Let me just start out by thanking BK2U for editing this for me, especially since I promised you these chapters would be short. I appreciate your mad editing skills so much! (Especially on these super, not short chapters!)

Thank you to everyone who continues to follow and review the story, and to those who've told me how much you've loved reading it. I feel like everyone can relate, even just a little bit, to crazy Eric. Congrats to those who've figured out who the other inmates are or are based of off! You're good ;)

I dream of her.

It's Christina all over again, dangling above rushing waters as her fingers slowly slip, one by one, until she realizes she's about to fall. Except this time, when she looks up at me, it isn't Christina I see, it's Violet.

Her hair is wet and damp, and her eyes are dark and pleading as everything around her seems to fade away, until all I can see is her. I feel myself step forward, blood rushing loudly in my ears, as I reach my hand out, my intent changing drastically.

I'm too late, though.

Unable to hold onto the wet railing, she lets go, falling into the darkness and closing her eyes right before I can't see her anymore. My chest tightens, the sensation hurting as though someone is trying to remove my organs with a fork, and I try to say her name.

My eyes open.

This time when I fully wake up, the feeling is still so real, so painful and dark, that I have a hard time believing it didn't happen.

At an ungodly early hour, I contemplate how satisfying it would be to stab Owen in the throat with a pen.

I lean back in my chair, resting my head on my hands, my gaze stuck on the ballpoint pen he somehow acquired. It's strange to me, considering this place forbids almost anything that could be made into a weapon or that might be used to cause harm, that no one has noticed him holding such contraband.

In the paperwork I'd neglected to read, there was a list of things that were banned for our own safety.

Shoelaces.

Pencils.

Strings of any sort.

Books with a thick, heavy backing.

Scissors.

Nail clippers.

Razor blades.

Button down shirts.

Long sleeves, except with prior permission.

Brushes.

Combs.

Pens.

The list went on and on, taking up several paragraphs in a handbook I had finally skimmed through one day out of sheer boredom. I felt none of it applied to me since I wasn't planning on staying here. I'd read through my rights as a patient of Hidden Hills Sanitarium — laughable at best — and I'd breezed through their treatment listing. They had yet to drag me to water aerobics, probably because they were too busy trying to patch together Jeanine's latest victims so they could return them to her in fighting shape.

It was now weighing heavily on my mind that I'd never watched what she did with them after I handed them over. Maybe I should have stayed past dropping them off; maybe I should have observed for at least a few minutes.

I'd never even thought about it. I simply took the lists she sent me, the ones with names that ranged from Abby to Zade, and brought those people to her. Sometimes, I recognized the names. I never once felt anything towards them, only a speck of triumph that I could find them easier since I lived among them. Zade sounded like someone who would have been harder to drag in than someone named David, but you never knew. I learned to be surprised, that the ones I thought would come along willingly often fought the hardest, and the ones I thought were the bravest often were the weakest.

Like Owen.

My gaze travels from his fingers clicking the pen, now ripped out of his hand by Dr. Erin with a disapproving scowl, to the bandages covering his wrists. He'd graciously been given a long-sleeved shirt, one that had cuffs meant to hide the thick white gauze, but it didn't work. The bandages were clean, stark white without a drop of blood, and tightly taped up. I don't know his story, but I don't need to learn it. He reminds me of the initiates who sought the easy way out, the ones who wanted to cheat the system because they were afraid, and it infuriates me.

He's a coward.

"Eric?"

I tear my gaze away from Owen's wrists to look at Violet. She's been sitting beside me for the past half hour, so silent it was like she wasn't even there.

"Would you want to eat lunch with me? I asked Kenan if we could eat outside and he said yes. But we have to bring some other people with us. Only if you'd like to, of course."

Violet waits patiently for my answer while holding my stare. Her hair is braided down each side, the ends pulled loose as though she's been messing with them out of boredom. She never looks nervous when she speaks to me, not even after what happened. She only looks hopeful, occasionally desperate for something I can't give her. Something more than I could offer her, even if I weren't in this place.

But I find myself unable to say no. Besides, I have questions I want answered by her, and it's better than eating in the cafeteria.

I nod my head, smiling slightly and nudging her with my elbow.

"Of course. Let's extend our second invite to your best friend, Owen."

I kick the back of his chair hard enough that it moves forward, and he tries hard to pretend like he doesn't notice.

