A/N: Ayo lovely little lambs, I still only own new characters and events and things like that. Alessa's picture can be found on Polyvore in the outfit sets (Noellamonster) since I don't own the story I make no money from writing and all the rights go to the rightful owners.

*Alessa's p.o.v

I stretched as I entered the training room, looking around I see that Tris has yet to arrive. Chris was talking with Will and Al, Peter was with his lackeys. Chris notices me standing by the entrance and motions for me to come to her. I walk over after casting another glance towards my brother. He hadn't noticed me yet.

I looked around, there were targets set up against one wall. Along a table were throwing knives. "Great, more of a chance someone will die." I say, Chris nods.

"It's probable that at least one person will get a knife to some part of their body, accident or not." Will says, Chris smiles but rolls her eyes. Something about the way they had started acting towards each other made me wonder…

Eric stands in the middle of the room, stiff and rigid. His gaze is cold, it sends a shiver down my spine. He looks colder, crueler, than usual. You could feel it radiating off of him, making the air heavier, less breathable.

It's not long before Tris trudges in, she scans the room and relief floods her expression. She walks over to where we stand.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric says. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knives." His cold gaze scanned the small crowd of initiates, his voice was deeper than usual. "And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them." We stand still. "Now!" We scramble forward, everyone taking daggers and moving into position. Knives are much lighter than guns, the cold steel presses into my palm and I remember the day I chose to follow my brother here, I wonder when I lost him.

"He's in a bad mood today" Christina mumbles.

"Is he ever in a good mood?" Tris mumbles back.

"He must never get laid" I mumble, Chris's hands fly to her mouth as she stifles laughter while Tris turns red. I look away, ever since talking to Lynn nothing seems right. I understand but I also don't.

Instead I look to Eric, he glares at Four, homicidal anger flashing in his dark eyes. If looks could kill I'm sure his would. Four acted as though winning meant nothing, Eric acted like it would have meant everything. I guess it had to do with pride, something important to dauntless. More important than most anything else.

I turn my attention to Four, I take mental notes of the stance he uses, how much power is behind each throw, and how he recoils after he throws. He throws daggers a few more times then it's our turn.

I match his stance with small adjustments that would fit my size better, I throw the dagger and it hits the center of the target. I keep throwing, each time I make a target and then expand to the outer circles. It comes easy although soon my arm gets tired of being in the same positions, I change arms. I had come to practice in here each night we did target practice, I would use my left instead of my right hand. I wanted to be capable of using it.

Eric walks past me with a smile, the anger hadn't left his eyes though. "You've been practicing" he stopped and watched me, "Good, we'll need you in dauntless."

I felt lighter from his words, as if a burden I hadn't known I was carrying was lifted away. I ignored the argument between my brother and Tris, he was acting like a child. I don't know what to do about him.

But despite what he thought of her she was second to hit the target, I was first. My brother wasn't good with knives.

"How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?" Al's face turns red. He throws another knife, and this one sails a few feet to the right of the target. It spins and hits the wall. "What was that, initiate?" Eric's voice is deathly quiet, he leans closer to Al and I feel goosebumps rise on my skin.

"It—it slipped," Al's voice shakes.

"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric says. He scans the other initiates' faces, everyone had stopped throwing to watch what Eric would do to Al, the anger in his eyes flashes and spreads across his expression. "Did I tell you to stop?" his voice makes panic rise in my throat, we all start throwing again. His anger is different than normal, it's crueler and he is more rabid. It's as if he was waiting for someone to slip up just so he could tear them apart.

"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." A smirk tugs at Eric's lips, his oddly dark eyes glint as he seems to relish the thought of someone slipping up and nailing him. "Go get your knife." Al doesn't usually object to anything the Dauntless tell us to do. Part of me thinks he's afraid and part of me thinks he just knows that objecting is useless. This time Al sets his wide jaw. He's reached the limits of his compliance. I'm surprised no one else has.

"No," he says.

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

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" Al furrows his brow "Yes, I am!" Honesty is his mistake. Not his refusal, which Eric might have accepted.

"Everyone stop!" Eric shouts. The knives stop, and so does all conversation. My dagger digs into my palm, Al should have lied. "Clear out of the ring." Eric looks at Al. "All except you." I slip the dagger into my pocket, Chris places hers on the table, and Tris lets hers fall to the ground. We shuffle to one side of the room, some initiates pushing to see what Eric will do, Al was going to get hurt if he stuck through it. "Stand in front of the target," Eric's deathly calm is scarier than when he screams.

Al shakes as he walks to the target. "Hey, Four." Eric looks over his shoulder. "Give me a hand here, huh?" Four scratches one of his eyebrows with a knife point and approaches Eric. He has dark circles under his eyes and a tense set to his mouth—he's as tired as we are. "You're going to stand there as he throws those knives," Eric says to Al, "until you learn not to flinch." "

Tris p.o.v

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

I squeeze my hands into fists. No matter how casual Four sounds, the question is a challenge. And Four doesn't often challenge Eric directly. At first Eric stares at Four in silence. Four stares back. Seconds pass and my fingernails bite my palms. "I have the authority here, remember?" Eric says, so quietly I can barely hear him. "Here, and everywhere else." Color rushes into Four's face, though his expression does not change. His grip on the knives tightens and his knuckles turn white as he turns to face Al. I look from Al's wide, dark eyes to his shaking hands to the determined set of Four's jaw. Anger bubbles in my chest, and bursts from my mouth:

"Stop it." Four turns the knife in his hand, his fingers moving painstakingly over the metal edge. He gives me such a hard look that I feel like he's turning me to stone. I know why. I am stupid for speaking up while Eric is here; I am stupid for speaking up at all. I slip my hand into Alessa's and inhale. "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."

"Then it should be easy for you," Eric says. "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 let go of Alessa, Chris grabs her to keep her back. She growls, her eyes now matching Eric's who smiles at her. I weave through the crowd of initiates.

Four and I stay behind. Chris and Alessa will be waiting. I wait until the room is empty and the door is shut 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.

"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. "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.