"…so it was probably two minutes after we tied the flag to the carousel when part of Eric's team came charging in." Christina pops a piece of muffin into her mouth. "Paintballs flying. I managed to shoot a paintball at Peter. I think it hit his nose."

"I wish I saw that," I chuckle.

"What were you doing when Eric's team scalped us?" Uriah asked me.

"I climbed to the top of the Ferris wheel to see if I could find the other team's location." I take a bite of my cereal. "One can't strategize if we don't know where the other team was."

"Wait a minute. Are you saying you climbed that Ferris wheel all the way to the top?" Will asked, eyes wide.

At my nod, I swear there is intake of breath around the table. "Damn, Tris," Lynn comments. "Not that a Dauntless wouldn't do that, but a transfer…." She shakes her head.

"Well, I nearly fell," I say, "so it wasn't perfect."

I don't tell them how Four managed to move the Ferris wheel so I could make it safely to the ground. It would give them the wrong idea. Not to mention that among the transfers I have an unfair advantage with Eric training me. They probably think I go to the training room by myself, as no one has said anything or seems to have seen anything.

I stuff his note – which he snuck into my pocket when we got back – that said we'd be training after dinner rather than this morning deeper into one of the left panels of my leggings

When we trudge into the training room after breakfast, a large target stands at one end of the room, and next to the door is a table with knives strewn across it. Target practice again. At least it won't hurt.

Eric is slouched against the wall. His lips in that infuriating smug smirk of his as he appraises us. As much as a smug Eric is better than an angry Eric, I see that last night's win had swelled up his sense of pride. Winning capture the flag is a matter of pride, and pride is important to the Dauntless. More important than reason or sense.

"Stage one ends in a week," Eric says as he straightens up and approaches us. "Only because there are more of Dauntless-born then there are of you. This is the first time you'll be learning how to aim when it comes to knife throwing. Everyone pick up three knives. And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them."

At first, it's me, Will, Christina, Edward, Ally, Vi, Myra, Nomi, and Peter that bother to get our knives from the table. "Where were you, Stiff?" Peter asks me as he tossed his knife in the air. "I couldn't find you when our team made it to the other end of the Pier. Hiding behind someone?"

"The rest of you, now!" Eric shouts to the remaining initiates as I glare at Peter.

"No, I was just away thinking about how I can't wait to smash your face in," I tell him as I stick three knives in the right panels of my leggings.

A few around us chuckle as Peter raises his eyebrow. "Well, okay then," he says. "Seems like you have gotten a mouth on you the past few days."

"More like opening from that Abnegation shell," Christina says.

In a sense, she is not wrong. Though there were times I had a hard time abiding by the rule to discuss what was said at the dinner table. Though maybe it's that time with Eric that is probably contributing to it.

I watch Four's arm as he throws a knife. The next time he throws, I watch his stance. He hits the target each time, exhaling as he releases the knife.

Eric orders, "Line up!"

Haste, I think, will not help. My mother told me that when I was learning how to knit. I have to think of this as a mental exercise, not a physical exercise. So I spend the first few minutes practicing without a knife, finding the right stance, learning the right arm motion.

Eric paces too quickly behind us, and it does not help that he's lurking behind me for a moment before moving on.

"She knows what a gun is, but not what a knife is," I hear Peter say a few people away. "Totally not ironic."

If Peter hadn't been set on becoming the bane of my existence, I would find his sarcasm and deadpan snark rather amusing.

I practice the throw again with a knife in hand but don't release it. I shut out Eric's pacing, and Peter's jeering, and the nagging feeling that Four is staring at me, and throw the knife. It spins end over end, slamming into the board. The blade doesn't stick, but I'm the first person to hit the target.

I smirk as Peter misses again. I can't help myself.

"You know what a knife is, but not what a target is."

Among the initiates, Al is struggling. His arm is too loose, and he keeps missing the target. I anxiously look around the room, seeing that Eric and Four are standing a few feet behind the line of initiates, both of them holding a spare knife. Eric keeps turning and twiddling his, which unsettles me.

I look back at Al, hoping that Eric doesn't notice, but he does, because the next time Al hits and misses, Eric marches toward him and demands, "How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

I avert my eyes, trying to mind my own business, though I can't help but look at Al through my peripheral vision. Al's face turns red. He throws another knife, and again, he misses the target.

"What was that, initiate?" says Eric quietly, leaning closer to Al.

I bite my lip. This isn't good.

"It – it slipped," says Al dejectedly.

"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric says. He scans the other initiates' faces – everyone has stopped throwing knives – and says, "Did I tell you to stop?"

The knives hit their targets again.

"Go get it?" Al's eyes are wide. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit."