Violet grins, and I go back to listening to our guest speaker, a small man who looks appropriately scared for his life. I listen for a half second before I close my eyes, tuning out his speech on ways to stop judging people's character.

"He doesn't bother me anymore," Violet announces firmly, her voice just loud enough for me to hear. "I mean it."

She says the last part with great emphasis, and this time, Owen reacts. He cringes, pulling his shoulders up and slumping in his seat.

"Good girl," I announce offhandedly, really only half interested because I'm still thinking about killing him, but she smiles brightly.

In that moment, I decide Violet isn't weak; in fact, she's stronger than most.

And she would have most certainly put up a fight had I come to drag her to her death.

Fear is a funny thing.

In Dauntless, I'd often found myself brave out of necessity — out of the need for survival in a faction I'd chosen because I'd had no other choice. Being scared meant being factionless, an option that didn't exist in my mind, nor did going home to a family that I didn't have. I'd never considered myself someone who scared easily, so I had already decided it would be fairly easy to make it through initiation.

I can still remember the feeling of fear that came up after the landscape; the sickeningly painful way it hurt, burned at my lungs and my skin, and wrapped around my neck like a vise. How it felt to stumble out of the room, pale and sweaty, trying hard not to vomit up my breakfast in front of boys who were watching with weighted stares. I'd forced myself to face everything that came up without moving, no matter how painful. Over time, it got easier, the simulations growing shorter and shorter, until I could work through them fairly easily, priding myself that not once did I ever make a sound.

I had learned to steel myself once I knew what to expect; I could tell the moment the shitty feeling was starting, the way fear worked its way through my system, triggering the fight or flight reflex.

In the simulations, my fears presented themselves clearly, as bright images that were sharp and distinct. But once I felt the familiar tingle in my hands, or the way my heart sped up and my legs seemed to turn to lead, I knew it wasn't real. My fears might have been real — failure, humiliation, embarrassment at being seen as weak, long-legged spiders that liked the ancient books and dusty corners of the Erudite libraries, not being the best at everything I did — but what I was experiencing wasn't. The images and scenarios would blur, their edges softening as the intensity lessened, and I would make my way through each simulation, triumphantly leaping up out of the chair when I was done.

I feel the familiar stickiness of fear and a heaviness that settles into my chest as Dr. Branger walks me to a room marked Intensive Therapy, opening the door with a slight frown on her face. She gestures for me to step in, her hair seeming wilder than ever today.

"You first."

"Fuck."

I rub at my temples, walking down the hallway and ignoring the wailing coming from behind the closed doors. I have no idea what time it is, though it can't be very late. It's odd that patients are in their rooms right now, but then again, I am taking a different route back past rooms I don't normally see. It only furthers my suspicion that this place is hiding something, though now is not the time for me to solve such a mystery.

"You okay, man?"

An orderly walks by me, concerned for not more than a single second as I nod my head yes. Dr. Branger had done her worst, though to be honest, it wasn't the most awful time I'd ever had. I'd thought Intensive Therapy would have been something along the lines of being shocked, electrocuted into submission like Violet had mentioned, or maybe some type of forced aversion therapy. In a way, I was right. She asked for my arm, felt around for a vein, and promptly injected me with what I quickly realized was something similar to truth serum before she interrogated me relentlessly.

She'd looked a bit disappointed after she was done, and I wondered if her method felt like cheating, or if maybe she just didn't like my answers.

I had sat there, not even bothering to fight it, because I knew better. The more I struggled, the more the pain would come, even with a less potent version. So instead, I answered her questions about Jeanine and the people I brought her, trying to simultaneously figure out what she wanted. She asked me specifics, like how many names Jeanine had sent me, did the testing work, and did I know the Divergents personally. I tried to study her, to really focus on what was behind the questions she was asking, but by the time she was done, my brain felt like mush. Truth serum was rumored to leave a dull, achy effect, and I was finding out firsthand that it was true. The sensation was unpleasant, like something was making my brain swell.

"You hear me, man? You okay?"

"I just need something for my head." I force myself to look up, the lights a bit too bright. I wince as one seems to intensify. "Killer headache," I tell him, squinting at the man before me.

"Take the second left. There's a nursing station there. Ask for Grace. She'll help you out."

I don't thank him.

I walk in that directly, slowly so my head doesn't throb with each step, until I find what I'm looking for: a glass box full of women in white, with nothing to do but wait for me.

