TRIS POV

I wake up with a headache and dry cheeks.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I glance at the clock and realize that I slept in for three hours longer than I should have. Dez was supposed to wake me up on time so we could go work in the fields. Oh well, no point in rushing now.

The effects of my crying fit from the previous night are still present. My nose is nearly impossible to breathe through, and I feel drowsy with nostalgia. The sleeves of Tobias's sweatshirt have been ruined by my salty tears.

I would like to think this was a hiccup in my attitude, but I know better. For the last few months, I have been slipping back into the familiar depths of depression, and it wouldn't surprise me if these moments of overwhelming sadness hit me again periodically. It has become increasingly difficult to hold it together when I have nobody to hold me together.

With a sigh to myself, I pull the hood up over my head and curl up with my back to the window.

Sometimes his absence makes me want to shut down. Sometimes, when I remember the way he whispered my name, I want to kick and scream and break things.

My eyes sting from incoming tears, and I shut them tightly. No. I did this last night, and I refuse to dwell on how much I miss him again. It will only chip off another piece of me.

Struggling to find a distraction or some relief, I reach toward the nightstand and remove the last thing Tobias gave to me: his gun.

It is oddly comforting to me as I pass it back and forth between my palms—my airway isn't so tight anymore. It reminds me of draining days in the training room, and how it used to make me feel in control when I shot a gun. Now I am too tainted to enjoy cradling the metal weapon in my hands, but at least I can hold it without panicking. That's a start, I guess.

Maybe I take comfort in the fact that he left me this piece of him so that I could protect myself if it came down to it. Or really, I see it as him protecting me. With that thought in mind, I remove my pocketknife from the drawer too and begin carving into the rubber part of the grip.

My fear landscape comes to mind as I work. If a war is indeed approaching, then I need to think through my fear of guns. Can I hold a gun? Yes. Can I shoot it? I suppose.

Could I shoot someone if it came down to it?

I'm not sure I can answer that question yet by the way my stomach swells with dread. For now though, I can ponder the idea until I can convince myself that I would do it to protect the people I love. Maybe I already can, but there is no guarantee that I won't freeze up when the time comes.

Despite my low value of my life, I need to be able to defend myself if I want to have any chance of making it home someday.

I will start this process of building confidence by having the strength I need pressed right into my palm.

With a satisfied smile, I skim my thumb over the symbol now permanently etched into the gun.

4

"Sorry I missed you in the fields today," Dez apologizes when we sit down to dinner. "One of my friends needed some help tending to the chickens and—"

"You're fine, Dez. You don't have to explain yourself." I pause to skim my fingers over each other, testing for pain. My hands are raw from the grueling work that my job entailed today. I have to admit, it is nothing like bashing my knuckles into a leather bag.

Remembering that I am sort of bothered by her, I chastise, "You shouldn't have let me sleep in so late this morning though."

My friend darts her eyes around the cafeteria until they settle on her plate. "I'm sorry, I just..." She figures out her word choice. "I don't want you to be embarrassed or anything, but I heard you crying last night."

I chew my cheek uncomfortably. It is bad enough that I had a weak breakdown, but the fact that someone heard it is worse. That was something I wanted to keep private, though it is my fault for sobbing so humiliatingly loud in a house with three other people.

"I know you're not happy here, and you're worn out, I can tell. I just thought you could get some extra rest."

The Amity in her rubs me right for once, and now I feel rude. With a sigh, I say, "Thanks, that was thoughtful of you. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

Dez smiles. "It's already forgotten."

We continue our meals, and later on Robert joins us, a bounce in his step and a lightness in his facade. It frightens me that I probably would have ended up married to him if we both stayed in Abnegation; we are strikingly polar opposites.

"Hello, ladies," he greets, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from his forehead. "How are you doing this evening?"

"Well, Tris has a frown on, so I'd say normal," Dez teases lightheartedly. I blush, reaching across the table to shove her arm.

Robert nods sympathetically. "Has it gotten any easier, Tris?" he asks. "I hope you'll get used to it soon."

