, a few curtains down, and I nod wordlessly. Maybe it's the black clothing, or maybe he's enough of a dumbass that he thinks I work here, but he trusts me enough to wait on my own. He doesn't even wait to see if I listen. He heads back into the room, and I listen while they work on the patient, muttering all sorts of swear words as they try to stabilize him.

After a second of waiting, I grow bored.

I pace a few steps, stopping when I swear I hear something familiar.

It's a groan, the kind I've heard a million times from initiates who've just had the life pummeled out of them but who aren't entirely dead to the world yet.

I look both ways, making sure there's no one watching me, before I shove back the fifth curtain. The rail creaks as it slides open, and the fabric is heavier than I expected. It opens up to a dimly lit room, and I'm filled with an icky rush of surprise when my eyes adjust to the lighting.

There lies the very man I'd dragged to Jeanine a few weeks ago, half alive.

"Thank you for these."

The head doctor of this floor eyes me carefully; he's someone I would have expected to see in Erudite. He's sharply dressed, though his white jacket has specks of blood on it, and he wears a thick pair of glasses that he probably doesn't need. Or maybe he does. Maybe all the years of low lighting have finally worn down his vision.

"And your name is…?" He stares pointedly, the same blunt impatience that I'm familiar with on full display. He might as well be my own father.

"Eric."

I debated giving him a fake name, but I decided that if I want information from him, I need him to trust me. I can tell he doesn't like that I'm down here, but he doesn't press the issue and he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"Thank you, Eric. Tell them I understand the delay in getting these files, though I would appreciate a more prompt response next time."

I shrug. "Of course. It's been….chaos up there. New patients, old patients rebelling. I'm sure you're familiar with it."

The doctor holds my stare, and I swear I can see the him trying to figure out just what I'm doing here.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask quickly, forcing myself to smile politely. I don't want to give him a second longer to think about it. I'm still dressed in dark clothes that don't look all that typical of a mental patient, and I look far more put together than some of the patients upstairs. While I'd given up trying to force my hair into any sort of neat style, the current mess and beard weren't any different from the nurses working on the man a few rooms away.

After a second, his gaze falters; seemingly, I have passed his inspection.

"Dr. Branger bugging you to get on my ass again?" he asks, taking a pen out of his pocket. "Tell her to fuck off and stop sending her security staff down here. I told her I'd get her the reports on how the process was going once I had them. You can let her know that so far, all of these patients have reacted poorly. This floor isn't the best control, either. Jeanine's been sending them back in worse and worse shape. Nearly half of them have come in with lung issues that can't be fixed quickly, all from varying scenarios. Her emails aren't helpful at all. She's scattered with her logic. I can't fix things when I don't know everything she's doing."

"Sounds like a ton of fun," I tell him, and I cock my head to the side. "But Dr. Branger, she wanted to know more specifically about the guy over there. Fifth one down, she wanted his prognosis."

The doctor scrawls something, frowning at the pages.

"Fucking Christ, that one is the worst that's been brought in. Look, tell Dr. Branger that if I can keep him stabilized for a few days, I'll try to ready him for her. Between you and me, I don't know if he'll be ready. Whatever simulation they're going through is ripping them up. They're coming back weaker and weaker, both mentally and physically. He's still not entirely lucid, and I'm hesitant to think that he'll be able to repeat her process."

"Would she assimilate him on one of the other floors?"

The doctor looks up at me, and for a split second I think that I've said the wrong thing. It's becoming clearer that these patients are the survivors from Jeanine, her experimenting increasing at a much more rapid pace than it had been.

"I'd recommend it. That one failed the simulation miserably. He doesn't show a high percentage of Divergence, not nearly as high as she likes. She specifically asked for him back, but hey, if he's not all there, there's no point. Might as well throw him to Dr. Branger and see if she can reprogram him or if he's a lost cause. She's always on the lookout for new patients. She's almost as bad as Jeanine."

"I can see that." I nod my head, leaning back against the wall. "Blank slate's the way to go. He'll be nothing but a mindless drone. Just the way she likes them."

The doctor nods before handing the folders back to me.

"Take this back with you. Dr. Branger can see him tomorrow if she'd like. She can see if he's a good fit for her program." He pauses. "Ask her to send me her thoughts on the selection process. That guy she wants would normally have been overlooked, but Jeanine's reaching now. At this rate, Dr. Branger will wind up with a wider group than her."

I smile.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll let her know."

He waves me off, disappearing through the curtains to treat the newest patient before I even turn around.

I stare at curtain number five, the bloodied yellow fabric swaying in the air, wondering just how far Jeanine is willing to go to find her answers.

"Did you know there are Divergents here? They're patients on the second floor, in a high security area. Once Jeanine's done experimenting on them, she sends them here to recover and to have their minds wiped. She still hasn't found what she's looking for."

I hiss the words into the phone, pressing it closer to my ear.

Of course, this place has to have the shittiest phone I've ever seen, and the spottiest connection. Between the crackling and screeching, I can barely make out what Max is saying, let alone whether he's listening.

"Max!" I bark at him, and he sighs heavily.

"You're sure those patients came from Erudite?"