Ten minutes later, the headache that was going away is back in full force when I'm forced to sit down next to Bella, my partner for the next hour.

"You're not that good looking, you know."

Bella is staring at me with the focus of a mental patient. Her eyes are, for once, not blinking rapidly; instead, they're fixed on my face. She barely moves, not until she leans back in her seat and shrugs her shoulders in contempt. "You know that, don't you? That's why you're so angry. Because your face is ugly from certain angles, and you look confused a lot, and your hair is thinning out. You'll be bald in a few years, and no one will like you then, either."

"Thanks," I snap, crossing one leg over the other. "I'm glad you told me how you really feel because I don't know how I could have gone on with my life, assuming you thought I was really ridiculously good looking."

My words are heavy with mockery, which isn't a good sign considering we've only been in this exercise for exactly one minute. Dr. Erin announced that the goal of today's class was to make a new friend. To open up and get to know someone that we might not have given a chance to. I had no desire to participate in this, and even less of a desire when she announced she'd already paired us up. This reeked of the assigned group projects in Erudite, ones where I always despised my partner.

It was proving to be the same today.

"You're crazy." Bella sniffs, finally giving into the urge to blink. "Everyone knows it. That's why—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say. That's why I'm here. Ooooh, wow, look. Eric's insane. He kills everyone. In fact, there's not a single person left alive in ANY OF THE FACTIONS because he's killed them all. Better lock him up before he murders someone in here." I interrupt her, gritting my teeth together. "Come up with some new material or shut the hell up, Bella."

I lean further back in my chair, moving my stare away from Four Jr. and observing the room around me. Bobby has been paired up with the woman who spent the whole class crying, and she sobs now as he awkwardly reaches out to pat her shoulder. He throws me a confused look when he catches me watching, and I shrug, not having a clue what the fuck he's supposed to do.

Next to them, Aidy has been paired up with Owen, and judging by the look on both their faces, it's going about as well as expected. She snarls at him every time he opens his mouth, and he grimaces and closes it almost immediately. So far, they seemed to be sitting in mostly silence, and it's unlikely they'll be winning the best friend award.

To my right, Violet has been paired up with Pete, which is disgustingly unfair.

"What if I could tell you how to get out of here?" Bella suddenly asks, her voice making my eardrums hurt.

"Doubtful you'd have that information," I answer, still watching Pete. He looks happy, grinning from ear to ear as they laugh at something, and I find myself wishing he'd shut up. "You've been here for how long and you haven't gotten out yet?"

"Thirty-six years," she tells me seriously, and I shoot her a look of utter annoyance. "Okay, three. But I know there's a way out, and I'm going to tell you how."

"Gee, thanks, but that sounds like a great way to get myself drugged or sent to solitary confinement. Why would I ever listen to you, anyway?" I sneer, forcing myself to look at Bella. "Why would I trust you for half a second?"

"I know," she answers. "I wouldn't trust me, either."

"Then why are you trying to tell me how to get out of here?" I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for her brilliant response. She blinks at me, rapidly, before she sighs.

"Because I hate you. More than you can even imagine. You're a spoiled asshole who thinks the rules don't apply to him."

"Bella, asshole is not an appropriate word. Choose something else. You're giving Eric a second chance — remember that. Friends do not call each other assholes," Dr. Erin calls out loudly as she walks by, pushing her glasses up her nose as she oversees her mind-numbing activity.

She looks disappointed, as though she thought this exercise would be a winner. I feel a minor speck of sympathy for her, for she always seems to be the one assigned to work on the stupid assignments. I wonder if she chose this herself or if someone made her do it.

"Fine, you're a spoiled serial killer who thinks the rules don't apply to him."

"Listen, woman-who's-married-to-an-inanimate-object: have I murdered someone you know?" I ask, placing both hands on my knees. "Is there a reason you're so obsessed with the idea that I kill for fun? Because I haven't snapped any mops in half lately, and I'm certainly not out there picking off people for sport. If you must know, I had a job to do. And if it wasn't me, it would have been someone else. So, shut the fuck up and stay out of my way from here on out."

I hiss the last part and she recoils.

"That's not very-"

"Also, your husband isn't real." I examine my nails, then smile at her when her face turns to rage.

"Why, you fucking dick…"

"Bella, second chances also do not involve the word dick," Dr. Erin reminds her, only a few people away.

