Wade

Three days have passed since I last saw my brother.

Three days since my Questioning, when I returned to an empty, desolate bunkhouse, waiting all night for him to return, but he never did. I've been sick with worry, driven half out of my mind with desperation for any word, any news as to what might have happened to him. They won't tell me anything. I'm too much of a coward to push too hard for answers.

They didn't keep me for long. I had a harvest to get back to, made double in the absence of Rowan, they told me. I sat on the cold wooden bench in front of the Assessor and deeply apologized to the ground in front of me on behalf of myself and my brother. They seemed to accept it—on my part, anyway. Thank the stars the Heads didn't deign to Question me; one of the standard Assessors held my hearing, some tyrant from Candor who thought a booming voice was enough to denote authority.

I made an appeal once a day about Rowan, missing my morning shifts, burning through my meal tokens with each inquiry as to when he might be able to come home. I pleaded the same case every day, repeating again and again that I needed his help with the harvest, and that he was the happiest and most fulfilled when serving the benefit of all of the collective factions, and our own. He was still grieving our mothers, and it caused him to act out, but he was deeply remorseful of his actions. He was a hard worker, a good worker, and he just wanted to come home so he could return to his work, his true purpose, I told them.

And again, today, on my fourth day of asking where my brother is, I receive the same response: a glare down a pair of round glasses and a curt reply, letting me know that he is still undergoing Questioning, and will return home soon, and that I should go back to helping my fellow faction with the harvest instead of wasting my and their time with nonsense inquiries.

I cannot describe the rage I feel upon meeting Assessor's eyes. I did everything the Heads wanted me to do. I knew my place, my role here. And when they wanted more, expected more, I gave that to them, too. Swallowing my pride, my dignity, as I desperately tried to keep my cover, tried to stay unnoticed, tried to protect as many as I could. And after all of this, after everything, they still refuse to give me a single word on the whereabouts of my brother.

I give a small nod, a few bland words of apology and thanks, and I turn and walk out of the Trial Hall.

I wish I had a friend from Candor, anyone who could tell me how the rules are created and upheld, but I will have to accept the response I'm given. I'm out of meal tokens, anyway, and I know I'll need to start hoarding whatever food I can, to prepare for when Rowan comes home. When Rowan comes home: I repeat the line to myself over and over, with each step, trying to convince myself it is true.

I haven't been watching where I'm going, walking numbly across Amity grounds in the aftermath of my appeal, when I suddenly find myself being swept towards the Mess Hall with the rest of the faction. I hadn't realized the morning shift was already over; I suppose I was still in the Trial Hall during the midday bell. Or, it had rung while I was walking and I just didn't hear it. It's difficult to tell these days.

Someone bumps into me, jarring my shoulder, and before I can apologize, I've lost them in the crowd. Only then do I realize that something has been pressed into my hand, and I look down to find a meal token in my palm. I look up and around, trying to find the Amity responsible, but they're long gone, disappearing easily among the throng of yellows and reds.

I suppose I have a meal to eat today. I look back down again, and follow the natural course of my faction into the Mess Hall.

I suppose it's a good thing I wasn't able to make any more inquiries. It meant I worked the afternoon shift, earned a meal token, waited in line to return my rake. Saw my own terror and dread reflected back to me in a pair of wide, beseeching eyes. Watched as trembling fingers fidgeted with a mildly pretty, potentially fatal bloom.

I mopped up the last remnants on my plate with a small piece of bread, chewing slowly as I stacked my utensils in the waiting bins. I followed the evening rush back to the endless rows of bunkhouses, keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me, pretending not to notice the others' chattering becoming hushed as they neared, only to pick back up again once they had steered well clear of me.

I made my way back to my assigned lodgings, walking slowly as those around me started to branch away, calling their farewells to each other before forcefully slamming their doors shut. To me, the jarring noise always seemed like an attempt to ward away the Dauntless getting ready to patrol the area during curfew.

I paused just long enough to ensure no one passed behind me as I opened my door, careful not to make any indication of surprise or anticipation as I stepped inside. As I turned to face her, she opened her mouth, starting to rise from her seat. I held a finger to my lips as I leaned toward the closed door, listening for guards.

"Hey, Heather. This is a pleasant surprise." I tried to keep my voice as inviting as possible while I surveyed the small room, looking in every direction but hers.

She stared at me for a moment before giving a small laugh. "Hey. It's good to see you, Wade. I hope this wasn't too forward."

"Not at all; I'm glad you surprised me like this. I've missed you since our last…visit."

She seemed to understand, providing a bland, one-sided conversation about her day, allowing me to follow my usual routine as I methodically moved around the bunkhouse: I checked the underside of the small, circular table where she was seated; silently opened the cupboard doors behind her, inspecting the spare mugs and blankets within; ran my fingers under the lip of the small, cloudy window at the far end of the room, and did the same to the cramped dresser underneath.

