Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent.

When we cross the threshold into the factionless sector, we see nothing but a deserted wasteland.

Overhead, I hear the wind completing its rounds around the decrepit buildings surrounding us. I can see various pieces of junk and crumpled-up cans on the pavement. I can sense something like a force field of sadness around each and every structure, a reminder that this should be designated as a place of mourning. We need to save this landscape somehow, preserve it in order to commemorate all the crimes committed against the factionless. But what I need to find first is the warehouse where I met Ysabelle.

I try to see what Eric's thinking. He's looking at me blankly, and trying to be low-key about it. Seems like he wants me to decide our next move. Fine. I'd prefer to do all of this my way, anyway.

I tell him he needs to help me locate the warehouse. He says okay. I leave him to do half the work of searching, hopeful that he'll lose his way, which would buy me time to talk to Ysabelle without him. I start at the end of the nearest street. I scan all of the buildings, my palm positioned in front of my eyes, so the back of my hand keeps the sunlight at bay. When it's obvious I won't find the warehouse there, I walk to a connected street.

There it is, I think. I only just glimpsed my target in my peripheral vision, but it's all good, because I know where it is, and Eric doesn't. I try deadening the sounds my shoes are making on the hard concrete, as I hurry to go over to Ysabelle's and my old meeting place.

It's the same decomposed, rust-brown structure inside which Shauna and I attempted to have sex. Before we first went inside, it looked creepy as hell to me. Now I feel like I'm visiting my home away from home.

Solemnly I walk up to the door that our little group entered through. I knock once, then twice.

The door starts to creak and moan within seconds. It's opening for me, probably because Ysabelle's on the other side. I'm elated, but also stunned. Part of me didn't expect Ysabelle to still be breathing.

Now it's occurring to me that if I'm going to transport Ysabelle back with me, I can't not make all my plans known to Eric. I swallow hard. How the hell do I do this and not reveal too much?

Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, I think. First task at hand is making sure Ysabelle's healthy.

When the door's open all the way, I take a step inside. I turn my flashlight on and wave it around till the circle of light lands on Ysabelle. Turns out she's in much worse shape than when I last saw her. Most of her wounds look to have gotten infected. A grease-colored pus drips from the tears in her skin, circling the pain-inducing patches on her body. She collapses against the wall and lowers herself passively to the floor. I may need help right now, but she needs it so much more than I do.

"Ysabelle," I say plainly. Very inconsiderate of me, but I can think of nothing else to say.

With superhuman effort, she lifts her gaze so she's looking at me. "You," she greets me. The word shrivels in the air just as it gets to my ear.

I'd reach down to help Ysabelle up, but I wouldn't want to coerce her into moving again. She's simply too weak, from a new injury that was recently added to her list, or the beginning stages of blood poisoning, I don't know. I actually don't want to know, but I'll need to ask, so I can modify my plan accordingly. "What's been happening lately?" I question Ysabelle, trying to keep my mind calm.

This time when she looks at me, she seems genuinely angry. She points a twig-like finger at my face and asks, in a sharp voice, if I wasn't the one who got her tortured. I've no idea what she means, so she tells me in full. Several days after she gave me the book, the Dauntless police returned. They were armed with weapons not meant to cause death, only pain. They whipped, stabbed, clubbed, and trampled Ysabelle until she lay inert and bleeding. Then they left, but not before assuring Ysabelle they'd come back.

Ysabelle thinks I was the one who gave the policemen a tip. She speculates that, after "E" wrote me that letter containing all the info I wanted on the rebellion, I decided to use that intel against the factionless. She tells me candidly that she can't not harbor some suspicion for me, after a lifetime of abuse at the hands of people from the factions.

Frustration's growing inside me like a cancer. It's so deeply ironic that I'm trying to help Ysabelle and her people, only to be told that, because of my recent actions, she can't trust me anymore. But I gotta keep my patience with me. Like I acknowledged once before, this is Ysabelle's movement, not mine. If she's gonna participate in what I have planned, it's gotta be her autonomous choice.