"Some might," Pete helpfully suggests, snickering until Dr. Erin turns back to him with a frown.

"Let me ask you something," I glare at Bella, realizing there's a chance this will go absolutely nowhere. "Why are you here? Your real husband get bored with your unhinged mental stability, or did you wander in here on accident? Because it's clear to me that you belong here."

She sits there like she's contemplating my words, really thinking them over, before she rolls her eyes.

"I was fine for a long time. I was totally fine. Then one day he thought I wasn't. He said I was seeing things, hearing things, and that I wasn't really dead—"

My stare jerks back to her, my interest unfortunately piqued.

"Dead? You think you're dead?"

"I am," she answers, so assuredly, like I'd asked her if she was breathing. "Haven't you noticed?"

"You seem fairly alive to me. Not all quite there, but certainly breathing," I tell her, staring at her for a moment. "Why do you think you're dead?"

"I don't think I'm dead. I know I'm dead. I'm a ghost. And guess what, Eric, if you aren't nice to me, I will haunt your ass until you can't take it anymore. How's that sound?"

"You aren't a ghost, but you'll definitely haunt my nightmares for a long time to come," I answer flatly, pressing on my temples. The pulsing is back, and it grows worse every time she speaks. "You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked. I can figure out why you're here."

"You think you know everything, don't you?" She squints at me, her face turning red. "You think you're so smart because you…because you…"

I wait for a long time. For at least two minutes, while it's silent and she thinks of why I'm so smart. I could egg her on, but her silence is rather welcome.

"Well?" I finally gesture, catching sight of Violet grinning widely at Pete. She makes a gesture with her hands, holding up six fingers, and I turn back to Bella, her crazy eyes unfortunately on me. "I'm waiting."

"You know what? You are really dumb. I take back what I said earlier." She smiles widely, insanely.

I flip her off.

"I'm done here."

"Hey! Sit down! If we don't finish this, we don't get our points for today! You aren't ruining this for me! There's a prize for the winner." She shrieks the words loudly, causing almost everyone in the room to turn and look at us. Owen flashes me a curious wow, and Violet turns her head around, locking eyes with me.

"ERIC!" Bella screams my name, and I reluctantly turn back to face her.

"What's the prize? More medication? A ride on a pink unicorn?" I taunt her and she looks ready to stab me.

"An entire day of your own schedule. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." She says the words in a rush, hoping no one can hear her. "Dr. Erin said it, but no one else was listening besides me. I heard her. So, we are going to win. You and I."

She looks unhinged.

I stare at her. I can't be entirely sure she's telling the truth, but she seems too worked up to be lying.

"No art therapy. No group therapy. No eating lunch with all these morons," she gestures to Aidy, who bares her teeth like a wild animal. "No one checking on your every move. I figured that would sound appealing to you. You and Violet can finally spend the day staring at each other without anyone to stop you."

"Fine, then we win," I announce, glancing around the room once more. "I'll overlook every stupid thing you've ever said to me. I now pronounce you…my friend. For life. Next time I decide who I want to kill, I'll remember this moment and skip over you, unless you really piss me off. Excuse me, doctor. We're done for the day."

"Eric, that's not how this works." Dr. Erin sighs, but I'm not done.

I stand up, extending my hand to Bella who takes it so warily that I almost can't even feel her palm on mine. I immediately want to shove her away, for the idea of her cold and clammy skin is repulsive. But I don't. I yank her towards me, wrapping my arms around her tightly, so tightly she shrieks that it hurts — because it does. My one hand grasps her by the neck, squeezing painfully as I lean in to loudly yell in her ear.

"I forgive you, Bella. Thank you for apologizing, you little shit. You're right, the blame should have fallen on you since you truly are insane. I'm glad we're friends!"

I let her go triumphantly, then shove her away when Dr. Erin turns to face the rest of the room. Bella is too stunned to protest, her mouth open and gaping as I smirk at her.

"Thank you, Eric. That was…something."

Dr. Erin watches me for a long moment, and I bow slightly, mockingly, before taking my seat. She smiles, then leans in to talk to Owen, and I make a slicing motion across my throat at Bella.

"Sit down. And now that we're friends, you better spill your secrets," I hiss at her.

To my great surprise, she does.

"So, did she really tell you how to get out of here?" Violet asks, sitting up on the blanket beside me and staring up at the grey sky.