Finally, I got down on my hands and knees to look under each bed. I'm sure it must have looked ridiculous. In a flash of recollection, I remembered my mother checking under my bed when I was small and afraid of the dark. I supposed my young self knew more than he thought about what might be lurking in unnoticed corners of the cabin.

Satisfied, I rose and made my way back to the front of the bunkhouse, sitting in the chair across from Heather at the table. At some point, she'd trailed off from her attempt at innocuous chatter and instead had resorted to watching me, chewing on her lip, seemingly on the verge of tears.

I began, as I wasn't sure whether she could. "Milkweed has been compromised. They asked me about it at my Questioning. We'll have to find something else eventually, but for now, we should forgo any signals altogether."

She nodded quickly, then cleared her throat, blinking hard.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms and waiting for her to explain why she risked both of our safety in order to meet, why she caused me to spend a meal token that was supposed to be saved for when Rowan comes home. When Rowan comes home. I continue to wait, too exhausted and on-edge to maintain a friendly disposition, even when facing her obvious distress.

"Wade," she started haltingly, "Wade, I—I'm…I didn't know what to say when they brought me in, and they wouldn't tell me what happened to you—to either of you, and then they started asking me other questions, about Grace, about…" Her eyes flicked to the door behind my right shoulder, and we both froze at the sound of heavy boots stalking past its other side, mere feet from where we sat.

She let out a long, unsteady breath, starting again with a lower voice. "When they asked me what I was doing when I was off-hours, who I was seeing…I gave them the first name I could think of. I said that I had been with you—that we were…with each other. I don't know if it got you into more trouble, if it messed up your story, if it endangered…Rowan…"

Her voice broke at the mention of his name, and I felt my heart do the same. I swallowed hard and stood from my seat. She started as I reached over her, grabbing a tin mug from the cupboard before filling it with water from the nearby flask. I took a sip before returning to my seat, placing the mug on the table, in front of her.

"Don't blame yourself. You did what you could. We all did. I appreciate that you said as little as possible." I looked around the bunkhouse, usually so overcrowded, but now feeling so despondently vacant.

She took a sip from the mug and placed it in the center of the table, between us. She leaned back in her chair, following my gaze around the small, sheet-metal room. She smiled faintly as she said, "This place seems so much larger than ours. We have two stacked beds on one side, for Grace and me. Our parents sleep on a larger one on the other side. There isn't space under the window for the dresser, like there is here, although we've got 2 lanterns instead of one."

I smiled, starting to thaw a bit with the casual topic. "Yeah, they let me and Row move in here on our own, after…"

She nodded, saving me from having to finish that sentence, to finish the thought of yet another person missing from my life. "It was the two of you against the world; you were your own team back then. I always admired you for it."

I laughed. "Yeah, we always had each other's back. 'Night and Day,' they used to call us. He couldn't stand it."

Her gaze lingered over my bristly, blond hair, so different from my brother's dark curls.

She ran her hand through her own thick, black hair. "It couldn't have been easy for him, growing up like that. We always felt like outsiders, too, my family and me."

"It wasn't easy for any of us—" I started to retort defensively, but stopped myself upon remembering how terribly the other kids used to treat him, how he would spend hours climbing trees or walking through the fields, silent and alone, sometimes spending all night outdoors in his attempt to shake the lingering effects of their cruelty.

They always found a way to get to him, though—whether it was with their words or their fists, he was never given a moment's peace, and as a result, neither was I. And when he defended himself, we both would get dragged in front of the Authorities, made to listen to their snide comments about how our mothers must be too occupied to bother raising us well. We would receive our punishments, as extra encouragement to do better the next time, only to be sent back out to the same smirks and sneers that put us there to begin with, knowing it would start all over again tomorrow.

I'm ashamed to admit how frustrated I would become; I thought Rowan was being oversensitive, and I was desperate to stay out of trouble. But looking back, I wish I could have understood him well enough to say something, anything, to make things better. The most I could do was stand by him, helping him fight those endless, losing battles. I see now that it wasn't enough.

I sighed. "We got by."

She nodded, reaching again for the mug and taking a small, contemplative sip before returning it to the center of the table. I felt the conversation starting to wane, matching the darkening window at the far end of the small room. I made to rise from my chair, but Heather reached across the table, placing a hand on my arm.

"Wade," she said, "I'm sorry I lied to them. It was wrong of me to tell them we were involved." She removed her hand from my arm, instead clasping her fingers together. "It's no excuse, but I thought…with your reputation…"

I gave a short, sardonic laugh. "Yeah, my reputation. I suppose it's not too suspicious that you snuck in here, after all. At this point, I'm sure the Heads think I'll rut just about any woman, more so now that I'm out of meal tokens." In an instant, I see my mother's softly smiling face, hear her voice, and just as instantly feel a sharp pang in my chest.