I remember the time Bernard came to tell me about Jeanine's appearance in the compound. I transferred to him all the remaining credits on my Dauntless-issued card, and I've still got those receipts. Ysabelle might go to Bernard later, and that's when she'll be told the truth, that even then, I was an active ally of the rebels. Only problem is, the evidence is in my backpack. Earlier my shoulders were hurting, so I left the backpack on the ground next to the front door of the warehouse.

I need to go get it. I tell Ysabelle to wait, and then I sprint for the bag.

When I reach it, I unzip the front flap and shove my hands inside. I sift through all the supplies in my search for the exonerating documents. It's taking longer than I expected to find them, likely because the rest of what I have, the bigger and bulkier items, fell on top of them.

Turning the backpack upside down, I watch as the supplies scatter on the ground, like leaves shed by a tree in the fall. I run a hand through the pile until I finally find the papers.

Thank the Lord, now Ysabelle will know I'm -

My train of thought gets cut short, when I hear a bang that could've shattered my skull.

Fear's already striking at my heart, but what I feel for myself isn't half as strong as what I feel for Ysabelle. My courage waning, I run back inside the warehouse.

That's when I see the thing lying on the ground. The person, actually. Who else could it be, except Ysabelle? She lies very still, even more so than when I first went near her. Her face is on the ground, and that lets me see the bullet hole oozing blood from the back of her head.

My heart thudding harder than it ever has before, I look up slowly. I already know who I'll see. I guess I should've known he'd have the same idea as me about bringing a gun.

I don't want to look at his face. I wouldn't want to see the cold gratification in his eyes, and know how overjoyed he is that Ysabelle's dead. I hear him talking, but the unstable brew of emotions inside me is making it hard to hear. "I know what this looks like," says Eric. "But trust me. It's better for her."

I break my own rule, finally initiating eye contact with him. The look I give him says, How could you?

It doesn't reach him. Or he just doesn't give a damn, because he doubles down, gesturing with the barrel of the gun to Ysabelle's blood-covered corpse. "Could you keep living like this?" he asks me, implying that Ysabelle's tortured life was worth less than a dead man's.

I feel like screaming at him. No, I feel like hurting him. He did more than commit a crime of the highest caliber, he just took away my last hope.

But because my body and brain need to cope with this loss, I let the numbness in my fingers and face spread to the other parts of me. Eric outmaneuvered me, and that devastates me. My hyper-fixation on my plan to expose Jeanine meant I didn't watch him closely enough. I failed Ysabelle. It's my fault she's dead.

All I'm able to do next is cough out a few words in Ysabelle's defense, words I can't even hear over the sound of my own heartbeat. Words I won't remember three minutes from now. And then, before I can even send a prayer up for Ysabelle, I'm walking out the door behind Eric.

Back to the Dauntless compound I go, I think, empty-handed, and empty of all hope.

"Ah, just the two I wanted to see." Amar lobs a ring of keys at us, and I neatly catch it in one hand. "You're on laundry duty," says our instructor. "Get to it."

"Yes, sir," Eric and I recite together. I pocket the key to the laundromat, then I start to follow Eric there. I might've refused to go with him, but I still feel numb from Ysabelle's death. I don't even like doing the initiates' laundry. I'd much rather hand this job off to Amy, the only transfer who seems to actually enjoy it. But I just got back from the factionless sector, and I've no idea where she and the other transfers are.

With little else to do, I unlock the laundromat, and Eric says he'll be the one to get the clothes basket from the transfer dorm. But the anger I feel at Ysabelle's death is starting to surface, and I want Eric to know it's there. In the loudest voice I've been able to muster since the incident, I snap at him to stay put, that I'll be the one to get the basket. He obeys, and I run back to the dorm to collect the dirty clothes.

An idea's sprouting in my mind. It won't make up for the murder of Ysabelle, no way, but it'll be so satisfying to see the look on Eric's face. I enter the laundromat with the basket in my arms, then I tell Eric I'll be forming two piles of clothing, one for him to manage, and one for me. In the basket I see too many pieces of fabric to fit in a single machine, so Eric doesn't question me.

