Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent or any direct quotes used.

When all the initiates have hit the target, I escort them to the dining hall for lunch. I notice that the transfers and the Dauntless-borns sit at different tables, making the differences between them obvious. I sit at an empty table on the far side of the room, away from everyone and everything. My stomach twists violently at the thought of what's about to happen. Watching the initiates fight one another makes me sick. It depresses me to watch untrained, vulnerable soldiers fight until one cannot continue.

After losing all hope of regaining my appetite, I abandon my untouched food and head to the training room. I sigh in relief when I find that it's empty.

I walk lazily around the room, straightening punching bags and retrieving mats from the cupboard. The knot in my stomach tightens as my fingers brush across the stained fabric. The texture is rough and flakes of dried blood shower the floor.

"What are you doing?"

My hands tighten subconsciously around the mat in my hands. "I'm riding a unicorn," I say, my tone sharp. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Eric's eyes narrow in suspicion. He carelessly tugs at a loose thread from the punching bag nearest to him. After a few moments, he raises his head slightly to meet my gaze.

"I'm only going to ask you once," he says, his voice dangerously quiet. "What are you doing in here alone?"

I raise an eyebrow at him questioningly. His expression is familiar, one of accusation and suspicion. I fight back a smile. His Erudite is showing.

"I'm doing my job," I say simply. I make a show of checking my watch, and give a careless shrug. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have initiates to train."

"As I said this morning," I say, "next you will learn how to fight. The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges – which you will need, if you intend to survive life as a Dauntless."

"We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will start to fight each other," I say. The thought of them fighting one another makes me sick; it reminds me that Dauntless is changing. "So I recommend that you pay attention. Those who don't learn fast will get hurt."

I name a few punches, demonstrating each one as I do, first against the air and then against the punching bag before allowing them to begin.

After a few minutes, I start to walk around the room, judging each initiate by skill, strength and stance. Edward is the best; his punches are well measured and powerful, a clear sign of practise.

"Keep it up, Edward," I say. He gives me a small smile, pride shining behind his eyes. He nods, and turns back to his punching bag.

Peter is next to Edward. He is easily second, his stance is good and his punches show potential. He glares at me as I pass him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I turn on my heels, and before I know what I'm doing, I find myself clutching the fabric to Peter's shirt, my face very close to his. He stares at me wide-eyed.

"Don't get too cocky, Candor," I spit. I slam my hand into his chest as I release his shirt and walk away.

I stop in front of Tris, my eyes following her body from her head to her feet.

"You don't have much muscle," I say matter-of-factly, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."

Just like before, I reach out and press a hand to her stomach. I can feel her heart pounding in her chest as she stares at me wide-eyed. I give her a small smile.

"Never forget to keep tension here," I say in a quiet voice. I lift my hand and walk away.

"Where's Shauna?" I ask, dropping carelessly down into the seat next to Zeke.

He twirls his fork slowly around his plate, frowning. "She had to go back to the fence. Nita got ran over by an Amity truck so she had to cover for her."

"Nita?" I question, my voice strained. It can't be her; it's not possible. She wasn't here last time, was she?

"Yeah," he says. He turns in his seat to face me. "Who was the first jumper? Gus wouldn't give me the day off; I couldn't be here."

I clear my throat. "It was a Stiff."

Zeke snorts. "What? A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of."

The corner of my mouth twitches up in a smile. "It's true."

Zeke's smirk widens to a grin. "My brother is never going to hear the end of this," he laughs. "At least I was the first jumper."