I haven't seen Eric in three days, and I'm starting to worry. I know if he had an incident like mine he may have also been drugged, but I'm anxious and antsy when I am sat in front of Myron's desk again.

"Why is Eric Coulter in this facility?" I asked Myron for the third session in a row, but as usual Myron was denying it was Eric.

"We don't have anyone named Eric Coulter here, and even if we did you know I can't discuss other patients with you. My answer isn't going to change, no matter how many times you ask me. However, I do have a question for you, why do you want to know about this Eric person?" Myron replies without looking at me.

"I want to spend more time with him."

That finally gets his attention and he peers over his glasses at me, "Who is Eric Coulter to you?"

"He was a leader in Dauntless." I replied.

"Was?" He asks.

"He died in the war."

Myron takes his reading glasses off and massages the bridge of his nose, "If he died in the war, how is it that you've come to believe that he's here?"

"Because I saw him a few days ago."

He leans back in his chair, his large frame dwarfing the chair that I'm sure was special ordered for him, "How often do you see the people that you lost?"

"I didn't lose him." I argue.

"Tris, there is no one by the name of Eric Coulter here. We have no former or current Dauntless leaders. The surviving leaders of Dauntless who were cleared of any wrongdoing are back in position in that faction in the city. Why do you believe the man you saw was Eric Coulter?" He asks.

"Because he is!"

"Do you also see Tobias Eaton?" He asks me and I grip the chair as I start to shake.

Tobias was my best friend growing up, the only good thing to ever come out of being raised in Abnegation. He was quiet, shy, and unsure of himself where I was the louder, more extroverted one. I'd known the hell his father put him through ever since his mother died, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was leaving Abnegation to escape his father's abuse. He'd asked me repeatedly where I wanted to go, and I told him emphatically that I was going to Dauntless. I never thought he'd choose it, but the months leading up to his choosing day saw a shift in our relationship, and we'd moved from friends to a physical relationship based on the love we had for each other. We knew from that point on things had changed, and we started mapping out an alternate to where we would transfer together.

We had decided on Amity. For as brave and curious as I was about Dauntless, I knew my calm and quiet boyfriend couldn't ever learn to love it there, and for him I would make a compromise that we could both live with so we could start a life together.

The morning of his choosing he'd pulled me aside and kissed me like it would be the last time he could do it. Right before the bell rang signaling we were to be seated for the ceremony, he'd promised me again he would wait for me.

I was emotional and nervous as I waited for his name to be called, and when he walked to the stage to take the knife from his own father, our head leader Marcus Eaton, I'd held my breath as he moved his palm over the bowl of earth and greenery symbolizing Amity. However, he kept moving and I couldn't tell where he was headed until we all heard the sizzling of blood hitting hot coals. His father shook his head, and I watched as he physically had to restrain himself for grasping at his only son, and as he watched Tobias walk away from him he angrily said one word.

"Dauntless."

I was in shock, he didn't want to go to Dauntless, he wanted to go somewhere peaceful where we could raise a family together, and when his brown eyes met mine he only nodded once and smiled briefly.

He chose Dauntless for me.

"I don't want to talk about him." I reply, bringing my thoughts back to the present.

"You should." Myron pressed gently, "He was a large part of your life. Your first sixteen years were spent together in Abnegation until he transferred to Dauntless at eighteen. Then, he was your instructor in training, correct?"

"Stop."

"The two of you were romantically involved before he died, correct?" He prods.

"I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. Him." I emphasized each word.

He sighed and leaned back in his oversized chair again, the angry creaking hurting my ears, "Tris, if you continue to see people who aren't really here, I'm going to have to ask that we change your medications-"

"Where is he? The man who I thought looked like Eric. Can I see him? Can I just have a conversation with him to ensure that I was wrong? I'm not crazy, Myron."

"I never once have accused you of being crazy, Tris."

"Then why am I fucking here?" I ask angrily.

"Tris, you were found trying to jump off the roof of a twenty-three story building at your home faction. Until we can talk about that, these issues are going to persist." He replies solemnly, "I can't keep avoiding it, and you can't keep pretending it didn't happen."

"Stop!" I shout and Myron's eyebrows shoot up, but thankfully he doesn't reach for his radio, "Look, I can acknowledge that something sent me here, but I'm not ready to talk about it. I need something. Comfort. Just... something."

"This is the most you've talked to me, and the calmest you've been thus far. Is it because you saw a familiar face?" He presses.

"Does he go to group therapy too?" I ask and Myron frowns at me, "Look, I'm not asking you another damn thing about him because I know you can't tell me, however if we both end up in the same group therapy session maybe something good will come of it. I feel like I know him, maybe he's just someone I saw that day, or maybe he's related to Eric. Maybe a familiar face will help me." I lie, but knowing how hard Myron has tried to get me to talk about the war, I also know this will open a door for him to do something for me.