I make sure all of Eric's clothes end up in my pile. Then, while I'm separating the lights and the darks, I think about how I'm gonna tamper with his clothing, to embarrass him in the biggest way possible. I'm emptying out his jeans pocket when I suddenly feel something smooth and shiny.

I yank it out and study it carefully. It's a glossy silver card, and it wasn't made in Dauntless.

I skim the inscription on the card. The words "Pass to Access Erudite Headquarters" tell me pretty much everything I need to know.

Goosebumps show up on the back of my neck. The hairs on my arms all rise simultaneously as I consider what I just discovered about Eric. What else has he concealed from me? From the rest of his chosen faction? Did he steal that card from his old faction? Or, God forbid, did Jeanine herself hand it to him?

All of a sudden, I'm thinking of Shauna and what she accused Eric of. And then I'm thinking of how Jeanine just randomly showed up to talk to a crowd of Dauntless, almost like she'd visited many times before.

A cold dread courses through my body till I feel short of breath. How'd I never figure this out before?

I continue to stand there, looking at Eric's card, and then the cold feeling gives way to a steaming rage. It should not have been this easy for Eric to trick me. But he already has, twice now, actually. I let my fury propel me closer to my former friend, and then, when he happens to look up from his work, I let him have it.

"I think it's time we had a little talk." I keep my voice quiet, or else I'd literally spit the words at him. I hold the card up, so he'll know I have it. "You've been secretly working with Jeanine Matthews, haven't you?"

It looks like somebody hit a pause button on Eric. His hands, fluid and in motion mere seconds ago, fall uselessly to his sides. His face is wiped of all emotion, except for that deer-in-headlights look in his eyes.

After maybe five seconds, Eric's able to open his mouth again. "Give that back," he hisses.

"No." I turn him down flat, and it feels damn good, seeing him fumble for a way to force me to comply. "Not till you explain yourself," I continue. "I defended you against those rumors, then they turned out to be real. You know how shitty I feel now?" Of course I can't prove that Eric's Divergent, as Shauna claimed, but I do know he's involved in a conspiracy with the Erudite, despite looking and acting just like a Dauntless.

Now Eric's anger at me defying him bubbles over. "Of course, you're making this about you," he accuses. "Ever since we came here, your ego's been bigger than normal." He stands up and as he does, he steps on several of the clothes he's been handling.

"That's not true," I say evenly. I sense a fight's about to break out, and I wanna be ready for it.

"Just give it back," Eric demands, eyeing the card in my hand. He takes another step toward me, and now that he's near enough, I can see the unhinged look behind his eyes.

Still I bide my time. "I'm not gonna," I say tauntingly. Then I hold his card behind my back, so he'll no longer be able to see it.

At this, Eric looks immensely stressed, like I finally got the better of him. He walks away and then leans against the closest wall, his hands sinking into his pockets. He shuts his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. "Oh, you think I got no leverage against you?" he mutters. He turns and looks me dead in the eye. "You think I don't know you're Divergent?"

Now it's my turn to go frozen. My head and torso feel like they just got dipped in ice water.

After maybe five seconds, I'm able to open my mouth again. "Who told you?" I stammer, staring at Eric.

"So you never planned on telling me." Eric smiles wryly and withdraws his hands from his pockets. One of them is clenched in a fist. "You never trusted your friend from Erudite, did you?" he asks me, and when he looks at me again, his rage seems to have multiplied in intensity.

"Answer the question!" I practically roar at him. "How do you know I'm Divergent?" I'm not about to let the change in him faze me.

Eric says nothing back. He just continues smiling, like someone who's sick in the head.

At this rate I'll get nowhere with him. I sigh and let my hand, the one holding Eric's access card, drop to my side. "Well," I say, faking a casual attitude, "you have no proof I am, so…"

I don't finish. Eric chooses this moment to catch me off guard for the third time today. He uncurls his fist, which reveals a tiny black gadget nested inside it. I know what it's used for, to record and save audio files.

My anger returns all of a sudden. "Hand that over," I snap at Eric.

