Tris clenches her metallic mug until her knuckles turn white. All blood has already drained from her fingers and rushed backwards to her heart. Soon, the tips of her fingers will turn purple. The problem is, she doesn't feel anything. Not the numbness. Not the pain. Nothing.
Her other hand writhes around her mouth, too shaky to land on a spot. She gave up chewing her nails a long time ago. It was deemed useless when she realized that she could never capture them between her lips.
Her eyes are a total contradiction to the rest of her body. They are dead. They stare off into the distance, not registering the passing Candors and Dauntless. At least her hands are still moving.
They were supposed to leave for Factionless this morning, but nobody could force her. She didn't want to move knowing that Eric would still be here in the cells. Alone. Besides, his execution was coming up. She didn't want to witness it, but not being there would ride her with guilt for the rest of her life.
It wasn't going to happen. She would not let them. She needed to come up with something. And fast.
Tris looks down into the mug, watching as the coffee that has kept her awake for so long cools down before her eyes. The steam disappears.
A piercing scream jolts life into her. Her eyes react quicker than her hands, darting in the direction of the sound. People start running. Collected black and white figures plunder into chaos, dropping their notebooks, pens, whatever they are holding.
Tris jumps up, barely aware that her hand has knocked the mug off the table, spilling the contents.
Satisfied with her speed and agility, she races though the crowds, heading for the growing screams of a girl, "they're going to jump!"
Four stands at the front of the mob, his head tilted back, looking up. For a second, Tris thinks that he is breathing in the air which comes from an open window. His eyes would be closed. His shoulders relaxed. He wouldn't be here though. Tris imagines that he would be somewhere safe. His happy place.
But this isn't his happy place. This is Candor. Here, he had the truth serum running though his veins, taking and demanding information. And right now his eyes are open. His shoulders tense. As if he is ready to pounce.
She follows his gaze and sees three black figures at the top of the stairs, leading to Candor's main hall. They don't look like they are going to walk down them. They have turned to face the railing, which is far too short for a place like this.
Tris' stomach drops. Christina is among those figures. So is Marlene. The third figure is a small boy. She can't make out his features.
Tori nudges Tris' shoulder with hers. They stare at each other for a moment, clearly distracted by the way they collided. But then Tori nods. And Tris nods. And they start running. Towards their robotic friends.
SHSHSHSHSHSH
Eric's hands are weaker now. Every time Tris squeezes them, he does not respond. Either he doesn't want to or he can't find the strength.
Marlene died today. 'Suicide' Jack Kang calls it. But it was murder. She was being controlled.
Tris and Tori managed to save Christina and Hector. That's who the boy was. It wasn't his time yet.
Grief and depression and longing run though Tris' body. She thought that Jeanine was a serial killer, but no. She is doing all this for a reason. She is trying to get her attention. And what better way of doing it than eliminating everyone she cares about? It certainly worked before.
"You're not going anywhere," Eric says for the hundredth time today, "Don't give in like this."
She has decided to head to Erudite. She isn't threatening to do it. She isn't hoping anyone would follow her. But once Eric is free she is going. And he won't follow her. She will make sure that he doesn't.
The prison corridor is blissfully quiet. The guards have learned to leave when visiting hours are on. Mostly, they extend their time. Mostly, she can stay in Eric's cell. Like she is now.
His enormous arm wraps around her waist and pulls her closer, "You can't save everyone."
"I can't save anyone," Tris replies, nuzzling his neck. It's still warm and it smells like him. She can't imagine him gone.
"Tris," his voice grumbles as his hands find her hips, "She is going to kill you. You. Have. To. Stay,"
"No," she pulls away to look into his eyes. They are very cloudy. And his eyebrows are furrowed. He means what he is saying.
"I won't let anyone hurt you as long as I am alive," he whispers, running a hand into her messy hair, "and if you could co-operate, that would be extremely helpful."
A small smile spreads around her lips, but it is gone quicker than he would have hoped it would be. Their eyes lock in a moment of pure passion. Everything else is still, but their souls are writhing around one another.
Suddenly, his lips find hers. At first he is unsure how he should kiss her. Passionately? Reluctantly? Fearfully? But once she kisses back, it all becomes clear. Their lips move together, afraid that something or someone would break them apart. As much as Tris doesn't want that to happen, it will. She can feel it.