Her picnic lunch wasn't turning out to be the sunshine and warm grass experience she'd been imagining. Upon walking outside, we were greeted by air that was sharp and cold, and a sky that was swirling grey, darkening with every passing second. I knew it would inevitably snow soon, which sent a funny feeling to my stomach, because that meant time was passing by much faster than I was prepared for. I felt like it had still been warmish when I'd arrived here, and now winter was about to be upon us.

It also meant that the impending snow and ice would make it even harder for me to escape, a thought that made me even more annoyed.

"She told me a few things. I don't think anything will be particularly helpful, but maybe."

I answer her offhandedly, irritated at her for some reason. I still have the image of her and Pete laughing together, her braids mostly undone and her smile bright as he talked. They'd looked happy, like they weren't stuck in group therapy in an insane asylum, and it pissed me off.

"Will you leave soon?" She sits up, squinting down at me, and I shrug. She picks up on my shit attitude, and her smile falters. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

I watch Violet look up at the sky, wrapping her hands around her knees. I want to kick her, for she's far too easily swayed by others' emotions, but she looks down at me again, and she forces herself to smile.

"I would miss you. No one else has ever made Bella have so many meltdowns. I think this is a record."

I stare up at her dark eyes, and I can't help but smirk back.

After telling me her tale of how to escape, Bella had lost her mind. It was like someone had flipped a light switch once she realized what she'd said. She started yelling that the game was a trick, that I wasn't really her friend, and she'd never be friends with someone like me. That I was a murderer and a traitor, a master manipulator. She'd shrieked and screamed, losing her goddamned mind for a good five minutes.

Until they handed us the passes that said we were excused from all therapies and required classes on a day of our choosing. She'd gone silent, gaped at me, then dropped her pass when she hyperventilated with excitement.

"I knew we'd win. I knew I could get you to do what I wanted."

She sounded triumphant, so pleased with herself that I wondered if she'd feel the same when she realized she dropped her pass and I had pocketed it along with my own.

"I don't think she really knows how to get out of here. And I have to say, she's the worst person I've ever met. I think I'd rather spend an entire day with Four than her."

"Who's Four? Is he like Bella?" Violet asks, adjusting herself on the hard ground as I remember she doesn't know him. It's odd that I feel like she should, as though Four in a mental institution wouldn't be a far stretch. "Bobby said…Bobby said you have a lot of friends in Dauntless because you're their leader. But a good leader, not a corrupt one."

"A corrupt leader?" It's my turn to stare at her. "What do you mean? What leader is corrupt?"

"Hey, Dr. Erin sent this out with us. She said congrats on all your personal growth, Eric. She said it with a straight face, too."

Aidy flops down on the ground beside me and winks, holding up a box with a bright sticker on the top. I sit up, reading the words in a disgusted voice.

" 'Donut ever doubt what you're capable of'. How witty." I reach over to take the box, opening it up to find a dozen donuts, all sorts of flavors and colors, neatly arranged. "Is this part of my prize?"

"I think we were supposed to drop a few off with Bella, but she's MIA. Something about her husband and the floor cleaner and how she doesn't need him anymore. The orderlies really seemed to enjoy sedating her this time."

I can't help but smile.

"What a shame she's missing out."

I offer the box to Violet, and she eyes it carefully before selecting one to eat.

"Is she alright?" Violet asks, and Aidy shrugs.

"Who even cares? She's been gloating all morning that she won, and she's starting to get annoying. She did get mad when she realized she wasn't invited outside."

"She's not cool enough to be invited out here," Bobby announces, settling down beside Aidy. Along with her and Violet, they'd invited Pete, and that seemed to be it for their cool club. In the distance, I spy Kenan settling down into a lawn chair, his eyes closing as he relaxes instead of keeping an eye on us. "Plus, she stepped on my foot in line this morning and insisted I was in her way. What a dumbass."

"Give us the box, Eric. Just because you're the king of group therapy doesn't mean you're too good to share." With a grin, Aidy rips the box from my hands, and I lie down, crossing my feet at my ankles.

"Enjoy. I don't want any."

"You on a diet?" Aidy asks, her mouth now full of donut. "You trying to slim down before you head out of here?"

"Yes." I close my eyes, ignoring all of them. "It'll be easier to fit through the bars that way."

Beside me, Pete snorts and Bobby laughs really hard, far harder than my comment warrants.