"No," he snaps back.

What avenues are open to me now? I try bargaining. I hold Eric's card up again, making sure the light catches on its shiny surface. "We'll trade," I propose to Eric, "then we can walk away peacefully."

Eric responds after a couple of seconds. "I'm not gonna," he says mockingly, echoing what I previously told him. He then holds the recording device behind his back, where I can't see it.

I angrily thrust my hand down in surrender, and the card almost falls on the floor. I turn around, because if I have to look at Eric for longer than this, I might end up doing time for homicide. "Knew you wouldn't compromise," I say, disgustedly. "Typical Erudite."

I've still got my back to him when he speaks again, but his words are clearer than the whistle of an oncoming train. "Funny you'd say that, you're just a typical…"

I whirl on him so quickly, he ceases to talk just out of surprise. "A typical what?"

The pin's been pulled from the grenade in the room. Eric's as aware of this fact as I am, and it's starting to really scare him. Of course, I already heard what he said. I just am hoping he has the backbone to confirm it.

"What were you gonna say?" I keep pressing Eric. He won't answer. "Go on, say it," I continue, bearing down upon him, though keeping enough of a distance between us that he can't jump forth and snatch his card back.

Eric hesitatingly shakes his head. "You'll only use it against me," he claims.

"No, I won't." I start to close the gap between us. A couple more feet, and our noses would be touching. "Say it," I command.

Eric doesn't say it.

My fear of him is now nonexistent. I turn my volume all the way up for this next accusation. "You always wanted to say it, am I right?"

This makes Eric look uncomfortable, and he actually takes a step back. But as he does, he folds his arms in front of him and keeps his mouth tightly shut.

"You're too scared to say it." I wield his refusal as a weapon against him, ensuring that what goes around comes around. Then I laugh loudly in his face.

Eric's definitely affected, but his proud front stays up. "Damn," he murmurs, putting both hands up by his head, maybe so he can pretend to have been a victim of my abuse. "Are a couple of your screws loose?" He pauses, and I think he's thinking better of what he's saying, but then he unfailingly shows me I'm wrong. "Maybe not, you're a little too stiff…"

He never finishes. One strong dose of adrenaline inside me, and suddenly he's on his back on the floor.

I let out a calm exhale before I look at Eric again. His mouth's wet with his own blood, and some of it is on the back of my hand. I did that to him. I acted on the desires I'd been holding underneath the surface for forever, and punched my former friend so hard he fell.

I start laughing all over again. The noises coming from my mouth sound a little maniacal. "Shit," I manage to say, in between my guffaws. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

And then, all of a sudden, I'm the one on his back on the ground.

For about ten seconds I lie there, like a flipped-on-its-back turtle, letting Eric out-wrestle me. Then, after breathing in deeply, I send as many counter-punches in Eric's direction as I possibly can. I feel bone bash against cartilage, see blood spew from my opponent's nostrils. Eric has no other choice but to release me, so he can get the flow to slow down. "You little piece of…" he starts to say.

Again, I don't let him finish. I clock him in the eyelid next, and he gasps, his hand instinctively moving from his nose to his eye.

I believe I'm winning this fight, and it's giving me euphoria. Might be too soon, though, because a second later, Eric knees me forcefully in the crotch. An embarrassingly high-pitched half-whine, half-groan makes its way through my throat and out between my lips.

I imagine myself hitting Eric in the neck, possibly breaking his windpipe. But my strength requires time to reload after that almost-fatal hit. Now I can do nothing as Eric reaches down and grabs ahold of my hand, the same one that's still got a grip on his access card.

Fuck! I forgot I still had it.

Eric finally forces the card out of my hand, and simultaneously I remember he has a recording of me admitting I'm Divergent. It's on that damn device of his. He dropped it after my first punch to his face. I just have to find it and take it before he does.

I scramble upright and let the thought of Eric's card leave my mind. There's the recording device, it's just three feet away from where my shoes are. Like a cat going for the mouse, I lurch toward it.