"It's...I just miss someone, that's all," I clarify. Because if Tobias were here, I wouldn't really have a problem with assimilating. I can adapt, just not easily without him.

However, I don't want to make it seem like I am ungrateful to be housed here, or like I can't stand everyone. Sure, I don't clash well with bubbly attitudes, but that doesn't mean I want to condemn Robert's faction in front of him. I already feel guilty for the way I subtly did the other day.

"That's understandable. I tend to miss Susan a lot," he admits, and it baffles me that he would so willingly defy the motto Faction Before Blood. I didn't peg him as that kind of person. Though he falls right back into faction norms with his next sentence. "But you know, you should try some bread. It seems to help!"

I scrunch up my nose in distaste when he passes down a basket of peace serum-laced bread. "I'm fine," I state. "Thank you. How has your day been?"

He launches into tales of farming and acts of kindness that almost lull me into sleep. By the time the sun is beginning to disappear over the hills, I split off from my friends and decide to take a walk before I head back to the house.

I suppose I take nature for granted when I am surrounded by it every day; right now I can make up for it though, by scanning the orange-streaked horizon and the breeze that makes branches and leaves on the trees shudder. It is beautiful, and it is something I wouldn't normally see on a day-to-day basis in either of my former factions.

Sometimes, in moments like these, I can't help but think of my parents. Specifically, my mother comes to mind, and the times when she would take Caleb and I out to the Amity farms to pick fruit from trees. That selfless act makes me feel closer to her some days, but it aches to think about her, so I try not to.

My mother and father died over a year ago. It's not like I don't think about that fact often; it is just a heavier load to bear when the rest of my family isn't here to assist me through it.

I kick at a patch of dirt in my path as I follow the trail across a grassy landscape. At the end lies a few houses and buildings and also a place I recognize: Johanna's office, with white paint peeling off the edges.

Still lost in my mournful thoughts, I plan on striding right past the squat building until I hear heated voices carrying out from the propped-open window. I frown at the strange behavior in such a setting. But I can't grasp why because the words are jumbled, so I stand right beneath the window on my toes.

"...Evelyn's orders," a male says gruffly.

"And Evelyn isn't here to negotiate, is she?" Johanna replies smoothly. "I said we were contemplating a deal with her. Nothing was set in stone."

"Well, I'm her second-in-command. I'm here in her place because she has other matters to attend to. Now, can we get down to business?"

Is that...Edward?

Johanna sighs, bordering on animosity at his pushy attitude. "Look, gentlemen. Even if I wanted to make this deal with you now, I can't. It isn't even what Evelyn and I discussed; our deal was much more fair all the way around for every faction. The shipments would flow equally between all factions including the factionless. But what you are proposing is turning on several of our friends and allies by depriving them. While I would likely be able to get most of my faction to agree on the initial option, this will not get passed. I'm sorry."

I scowl at what I have heard. The factionless are trying to make an alliance with the Amity? Whatever the reason it cannot be good, but Johanna seems to be holding her ground.

What could Evelyn want out of this? I attempt to make sense of it just as I hear a gun click. The sharp noise sends a jolt through my body.

"Yeah, well, is this enough incentive?" another man sneers. "We were told not to leave without a signed document for this agreement. So your plan won't do."

As I chew on my nails anxiously, the reason finally hits me, almost knocking the breath out of me. The factionless want unequal distributions to the other factions. Distributions of what?

What are the Amity in charge of when it comes to helping the city prosper?

Food.

This is what we have been waiting for; this is the precipice on which the city will teeter off of. The factionless plan to starve the rest of the city off while they fight back.

Johanna can't do much but passively sign the agreement. I hear movement inside, so I quickly begin shuffling away just as a door swings open, slamming into the wall behind it.

I must look guilty. A second later, the man behind me threateningly calls, "Hey, stop right there!"

Breaking into a sprint, I make a detour to run straight into the orchards. My mind is frantic as I try to simultaneously outrun an adult male and figure out a plan of what to do when he reaches me. My lungs burn from exertion, and I glance back over my shoulder to see that he is alone but gaining on me very quickly. If he catches me, then he will either kill me for what I have heard or turn me in for a reward.