An eye for an eye, isn't that what Peter always said?

"Where did you first see him again?" He asks.

"F hall. All I heard was someone call him Paul. He appeared combative, and they were trying to calm him down. Something about him being taken from solitary to a room one one of our halls." I reply quickly.

"If you heard them call him Paul, why do you think his name is Eric?" He presses me.

"They look alike, okay?" I reply.

"Have you seen him since?" He asks.

I nod, "In the common room sometimes. We read together, I mean not together but we are there at the same time. I haven't seen him in a few days and I'm worried, okay? Come on Myron, are you going to find him or not?"

"Why do you think this is Eric?"

"Maybe they are related to each other, look all I know is seeing him made me feel comfortable." I lie, knowing that somehow Eric recognized me too, even if he hasn't said anything about it yet.

Eric Coulter was never comfortable.

He was an almost constant presence in our initiation class, his ego almost as big as his muscular frame. His silver eyes sharp as the edges of his handsome jawline, and a fierceness in him that terrified us all. He wasn't kind to anyone, and for the entirety of my time there Tobias had told me that he was working with Erudite's leader Jeanine Matthews to find divergents.

Just like me.

I'd heard he had died in the war too, a young life lost like so many others over the course of those days when our city went to war. Yet here was someone who looked exactly like him, yet markedly different, and I need to know who it was.

"Because you are being more open than usual, I will try to find this patient. I make no promises that they will allow any interaction." Myron finally acquiesced.

"But you'll try?"

His dark brown eyes meet mine, "I'll try."


It's not Kristen for group therapy tonight, it's some overly friendly guy that I've only seen in passing, and when it's minutes before we're supposed to start I watch as Eric is brought into the room. He's forced into a seat much like mine, but still in zip tied shackles and I can tell by the angry look on his face that he's seconds from getting himself in trouble again. I am sitting directly across from him, and when he meets my eyes he suddenly stops struggling and his escorts begrudgingly remove his zip ties at the command of our counselor.

"Okay, hi everyone, for those of you who are new my name is Murray and we're going to start with introductions. We have a couple of new faces, let me start to my left."

I pay no attention to the names as they go around the circle, but when it gets to Eric he sighs before murmuring out a name.

"Paul."

I study him, he looks completely different without tattoos, his piercings have also been removed and his hair freshly buzzed. The strangest part is I feel like he recognizes me, even if he thinks he's someone completely different.

When they get to me, I simply tell them my name, and then I tune out again, staring at Eric. Neither of us talk in the group again, and we just pretend to pay attention until we're given a brief break and I walk over to the snack table to get some much needed coffee.

"Is Tris a nickname?" He asks from beside me.

His voice is like I remember, yet different. Softer. Kinder. I turn to look at him and he's mixing some sugar into his coffee.

"Yes. Is Paul a nickname?" I ask and his eyebrows knit.

"For what? It's Paul, I mean what could it be short for?" He asks.

"Paula?" I throw out and he actually chuckles.

"Nah, just Paul."

The timbre of his voice is slightly off, and I know from my own experience here it's likely from the medication that he's on.

"Where are you from, Paul?"

He shrugs, "You're the war hero from Chicago, right?"

I didn't expect that response.

"Who told you that?" I ask quietly.

"I asked around." He shrugs again.

"Paul, Tris? We'd prefer if you limited your conversations to the group session, please join us."

I want to ask him what he means. I want to know why is he in here looking like he never led our faction. I listen to Murray drone on and on about boundaries, forgiveness, closure and other psychological bullshit, but I stare at Eric the entire time, watching him carefully as his silver eyes never leave mine.


A tray is dropped at my table and I feel the entire thing shift when Eric sits across from me. I typically eat alone, and having him so close takes me back to my initiation in Dauntless.

I still remember the way he sneered at me, asking Tobias to introduce us. He scoffed, called me a Stiff and told me I'd never make it.

I proved the asshole wrong.

Picking at the food on my tray, I sneak glances at him, and notice the raw circles on his wrists from the zip ties.

"How long have you been here?" I ask quietly.

"Long enough." He grumbled, "What about you?"

"A couple of weeks."

"You have a tattoo." He replies, gesturing with his spoon towards where you can barely see the three birds in flight tattooed on my collarbone.

"Yeah." I reply, rubbing it unconsciously.

"Does it mean anything?"

One for each of member of my family that I left behind.

"Don't." I reply firmly.

"I haven't seen a lot of people here with them. Just thought it had to be meaningful to put something on your body permanently, right?" He presses.

The thought of it brings tears to my eyes. I pick up my tray and toss it, running out of the cafeteria with tear clouded eyes, and away from the call of my name.