It's too bad Eric has the same idea. We knock each other down and roll, each one of us topping the other for a second, before getting submerged beneath his weight again. While we're grappling, both our hands fight for Eric's device.

"Give it to me!" I gasp out, although I know Eric won't give it. He squeezes the recording device with his hand, his arm retracting so the thing I want is completely out of reach. That does it. High risk, high reward.

I get back on my feet and take like two steps backward. Then I run head-on at Eric like an angry bull. My arms stretch outward to their maximum length, my hands bulldozing Eric's chest. He goes down instantly, and there's nothing to break his fall. A second later, his head's smashing the hard tile.

Blood pools around the impact site. Eric's moaning in pain. He's still coherent, but he's badly hurt.

I'm still straddling him, so I hurry to roll off of him. Then I start to rip both the card and his device from his grasp. I'm about to achieve this, when I hear someone shout at me.

"Hey! On your feet, now!"

Shit. It's Amar.

I follow his order as soon as he walks into the laundromat. Eric tries to as well, but he doesn't manage to stand up all the way, only making it as far as his knees. Amar gives both him and me the same judgmental look.

"Stand up straight," he orders us harshly. "Look me in the eye." Both Eric and I do, Eric with a lot more effort. "What's the meaning of all this?" Amar inquires, his gaze shifting from me to Eric.

We just keep our lips sealed. I'm not entirely sure what I'd say, anyway.

"On second thought," snaps Amar, "shut up." He's glaring at us so fiercely, I fear we'll be killed if either of us replies to him now. He raises a hand like he wants to hit us, and Eric and I flinch, but then he just points with his thumb in a particular direction. "We'll deal with this at my office," he tells us.

The three of us walk in a slow procession. I think both Eric and I dread the outcome of this sit-down with Amar, but Eric's much too proud to confess it. I'm not. But I honestly don't think Eric will implicate me. Though we now hate each other, we still know each other inside out, well enough for us both to understand that neither of us will tell on the other. Whichever one manages to keep his secret the longest, that'll be left to God to decide.

A whole hour goes by, faster than I'd ever expect.

Eric and I sit by each other's side, our elbows almost touching, the big desk the only thing between us and Amar. We're right where he originally seated us. In the background, the wall clock's second hand tick-tocks quietly, barely noticeable until now, when it's silent. Before, you'd be able to hear frenzied shouting and see angry fingers pointing in every direction. We were making the biggest racket in Amar's little office. But now we've all cooled down. And I feel relieved.

I take a risk by glancing at Amar. The veins won't stop popping on his forehead, and the sweat coating his skin isn't drying up. He might have to take a day off to recover from this. As he taps the end of his fountain pen against the surface of his desk, he ogles me and Eric. "And everything you just stated is the truth?" he asks us.

"No room for interpretation, sir," Eric says steadily. He gestures to me without looking at me. "Like he said, I was mad 'cause he used my device."

Amar's eyes move to me, and I nod quickly.

The discussion is, hopefully, over. Amar scoffs a little at Eric, then to our shock, he's suddenly chuckling. "All this over a voice recorder?" He slaps his own face with his palm, and I see Eric wince. "For an Erudite, you're awfully childish," Amar continues to tear into Eric.

I would start laughing as well. But Amar's looking to get me punished, too. He puts his laughter on pause and swivels in his chair, so his disciplinary stare's aimed my way. "Now to you." He points at the space between my eyes, like he imagines firing a bullet there. "Look into anger management."

"I will, sir," I reply.

"You're both dismissed," Amar pronounces. With that, Eric and I are shooed away from his office. We only regard each other briefly before heading our separate ways.

So as of now, Eric's secret is safe with me, and mine with him. It's like we've somehow gone back to being the best of friends. But we know better. The strained peace between us can only be temporary, and the tensions will simmer for only so long, before we blow up again.

AN: Wow! That was one epic fight. And yes, the part where Tobias tells Eric to "say it" was ripped from that Samuel L. Jackson video where he messes with the interviewer who asked him about the Django Unchained controversy. Up next is someone else's untimely demise. Who will it be? Keep reading and find out.