With a gasp I push myself harder and deeper into the woods, dodging branches and fallen twigs, but it proves to be fruitless. He lunges at me and traps me in his arms as we both fall forward.

Nearly crushed and seeing black around the edges, I slam my elbow back into his head on instinct. He growls, but I have just enough time to flip around to my back so I can fight him off more properly.

That thought goes out the window for a moment because of the blow he lands on my nose.

A high-pitched whimper escapes me, and my eyes naturally tear up from the strange, prickling pain. Thankfully I didn't hear a crack, but my ears feel like they are stuffed, so my observation is probably worthless.

I come alive when I manage gather my thoughts. Remember training. Tobias told me that I always have to find my opponent's weak spot. And even though I am not familiar with this man's fighting skills, I do know that he has at least one obvious place to target.

A howl leaves him when I slam my knee into his groin. In a panic, I slip out from underneath him and claw at the leaves, crawling away as quickly as possible. When he latches onto my foot, I sink my fingers into the kindling, although my hands wrap around something hidden within it. A rope, that belongs to an old, fallen tire swing nearby.

I flip around just as he closes in on me again. In a haste, I manage to loop the rope around his neck. Somehow in our scuffle, he ends up on his back, and I use his shoulders as leverage for my feet as I pull the rope. My heartbeat chokes me as I slowly suffocate him, watching his cheeks turn purple and his arms cease their flailing.

Ringing is all I can hear. I shove him away desperately before trying to catch my breath, but I am hyperventilating. Stumbling around on my feet, I realize that I can't stay here any longer. He could wake up and attack me, or he could be dead.

I don't stick around to check whether he is dead or alive.

My feet somehow move steadily as I take a stealthy route back to the house to avoid any more factionless guards. I drag a shaking hand across my upper lip to wipe away some of the blood.

I will have to go. Even though the prospect of leaving Amity used to be appealing not even an hour ago, I am frazzled by the jeopardy I was just in. Danger may be something I signed up for and something I often revel in, but murder and brutal pain sink into my gut farther than mindless Dauntless fun.

Dez and Robert are at the kitchen table when I yank the door open. Fortunately, her mother and sister aren't around.

"Woah, Tris, what happened to you?" Dez exclaims, rising to inspect my severely bruised—and possibly broken—nose.

"I have to go," I wheeze. "I have to leave Amity, right now."

Robert doesn't seem to understand the situation I'm in. I didn't tell him and Dez everything, but just enough to let them know that it was a horrible idea to show my face around here anytime soon.

However, as an Amity he has no objections to helping me escape. So he waited with us for an hour before leaving to fetch a truck. In the meantime, I iced my nose and attended to it as much as I could between packing my bag.

Outside an engine rumbles. I double-check that I have my gun and some food and other supplies that I might need in the factionless sector.

"Good luck," Dez says before I step out the door.

I walk back to her and wrap my arms around her, realizing that this may be the last time I see her in a long time. Or ever, if I die. What I am about to do is so dangerous, so risky, but it isn't much safer here anymore. Besides, I need to tell someone about the Amity-factionless agreement.

"Thank you, Dez," I say. I may not have gotten along with her perfectly these last few months, but now I don't want to leave her. "For everything." Then I rush out the door to meet Robert.

The truck is stacked with numerous crates containing fruits and vegetables. Robert slips out of the driver's seat and meets me around back, pointing to an empty spot in the bed between the crates.

"Think you can squeeze into here?" he asks.

I evaluate it. It is small, but so am I. It will do. "I suppose so."

"Okay." He helps me up into the bed, and I step over the crates to reach the spot. Before pulling a tarp over my head, he reminds me, "I won't be stopping on the way to the fence. So if you feel the truck stop, that means that we are at the fence. Don't move or make a sound when that happens, or else the guards will search."

"Of course." I nod, and he covers me and the containers up with the tarp.