"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you," says Eric, his smile not reaching his eyes, which are cruel. "Go get your knife."

"No," he says.

"Why not?" Eric's eyes fix on Al's face. "Are you afraid?"

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" says Al. "Yes I am!"

Honesty is his mistake. Not his refusal, which Eric might have accepted.

"Everybody stop!" Eric shouts.

The knives stop, and so does all conversation. I hold my small dagger slightly.

"Clear out of the ring." Eric looks at Al. "All except you."

I drop my dagger and it hits the floor with a thud. I follow the other initiates to the edge of the room, and I stand between Christina and Ally; I begin to bite my nails in apprehension at the scene.

"Stand in front of the target," says Eric.

Al walks back to the target, shoulders bowed.

"Hey, Four," Eric looks over his shoulder. "Give me a hand here, huh?"

I thought I hear Four mutter something under his breath before he scratches one of his eyebrows with a knife point and approaches Eric. He looks tired just as we are. He probably doesn't need this especially after we played capture the flag at midnight.

"You're going to stand there as he throws those knives," Eric says to Al, "until you learn not to flinch."

"Is this really necessary?" asks Four. He sounds bored, but he doesn't look bored. His face and body are tense, alert.

I scratch the back of my neck with my bitten fingernails. No matter how casual Four sounds, the question is a challenge. And Four doesn't often challenge Eric directly.

I watch as Four and Eric stare at each other in silence.

"I have the authority here, remember?" says Eric, so quietly that it almost sounds like a whisper. "Here, and everywhere else."

Color rushes to Four's face, though his expression does not change. His grip on the knives tightens as he turns to face Al.

I look from Al's wide, dark eyes to his shaken hands to the determined set of Four's jaw to the malicious gleam in Eric's eyes. "Stop!" I yell, before I can stop myself.

Eric turns to my direction and looks at me with both surprise and condescension that I feel like I'm turning to stone. He's never been stood up to before it seems, especially by an initiate. Four looks at me with a hard expression.

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target," I say. "It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice."

I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't just risky; it was idiotic as well, since Eric is the only one with the authority in this room. With just those words alone, I probably made sure that Eric would make the next training sessions difficult.

If not, he'd probably make the rest of initiation miserable for me.

"Then it should be easy for you," Eric says, scratching the back of his neck. "If you're willing to take his place."

The last thing I want to do is stand in front of that target, but I can't back down now. I didn't leave myself the option. I weave through the crowd of initiates, and someone shoves my shoulder.

"There goes your pr– ouch!" It seems like someone stomped on his foot. I thought I see Peter glaring at Ally as I turn around.

Al walks away and I press my back to the target, putting my hands behind my back to keep my balance.

"If you flinch," Four says, slow and carefully, "Al takes your place. Understand?"

I nod.

Four throws the first knife. The knife is buried in the board, half a foot away from my cheek.

"You about done, Stiff?" asks Four.

"No," I say defiantly.

"Eyes open, then."

Four throws the second knife. This one strikes the target just above my skull.

"Come on, Stiff," he says. "Let someone else stand there and take it."

Why is he trying to goad me into giving up? Does he want me to fail?

What is he trying to prove, even? That he's no longer Abnegation? Is he trying to prove that he is just as ruthless and sadistic as Eric is? He literally has a sister who is from the same faction as me and him. What message is he sending to her, even if the two are keeping their distance during initiation?

"Shut up, Four!"

I see Eric whisper to Four, his eyes not leaving me. Four turns the last knife in his hand before throwing it. This time, when it hits the board, my ear stings, and blood tickles my skin. I touch my ear. He nicked it.

And judging by the look he gives me, he did it on purpose.

"I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is," says Eric, his voice smooth, "but I think that's enough for today."

He squeezes my shoulder, and though he smirks, his eyes scold me, like I shouldn't have talked out of turn. I shouldn't have done that anyway.

"Meet me after six," he whispers in my ear. He pulls away and claps my shoulder before walking away.

Four and I stay behind. I wait until no one else is in the room before looking at him again. He walks toward me.

"Is your – " he begins.

"You did that on purpose!" I shout.

"Yes, I did," he says quietly. "And you should thank me for helping you."

I grit my teeth. Is he out of his mind? How was that help?

"Thank you? You almost stabbed my ear, and you spent the entire time taunting me. Why should I thank you?"

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!"

He glares at me, and even when he glares, his eyes look thoughtful. Their shade of blue is peculiar, so dark it is almost black, with a small patch of lighter blue on the left iris, right next to the corner of his eye.

Though in anger, I shake that thought away. I remember when thinking that he was the honorable Dauntless to Eric's ruthless Dauntless. Maybe they are just two different kinds of ruthlessness. Only Eric is more honest about it while Four just puts it in a honorable packaging.