I glance at the nurse, the same one from earlier, who's now busy with a long line of patients waiting for their medication. I'd used my one phone call to call Max, and it hasn't been as monitored as I'd thought it would be. It was almost like no one gave a shit now, but they needed to keep up appearances. So, I'd been forced to sit beside her, dialing on an ancient rotary phone and praying he'd answer.

Luckily, he did.

"They said…" I pause, waiting until the nurse goes back to passing out pills. "Look, the doctor on the second floor mentioned her by name. He specifically said 'Jeanine'. That's she's been putting them through some sort of testing, and that the last one wasn't Divergent. That he failed miserably, and he couldn't rehabilitate him."

"Well, what did you think she was doing with them? You helped her, not me. I figured you knew what happened after you handed them over."

"I never asked," I snarl, wondering if he's really this dumb. "But doesn't this worry you, that she's the one losing it? She promised us she'd only test on the true Divergents, and now she's changed the criteria to be any percentage of Divergence."

"You can't be sure of that." Max pauses, and I wonder if his phone is bugged. "Hey, is everything going okay there? You good?"

"Fantastic," I say sarcastically, wondering how on Earth he's made it this far in life. "I'm having a blast."

"Eric—"

"There's something else going on here. This doctor, the head one, she's doing something with the patients. The doctor I talked with told me she would have almost as big of a group to work on as Jeanine."

Max is silent.

"Did you hear me? They're testing out something, on patients that don't know what's going on and who are heavily drugged. One girl—"

Max interrupts me, his voice low and heavy. "It's a mental institution. Of course, the people don't know what's going on. Aside from you, that is."

"Max, they're…"

"Eric, look, Dauntless is currently a shit show, and you know how it goes. Initiation just started, and we have members missing. We have initiates missing. We're missing guns, security tapes, and a few of the guards have taken off. I can't oversee everything at all times. Tori's acting odd, and I can't find the guy that's replaced you."

"Yeah, well, there was always something off with her," I mutter, pressing the phone closer to my ear and ignoring the word 'replaced'. "You aren't worried about what they're doing here? That I could end up part of this experiment?"

"I can't get you out of there any faster. I'm trying, believe me. Jeanine isn't particularly willing to listen." Max sighs, and I can picture his weary expression perfectly.

"How is Jeanine? You enjoying working for her?"

Max is silent.

"Well?"

"She's pushing us to do more. Patrol more, search more. I will tell you that she thinks the Divergent population is growing out of control, though the test results aren't showing that. She wants a handle on it. Maybe she's running out of test subjects. That would explain the 'any percentage goes' situation you're telling me about."

"And people still think this was me?" I raise an eyebrow, though he can't see me.

"No," Max answers flatly. "No one thinks this was you. A few factions have noticed that she seems a little… off, but we're doing what we can to control it."

"Fantastic," I tell him, and I swear I can feel the blood vessels in my head constrict. "Any update on getting me the fuck out of here?"

"I put in the orders to have you pulled from there. I need the help. Jeanine said she'd look at it. She thinks…" he trails off, and I grip the phone tightly enough to break it. "She thinks you'll come out far more dedicated to her if you serve the whole sentence. I've explained that we need you back, so hopefully that will sway her decision to shorten the duration that you're there."

I stare at the nurse.

My mind is a mad blur of things, and his words are barely registering. I'm thinking of those patients I saw, hooked up to machines to keep them alive. I think of the doctor, his blasé attitude towards those he's been sent to repair. I think of the people I brought to Jeanine, bloodied and terrified, only to wind up here, in the very same place I'd been put to pretend this whole thing wasn't happening.

"Eric, she knows you're smart. When she needs you, she'll pull you out of there. She can't have you coming back furious and ready to out her. She needs time and success, and she's got neither right now."

Max's words float into my ear, his tone apologetic once again. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, wishing to God he was in front of me.

"Eric..."

I hang up the phone.

"Fuck it all."

I mutter the words as I stand in the shower, hot water rushing over me. I haven't bothered to ask for a razor, and I've decided to ignore my hair for now. I scrub everything clean, wash my face, and spend ten minutes beneath scalding water in an attempt to calm my mind.

This was starting to seem like far more than I'd anticipated. It was obvious that getting out of here wouldn't be enough; I'd need to make sure my name was cleared, and I'd need both Dr. Branger and Jeanine gone. I would be at the mercy of her bad decisions, and were she to think her little plan worked, I'd be right back here the next time things went south.

Or worse.

I could handle Dr. Branger, and I could handle Dr. Erin. I could handle Owen and his stupidity — hell, I could even handle sticking out this stay here. It was becoming increasingly clear that if I played their games, stayed off their radar, and kept to myself, I'd be fine. I could be quiet, I could exist without making waves, and I could get out mostly unscathed.

It was what happened outside these walls that would be the real challenge.

I turn the water off and close my eyes.

I could take matters into my own hands. I would have to take Jeanine out, and I would have to force Max's hand to make sure I never stepped foot in here again. I'd have to expose what I'd found, but I'd also have to decide if I have that right. I'd put these people here, and now I was walking amongst them. Max might laugh in my face were I to explain why I needed to do this.