"Fit through the bars. Now that's funny," he announces, and I can hear him take the box from Aidy. "You're hilarious, Eric. What would we ever do without you?"

"Who knows?" I mutter, scrunching my eyes shut and grimacing when a single snowflake lands on my cheek.

"Eric, you okay?" Violet asks, and I suddenly despise her.

"Fine."

Another snowflake lands, this time on my eyelid, and I inwardly groan.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The power goes out shortly after I talk to Max.

His phone call is out of the blue, short and hurried. He ignores the fact that I hung up on him last time, and instead he tells me that Jeanine is coming to visit soon and to be ready. She'll help you, he promises, his words slick and unsure as he fumbles his way through our phone call. He's never been good at bullshitting anyone, especially not me.

So for a second, I don't buy it.

But he goes on to mention that he asked Jeanine about her patients, and she told him they'd all made it through the testing with flying colors. She also said she's pushing the limits of science in Erudite and to respect her methods. He said she sounded suspicious of why he was asking, but he had no good answer for her. He said he blamed his own curiosity, but I doubt she believed him.

She also swore that she was close to finding the gene that causes Divergence, and she needed our help, now more than ever.

I swore my skin felt a size too small when he said our, the implication heavy within his tone.

This could go either way, and I need to be prepared as best as I can be.

For one fleeting and triumphant moment, I can almost taste my freedom.

The power outage tells me a few things.

It tells me that the hospital is woefully unprepared for such an occurrence, though Kenan grumbles that it happens frequently during the winter. It also tells me that the hospital runs off multiple ancient generators and that their backups are weak. I would guess that power is diverted to where it's most critically needed, and the less important things — mainly our lighting and heat — are drastically reduced. I'd bet that the high security floor is fully functioning, and that our floor is dim and cold.

The emergency lights they have on are especially dim. They flicker and wane as the evening goes on, sometimes for several minutes at a time. The emergency heating system is even weaker. Lukewarm air blows from the vents, and it almost seems to cool the rooms rather than heat them. I ate a faux candlelit dinner of something that tasted like spaghetti, sitting beside a shivering Violet and an edgy Aidy. The dark was making her cranky, giving her a malicious glare in the low light. She snarled at Bobby the entire time, shoved him out of the way as she tried to eat her dinner, and reminded me of Bella when she finally stood up and snapped that she couldn't stay here a second longer.

Bobby was fine, but concerned that no one knew how to fix the generators if they all went out. He kept obsessing that it was getting cold fast and we could all die, though I doubted we'd really freeze. Everyone else was sure of it. Beside me, Violet was trying to eat, but her hands were shaking and Pete was trying to convince her if she told them she was that cold, they would light a fire. He said he would personally light a fire for her to keep her warm if that's what she wanted.

"I'm fine, Pete. But thanks."

She politely rejected his offer and went back to attempting to eat her dinner.

There was no fireplace that I had seen, so I had no clue where he planned to start a fire, but I imagined his idea wouldn't pan out.

"Eric, you cold?" he called out hopefully, but I shook my head without looking at him. I was mostly fine. I wasn't overly cold, I didn't mind the flickering lights, and I enjoyed the quiet that the darkness brought.

We finished dinner in a hurry, and almost everyone was told to head to their rooms. There was no point in going anywhere else. There's minimal lighting, minimal heating, and minimal patience from everyone. I'd gratefully walked alone, happy to have some further peace and quiet amidst all the panic. I needed to think about Jeanine and what I could gain from her visit. There was a slim chance she'd be coming to get me out of here, and a slimmer chance it would happen then. But I needed to be ready, because once I was out of here, her life was mine.

The first thing I notice when I arrive is that my room is dark — darker than normal — even with the battery-operated lantern I'd taken from the dining room. I set it on my dresser, then I spend the next few minutes pacing my room, trying to decide how I'd go about getting rid of Jeanine. When I finally come up with something other than shooting her point blank in the face, there is a knock on my door, completely interrupting my scheming.

"Hey, Dauntless, we're out of extra blankets. Violet's got one you can borrow. Grab it if you get cold, or just do jumping jacks 'til you feel warm. Your choice. Night check will be normal time, so go before then."

Kenan's voice is matter-of-fact, and when he peeks his head in, I notice he's got on a heavy parka over his uniform jacket. I take that as a sign that the heat isn't coming back on anytime soon, and I'd better grab the blanket or freeze all night. I'm no stranger to the cold: in fact, Dauntless was often underpowered and freezing, but that doesn't mean I want to spend the night shivering.