"Catch on? Catch on to what? That you wanted to prove to Eric how tough you are? That you're sadistic, just like he is?"

"I am not sadistic." He doesn't yell. I wish he would yell. It would scare me less. He leans his face close to mine, which reminds me of lying inches away from the attack dog's fangs in the aptitude test, and says, "If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have already?"

He crosses the room and slams the point of a knife so hard into the table that it sticks there, handle toward the ceiling.

"I—" I start to shout, but he's already gone. I scream, frustrated, and wipe some of the blood from my ear.

All I need to do is just punch something, but the Dauntless-born are in the second training room right now.

As I turn around the corridor, I see Eric leaning against the stone wall. I stop and tense up as he approaches me. He puts his hand under my chin and turns my head to analyze my ear.

"It's nothing serious, though you need some ice on that," he says, removing his hand from my face and I turn to look at him. I feel the blood rush to the surface of my face.

"Why would you care?" I demand. "You wanted Al to be humiliated for your sadistic enjoyment."

"And you need to learn when to keep your mouth shut and when not to," Eric tells me. "And that was one of them. You might get in trouble with the wrong person if you don't. Besides, Al doesn't seem to realize that this is literally a faction of soldiers, not Upper Levels. Now, if you don't mind, follow me and I'll give you ice for that ear."

I watch as he walks away before catching up with him.

And you need to learn when to keep your mouth shut and when not to. And that was one of them. You might get in trouble with the wrong person if you don't

At least he doesn't package his sadism in the guise of trying to help people like Tobias. At least I know he doesn't bother trying to hide the kind of person he is.

I meet with my friends at the dining hall, holding the ice pack that Eric gave me. It's cold, but at least my ear no longer stings. Christina, Al, Ally, and Will look at me as I sit down with them.

"What happened to your ear?" asks Al.

"Four nicked it when he threw the knives at me," I answer, setting the ice pack on the table before picking up a hamburger. "Eric had me go with him to the infirmary to get an ice pack."

"That's it? He didn't yell at you for standing up to him?" asks Christina.

"Well, he wasn't pretty happy with me for my display back there," I tell him. "Literally told me there are times were I should keep my mouth shut and when not to."

"Still, that was awesome," says Will, sounding impressed as our Dauntless-born friends join us at the table. "You were the only one that stood up to Eric."

"What is this about standing up to Eric?" Uriah asks. Dark eyes lit in interest as if there was a great story he wanted to hear.

Both Christina and Will both launch into a story about what had happened during our first knife throwing lesson.

"You didn't," Marlene whispered, her eyes wide.

"That's gutsy, but I'd still to have seen that," Uriah says. "It's not too often someone stands up to that asshole."

"That's because he intimidates them or something so they wouldn't do it again," Lynn notes. "You got to watch your back, even if he has reprimanded you beforehand."

Perhaps she has a point. Eric didn't seem happy that I stood up to him. That either he might make our training sessions more difficult as a result or he'll make the rest of my initiation a living hell.

"Are you okay, Al?" I ask him. Al isn't eating his lunch. Instead, he moves his fork through the spaghetti noodles.

He shrugs. "I guess. I'm just glad that you intervened, or I would have flinched during the whole thing."

"And you would have been spending the night in the infirmary," says Christina.

Four keeps his distance from me when we all practiced our punches on the punching bags after lunch. Not that my feelings are hurt. Maybe it's because he's seeing the way I am battering my punching bag. That he knows he is the source of my anger.

I later scarf my dinner at the mess hall and manage to hurry out before any of my friends can catch me. Going back into the now empty training room. Eric isn't here yet, so I decide to give an go on the punching bag. I let out my anger on it: my anger towards Four, Peter, anything that would help with the force of the punches.

The door opens and I look over my shoulder to see Eric enter. He smirks at the swaying punching bag.

After padding our knuckles, we both ascend the platform. At first we circle each other for an few minutes before I see him beginning to form an fist. I quickly block it and punch him in the jaw.

He stumbles back and he gleams with satisfaction. "I've got to give you credit. You're not deaf."

I nod before positioning my body again. I swiftly block a punch to my abdomen while he does the same, guarding his nose.

We do this for the next few minutes: block each other's punches, though on occasion, we managed to pack a punch at each other. I hate to admit it, but it's like we almost synchronize with each other. Probably because I have been fighting with him instead of pounding on a punching bag all the time.

Eric and I leave thirty seconds apart. When I leave, I thought I see the outline of a person against one of the stone walls. Only when I get closer, I see that it's Ally.

Eyes widened as if she's trying to make sense of what she saw.