2

Be Brave. Be Brave. Be Brave. My heart thumps these words.

Be Brave. Be Brave.

I put my head in my hands.

The room spins. Reality spins.

Be Brave.

I cannot afford to be brave. Being brave would mean hoping. And hoping for something that was lost and will most likely never be found? It would mean a pain so searing that for sure I would not resist the calls of the vial of serum in my safe anymore. Not anymore.

Cara has made me and Christina go home, promising to call us the moment she finds out something. Anything. All I can do now is wait. And hope. But I don't want to. Bravery is something unreachable now. Especially that Beatrice is gone.

I run the tap and feel it gushing under my fingers, and it's cold, almost as cold as she was when I gripped her hand one last time and she never squeezed back. Suddenly I can't find the strength to turn on the heat, and stumble into the shower, the water pounding my back like hail, and suddenly all I can hear is her voice, telling me to be brave. I weep because she seldom haunts me in my waking hours, both a luxury and condemnation I spend; relieving because I don't sit up drenched in sweat yelling for her, and emptiness because she's not with me, not like she is when I reach the deepest chasms of sleep.

I look down and see the bird on my chest, right where hers used to be. It is infinity, the number of times I remember her again and again, the way her eyes gleamed and were so bright with life, the way her touch felt, and how her words resonated in my mind. Moving on with life and letting go was so hard when there is so much that anchors you back, so much that has formed and shaped you. How ironic that the people I once considered my true family were nearly all dead, and yet the ones who shared my blood were still alive. My eyes blink away the tears and the water gushing from above, pounding a rhythm against the factions inked into my back, and I break.

Hours later I lay in bed, my hands scarred and my knuckles bloody from beating the shower wall to death. However displeased I am with losing control it felt good, and it released the tension I'd been holding in, not just from the jolting meeting with Cara, but from the months that have passed, and the years, all those empty years.

Empty. Just like her eyes when I saw her for the last time. Like her urn which stands in the corner of a room. Like that net before she fell into it. Like my life, before she arrived. Because once she did, she filled me up, like a life-saving serum, one that couldn't have come from any other than Tris – Beatrice—herself. But now? I am nearly empty again.

I fall into sleep, like slipping into a warm bath, but sleep is much more than that now. It is a tumultuous one, that swirls around and around, and I am caught up in a whirlpool of my own dreams. It keeps tugging and I cannot help but succumb to its pull, and I know there's a drain, a drain somewhere, but I can never find it, and maybe I never should, because then I will be empty.

"Four" she whispers, and I stir in my sleep, wanting to escape the whirlpool, to jump from the rim, because I know she'll be there, eyes alight, and arms around me. But my bed is empty and I scream her name well into the night, hoping like a fool that if I cry enough, the birds on our collarbones will turn into a flock and bring her back to me, soaring like she would have on that zip line Uriah took her to, the very same one where I faced my fears like never before, in her name, in her sake. Tris made me brave. She gave me a reason to be.

I fall off the edge of the building, a silent scream wrenching itself and my breath away. I should not have done this. Bad idea. Very bad id—the net catches me and the impact startles me, although I know it would be there. Some things never change.

The Chasm is still here, the sound of roaring water filling my ears. I find the rock we sat on that day she finally told me she chose me, told me without words but with her touch and her lips. Here I stay, losing track of time, strangely soothed by the rush of the river, middleground between the agony of silence and the loneliness of a human din. Here I feel like I can forget, if I focus enough on the noise of splashing and surging. Here feels better than my empty bed or a crowded train, because while this place reeks of her memory, here I can get lost in myself.

The Dauntless compound is like an empty shell, a chamber that holds the thickness of what used to be. I haven't been back here for a long time, but I can't help but miss it. After all, this is where we found new lives, and where we lost them too. I blink and try to see it through her eyes, at first a shocking culture of body mutilation, and violent camaraderie, but then a comforting sea of noisy laughter and loving, loyal allies.

Footsteps break into my thoughts and I slightly frown at the disturbance. Looking up I see Amar, hair tied back as always, brown eyes kind and yet hard and stony. Working in Chicago's Police Force has done him good, giving him a purpose and opportunity to do a Dauntless job. He grins at me and points off towards a distant point in the Chasm. "That's where I died," he says. I nod and say, "It was a great tragedy for all of us. Except for Eric. I told him afterwards that I'd get him back for it." He sits next to me. I quietly say, "I was glad to have killed him."

Amar nods, frowning. He pulls his gun out of his holster and turns it over in his fingers. It shines. He probably polishes it every day. After all, this object is a reminder of his old life and how he used to live it. No matter how painful, still a reminder of the days when he was surrounded by the people he cared for. He hands it to me and nods. "I know you're angry every day. Sometimes I can't help but feel the same, although now's definitely better than driving people around to the Fringe and telling yourself to be content with the life you're assigned to."

It feels cold in my hand.

Cold.

"Tris was one of the bravest people I've ever met," Amar says, his voice heavy with pity. My mind instantly tries to block it out, block out her nickname. "She told me once that she didn't believe GDs were to blame for humanity's burdens. At the time I didn't believe her, but afterwards I realize she was right."

I cough and give him back his gun. "She was always right. Why are we talking about this?"

He puts his hand on my shoulder. I tense, but don't push it away. "Because I'm proud of you. For being surer of yourself that you've taken a position of leadership. We talked about this too, how if you'd just trusted yourself more…"

His voice trails away and I can't look at him. I move to stand up, and he lets his hand fall from my shoulder.

"It's not about the trust," I hear myself say. "I have a responsibility. If I can even remotely recognize what's right, it doesn't matter if I can't act on it, because what's important is I'm aware of it. Just like in the simulations. Besides, it's the only way to go on. Doing work and letting go."

I start to walk away. Amar's voice comes from behind, soft and sad. "Sometimes going on doesn't mean you need to let go. Sometimes, it means you just have to accept."

So this chapter focuses more on Tobias, and gives a little inside to how the past four years have been on him. Well, R&R please :)