"Thanks. Will do," I tell him, following him out into the dark hallway. I'd already thought about whether the electronic lock system would falter with the power outages, but the answer was a suspected no. Pete had told me that, whispering that he'd already tried to sneak out, thinking it might be nice to take a walk for thirty miles or so. He'd been disappointed to discover that the locks were in fact locked, and today's keycode had already been changed. I vaguely wonder if it resets anytime the power fails, and if there's a way for me to test that theory.

I decide to try it out after I get this blanket. That'll buy me some time, easing Kenan's suspicion if I'm not back right away. I stop at Violet's door, knocking once and waiting impatiently for her to open it up. I give her an entire three seconds before I knock again, and this time, she opens the door quickly.

"Oh, hi, Eric."

She looks surprised to see me, but she opens the door to let me in without question; I immediately notice her room is much warmer than mine.

I don't know why. Maybe she gets some special, preferential heating system treatment, but her room doesn't have the same chill that mine does. It's still cold, but nowhere near freezing.

"Did Kenan send you in here to get a blanket?" she asks quietly, glancing once at her bed. It's unmade, and I have to admit it looks much more appealing than mine.

"Why is it warmer in here than everywhere else?"

I stare down at her, ignoring her question. She stares up at me, neither of us blinking, until her lips turn up just a bit. She doesn't look intimidated by me at all; she shrugs her shoulders and motions towards the vents.

"I don't know. I swear it felt like the heat was on earlier. Maybe it only works on this side of the hallway?"

I glare at the air vent like it has personally wronged me, then I sigh. I don't really care why it's warmer in here, I'm just very ready for this day to be over.

"Kenan said I could borrow your blanket. He said he's out."

"They run out of them fast. They aren't very nice, either. They're kind of scratchy. I think Abnegation makes them out of fabric scraps." She walks towards her bed and sits down, pulling her feet up to rest on the bed frame, definitely not giving me the blanket I came for. "They send some new ones every winter. But I never take them. Kenan made me take one last year, because the lady was watching and making sure we all got one, and he said she would feel bad if I said 'no thanks'."

"How benevolent of them," I sneer, walking over towards her bed. "You should have told her to take it back with her and shove it up her ass."

Violet smiles, shaking her head. "That would have been rude, don't you think?"

"No," I answer sharply. I sit down on her bed, farther back than she did, taking note that it's a lot nicer than mine. "They make them for their own selfish benefit. So they can feel good about themselves. Not out of the kindness of their hearts. They get off on their own helpfulness."

Violet smiles again, and this time, it looks like she's trying not to laugh. "I'll ask Aidy if that's true. She's from there."

"Seriously?" I stare at her in disbelief, thinking of loudmouthed Aidy, swearing as Bobby got too close to her, and offering to help with Owen's murder. "She's from Abnegation?"

"Swear it." Violet lies down, her feet flat on the bed so her knees are up. "She was married to this guy and they didn't get along at all. She only stayed there because her mom and dad were there, and she was worried they wouldn't survive without her because they were older. She said she made it her selfless duty to insult one person a day, but in a way that no one would notice. But one day, her husband finally had enough of her hating Abnegation. She snapped and started screaming for hours. Refused to let anyone into her house or to help her. They brought her here, and she's been here ever since. She won't even say the word Abnegation if you ask her to."

"What a lovely story," I answer dryly. "Have you ever been to Abnegation?"

Violet shakes her head.

"You'd probably spend hours screaming, too. Their lives are pointless." I find myself growing tired at the very idea of talking about Abnegation. Thinking of Aidy screaming her way out of a torturous environment also makes me feel exhausted. "Everyone I know from there has proven to be unstable."

"I only know her. Pete's from Amity," Violet offers up, suddenly incredibly helpful with her slew of information, even though I'd already guessed that. "He misses it sometimes. He said they have big bonfires there. And in the winter, you can go slide down a hill made of snow and ice."

"Sounds like an excellent use of Amity's time." I lie back beside her, slinging one arm over my eyes and thinking of my last visit to Amity. "It smells like horse shit there. Don't let Pete make you think it's some sort of paradise."