I curl up and try not to vomit as the truck drives over bumps. My nose throbs in synch with the bumps, and the ride seems to last an eternity. Why am I doing this exactly?

Then I think about how I will be inside the city for the first time in months. I am going to be the closest to home, to Tobias, that I have been since I left for Amity all those weeks ago.

I have to make it though the fence.

The truck gradually stops. I take tiny, noiseless breaths as the guards' steps approach.

"What is an Amity truck passing through this late for?" one of them huffs.

"Oh, just a food shipment," Robert explains happily. "Johanna wants us to start delivering more at night, since it is getting to be so dangerous in the city."

I hold my breath when another pair of steps lands a couple feet away from me, and I squeeze my eyes shut in silent prayer even though it is too dark to see anyway.

"Okay," someone says, accepting his answer. "Let him through!"

The truck jolts into motion again. My stomach lurches with it. And then I am once again back in the city.

We continue on, dodging potholes and sometimes not, to my annoyance. A migraine is creeping up on me, and I have to fight my eyelids so that they won't close. This day has been inherently terrible as well as exhausting. The idea that I have to find somewhere secluded in the factionless sector to sleep—likely on the floor—makes me feel regretful for complaining about Amity.

When the truck skids into a halt, I throw the tarp back and climb out, eager to be back on my own two feet again. My nausea disappears momentarily before being recalled by the scent of rot filling the air of the factionless district.

"Think you'll be okay?" Robert asks, looking around the abandoned street.

"I'll have to be."

He nods and gives me an awkward hug. "Good luck."

"Thanks, Robert," I whisper. I watch him climb back into the car and drive away, into the eerie night.

Tobias's hoodie has done much to keep out the chill of the fall air, but as I walk down the street and into a gust of frigid wind, I shiver. Crossing my arms, I duck into an alley for more coverage.

Up ahead I hear faint voices resonating from factionless strangers. I see their light from the fire flickering against the walls too. When I hear the sound of drunk men, I decide that that path wouldn't be a smart one, so I follow the buildings along the street to the left.

"Tobias!" a feminine voice shouts.

My head perks up at the name. I haven't heard anyone say it in so long because he hasn't been there for me to say it. It briefly makes me feel like I am at home and warm and loved. It reminds me that there are things I shouldn't give up on, no matter how fragile this city is.

For a moment I think it is just a coincidence. Tobias isn't a common name, but it is a name that easily could have been passed along since everyone has heard the name Tobias Eaton before.

A man steps out onto the street in front of me. With a choke, I longingly watch him sigh miserably into the air. Everything about him tells me who it is: his tall stature, his mannerisms, however minuscule, the shadow cast under his cheekbone from the side.

All I can do is watch him for a moment.

And then I unfreeze when the circumstance has sunken in. I want nothing more than to run at him, but somehow I don't have enough energy.

So I pace a little closer before I gasp out, "Hi, stranger."

Tobias turns, his dark, stormy eyes locked on mine. I drink in the sight of his mouth propping open for a labored breath and the desperate expression that the rest of his face forms. Then his mouth twitches at the corners.

"Tris," he breathes, moving towards me. I had forgotten how fast he was. "Tris."

We meet in the middle, crashing in a beautiful moment of hugs and reuniting and, for me, tears. I catch a whiff of his scent on his collar and almost crumble right there, somehow just now realizing that this is real because that detail could not have been fabricated. My fingers shake as they slide under his shirt to brush his bare skin, and I squeeze out a laugh when I notice how tight he is holding me and how it is constricting my breath.

He's so strong and warm and real.

When we can bear to put distance between us, he frames my face in his hands and says, "What happened to your face?"

I bark out another wet laugh at the absurdity of that statement, and he wipes away my tears. "That's all you can say right now?"

He shakes his head, and with a shy smile, teases, "I was just hoping it wouldn't hurt when I did this."

His lips lower to mine, and I respond eagerly as I remember what to do. My hands plant themselves between his strong shoulders. I tilt my head back slightly to make the height difference less frustrating. He slides his hand into my hair and breathes out a sigh of relief that we both share.

I'm home.

Yay they're back!