But I had to.

It wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't be impossible. It was what needed to happen.

With that decision, I wipe my face off with my hands and throw the shower curtain open. I stalk to the bench where I'd thrown my towel, ignoring the chill on my wet skin. I quickly rub it over my hair, then wrap it around my waist and turn around to the wide eyes of a dripping wet Violet.

"Um…I'm sorry, I was taking a shower and I didn't hear you come in."

She stands before me with her eyes glued to mine, occasionally venturing as far down as my collarbone. She has a towel wrapped around herself, but her hair is wet and shoved out of her face. She looks like I've caught her red-handed, her skin flushing the longer she stands there.

"No worries," I tell her, not really caring that she was there.

If she were an initiate, I'd have shoved her against the wall and held her in place until she learned her lesson, or worse. But I have no desire to do that to her. If anything, I want to know how long she watched me stand there naked, her stare clearly on me.

We both look at each other, her black eyes holding mine, and I have to work hard to keep them there. It would be easy to let them trail down over her exposed skin, to take in every curve that's now visible above the towel, to step closer to her and see what she does.

But I stay perfectly still, because she walks towards me.

"I never got to thank you for helping me with Owen." Her voice is even, and she takes another step until she's nearly touching my chest. "He… uh… I didn't mean to let him bug me. I thought I'd be okay."

She looks up, and for a second, it's like we aren't in an insane asylum. The air is warm and humid, and the dark tiles on the wall could be right out of the initiates' showers in Dauntless. I could picture her there, scrappily fighting her way through initiation, determined to hang on for dear life.

"Why did he bother you?" I ask.

She stays silent, perhaps gearing up to speak, and when she does, I realize Pete's words from the other day might be true.

"You and I sit there. I wanted…I wanted to talk to you, and I couldn't because he wasn't moving, and I knew you'd sit elsewhere. I just didn't plan on getting so…mad."

I find my lips quirking up when she says mad, because her reaction was far from mad.

"Violet." I bend my head down; the distance between us is nonexistent. "Tell me. Are you not taking the medication?"

There is nothing in the room except the pulsing of the blood through my veins and her heart beating. After what seems like ages, she shakes her head, her wet hair touching my cheek.

"I thought they were all placebos," I say, and one of my hands finds her arm. Her skin is warm and damp, and my fingers curl around it easily. "I thought they weren't really anything that…"

"Peace serum," she tells me, her head tilting up. "The pills are usually just vitamins, but they had me taking a high dose of peace serum daily. More than most people could handle. I've taken it for years. I just thought…I thought…I wanted to feel things again. I wanted to talk and be myself and not some zombie. You get so mad, so furious, but it's all real. The peace serum doesn't let me feel anything. Sometimes, when I sit by you, I do. I can feel it, how desperately you want out. And I want…that. I want to feel things again."

I nod at her, her black eyes still wide.

"So, I stopped drinking it all. I want to get out of here someday. I don't have anywhere to go, and I don't know how I'll do it, but I do know that I have to be stronger than what I am. I can't do that if I feel nothing."

"No, you can't."

Her hand tentatively reaches out to grasp my arm.

"Eric, I know him. I know Owen. He's—"

"The fuck are you two doing?"

I tear my gaze away from her, and I inwardly curse when I spot Kenan standing there, a very dad-like expression on his face.

"Okay, listen here, yoyos. I get that you two might have bonded, and I get that you're both fully capable of showering on your own, and I know you ain't gonna try any bullshit. But you're lucky that I walked in here and not someone else. Not too many are gonna be cool with you two standing here half-naked, talking about skipping your meds."

Violet's cheeks flush.

Kenan shrugs. "I don't care, though. I wouldn't take that shit, either. Peace serum is a gateway drug—"

"To what? What on Earth comes after peace serum?" I interrupt. Violet is still holding on to my arm, but she slowly lets go to readjust her towel. "We weren't doing anything. I didn't know she was in here. We were just talking about what happened with that dick."

"Man, that boy's got some major issues. Rest assured, he isn't on this floor. He's one up." Kenan points upwards, and Violet shivers.

"One up?" I ask, and she nods.

"He's high risk for self-harm. He has to stay where he's heavily monitored." She takes a step away from me, and I have the biting urge to pull her back towards me. "I should go get ready for bed. I can get dressed in my room. Goodnight, Kenan. Goodnight, Eric. "

"Goodnight, girl. Lock your door while you change."

Kenan waves her off, before he motions for me to follow along.

"Head to your room, too, Dauntless. Change there. I gotta make sure these showers are empty before lights out."

He pays zero attention once he dismisses us, heading towards the last stall to check for stragglers. I open the door to find Violet still standing there, waiting for me. She watches it slowly close, until the door shuts completely, before finally taking off.

"Violet," I say her name like a command, and she stops in her tracks. I reach for her, sliding my arm around her side and I yank her against me. "Don't take the meds. You're fine without them."

"You sure about that?" she asks, but her voice is strong and steady in the dark hallway.

"Yeah. You are."

She smiles slightly.

"We'll see."

She breaks away from me, walking away towards her room, and I have to force myself not to follow after her.