"I'd like to go sometime. I think it sounds nice," she says quietly, stretching her legs out in front of her. "But do they really all take the peace serum? Every day? Pete said they forced him to drink it several times. He said it made him feel drunk." I feel her shift, turning onto her side to look at me. "He told me he had a high dose like I did."

"Are you still taking it?"

I pull my arm away and turn so I can look at her. There's something completely alluring about lying here, not because of what could happen, but because it's comfortable. For once, no one is chasing after me with a needle and the intent to drug me, and for once, I am not lying in my own bed with my racing thoughts about my next assignment. It's just her and me talking, like we're discussing new initiates.

"Not quite." Violet's voice is calm and even as she speaks. "I decided that I won't ever drink it again but it's hard."

"Are they forcing you to drink it?" I ask her, curiosity winning out. "Or are they injecting you with it?"

"No. I mean, I drink it, but I can avoid most of it. Kenan typically brings it to me in the morning, and I dump it down the drain. He doesn't care. In the afternoons, I told them it was making me too tired, and they were fine with cutting it as long as I didn't act out again. They said if I did, like the time with Owen, that they'd make me take it. Dinner is harder, but I just pretend to swallow it or sometimes I'll give it to someone else if they aren't looking. I poured it in Bella's drink a few days ago."

"How do you feel without it?" I ask her, making sure to really look at her. I notice that she's prettier when she isn't drugged out of her mind, though she wasn't awful when I first met her. Her eyes are still dark, but brighter and more alert as she stares back. Her skin is clear and her cheeks are pink, and her eyelashes are long. Outside of these walls, she'd be attractive to anyone, definitely not someone you'd think would be in this place.

"Fine, I guess. Sometimes, I worry that no one will like me if I'm not on it. I don't know how to react to stuff because I don't remember what normal really feels like, so I just try and feel okay. Sometimes, it doesn't feel good. But life doesn't always feel good, does it?"

"No," I answer lowly. "It doesn't. More often than not, it doesn't feel good at all."

"It could though, right?" she asks me, and in that moment, I have to close my eyes.

Because she's right.

It could.

It could feel good, and for most people, it probably does. If I let my mind wander, for one dark and guilty moment, I think it could feel good with her. This feels good, lying here beside her, talking to her like a normal person, the feeling of sleep creeping up my spine, and the desire to sneak down several flights of icy metal stairs to hopefully unlock a door fading away.

"Eric, are you cold?" she asks me, and I nod silently. "Is Dauntless cold?"

"Yeah. It's cold there. It's underground," I reply quietly, my mind slowly forgetting about the locks. This is far better, though far stupider.

"I'd like to see Dauntless someday. Pete said it's really big," Violet tells me, and this time, she sounds very serious. She pushes herself infinitesimally closer, and I don't move. "I want to see all the factions. I've heard Erudite is very pretty."

She's so close to me that I start to feel strange; I don't want her to move away.

My mind is telling me that I could have this every night. I could take her with me, as though she were mine to rip from this place, for my own benefit, so I could keep feeling good with her. I'm discovering that sharing a bed with someone, not just for my own personal benefit, feels really good — much better than what I've experienced.

I allow myself to entertain the notion because my brain likes the idea, even though it's ridiculous. Bringing her to Dauntless would be a shit show, starting with walking in through the large, armed doors. Explaining myself and why she was with me would be a challenge, a fucking spectacle as they realized I'd brought back a mental patient to live with me.

But it feels good, beyond good, to imagine it, and for a fleeting second, I think fuck them. I would return to Dauntless as their leader, and my business was simply my business. I owed none of them an explanation, especially not now.

So, I let myself enjoy the idea, forgetting that I'm lying beside her in bed and that I should be grabbing a blanket and leaving. I let myself think about it until I feel her hair touch my chest, and I close my eyes even tighter.

"You can stay here if you want to, Eric. I'm really tired, and I'm going to go to bed. It's warmer in here, anyway," Violet says softly, undoubtedly knowing full well I should leave.

And really, I should leave.

I should leave now, but for some reason, I can't. She's warm, lying just enough against me that we're slightly touching each other, but not enough to make me shove her away. I find my breathing slowing down, matching hers, as though lulled by the warmth. I know I should leave. I should be using this time to figure a few things out, but I don't want to ruin this moment, this goodness that isn't for me. I don't deserve this, and I don't deserve what she's offering, not now and not ever.

But Violet does.

So I stay, lying there with my eyes closed, until I fall fast asleep.