I never allowed even the slightest chance for rumors. A couple of times, when I was young and desperately trying to cull my feelings, I met the eyes of an Amity who had just finished his shift and was peeling his drenched shirt from his back. We grinned at each other, and he turned and walked towards the Mess Hall, wiping neck and shoulders. And I spent the next three weeks thinking of him, dreaming of him, alone in my bed. 'Dream in secret.'

I was careful not to watch him, or seek him out, or ask others about him. But, sometimes, I would steal a quick glance if we happened to be on the same shift, and it would be enough to send me soaring into the clouds. To this day, I don't know his name. But I know his face, his demeanor. The way he stands when he's catching his breath, looking over the fields, out to the horizon.

Heather shook her head vehemently. "No, that's not the reputation I mean, I'm sorry." She tried again: "Women talk, and although I wasn't sure, I'd heard rumors…that you helped those who didn't want to…be involved."

She was right, of course. Several women had come to my door over the years, trying to pay me with meal tokens or extra work shifts. I couldn't stand seeing them look at me with such desperation, such hope, in the face of an alternative I couldn't bear to think about. I never took their payment. I couldn't.

She started wringing her hands, rubbing her thumbs over her palms, clasping and unclasping her fingers. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I wasn't trying to assume, but they kept questioning me, asking me more and more, and then they—Egret…said that if I wasn't seeing anyone, then I should go visit the Stables…"

My stomach dropped. She continued haltingly, again on the verge of panicked tears.

"She kept saying that she knew who I was seeing, that it was normal to feel the way I felt, and that she herself had the same inclinations as I had, once, but she had ultimately done right by her faction, and it would be my turn to do so soon, because I had a duty to Amity as well. And so I just blurted out the first thing I could think of, and I told her that I was seeing someone, that I was seeing you. I just…I thought you might understand."

I stared at her. She stared back at me from across the table, taking shuddering breaths, tears spilling out over her dark, beautiful eyes as she waited for my response.

The Stables. The name itself was enough to bring bile to my throat. I thought back to the row of Dauntless, fidgeting slightly in their clean, buttoned-up shirts and fresh haircuts, lined along the side of the entrance to the large cabin. I remember how one of them, seemingly a new recruit a couple of years past his Choosing, toyed absently with his shirtsleeve, until he met my eyes, and his nervous expression turned into an arrogant smirk as he lifted his chin.

I think back to my mother, who told me every day that they loved me, but who would sometimes shut themselves in our tiny cabin, unable to leave her bed for days, until Mother, Miss Lillian back then, would come by after work with leftovers snuck from the Mess Hall.

With the arrival of the Mandate, the Heads informed both of our families that all cabins were to be reserved for the Heads and their council-holding colleagues, as well as any peers they deemed fit. Which meant the four of us were assigned to a bunkhouse at the back end of the rows, close to the fields.

It was such a blessing, I remember, even in that cramped, unfamiliar space, to have Mother help Mom, to have someone who could get her out of bed when my days of begging couldn't, to be able to spend time outside with Rowan while they talked and laughed and slowly started to heal. And when Mother had bad days, Mom was there for her, too, and it helped her heal in turn.

I took a deep breath and, deciding, held out my hand across the table. "Don't worry," I said resolutely. "You won't be going to that place."

She breathed a shaky sigh of relief and clasped my hand with both of her own. "Thank you, thank you, Wade. I'll make it up to you, I'll cover your quota—"

"No, don't. You don't owe me anything." I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice as I once again saw the pleading eyes, the outstretched hands bearing painstakingly saved meal tokens, or worse: scraps of silk passed down over generations, a small jar of molasses hoarded from the kitchens, a couple of nectarines stolen from a harvest truck, a half-vial of Appeasement serum acquired somehow from the underground market….

Heather countered, "Let me help, please. We're heading early into winter and meal tokens are going to be much harder to come by. They already know you've been skipping mornings. I'll cover for you so you can save up for Rowan when he gets back."

Yet again, I could barely stand to even hear his name. I gave an unsteady sigh, staring down at the table. She held my hand tightly with hers. "Don't worry. He'll be coming back soon."

I rubbed my eyes, my face, my neck. "Yeah, you're right," I finally conceded. It was all I could do, all any of us could do: just wait, and hope.

I glanced at the now-dark window. "They're out on patrol by now, we've missed curfew. You can stay here tonight."

Heather

Wade sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over his knees. As he rubbed his eyes yet again, I saw how exhausted he looked, how defeated. "Try to get some rest," I said as I reached for the small lantern and packet of matches on top of the dresser. I carefully lit and lowered the flame, until it was just shy of sputtering, and the room flickered with a soft, golden light.

As he lay in bed, I sat down next to him, rubbing his back as he stretched out, groaning. "I've had to take over for Rowan's quota. It's been hell out there with the early frost, as well."

"I know," I replied, rubbing at the knots along his shoulder blades. "I'll take over as much of your shift as I can. Take some time with Rowan when he gets back." He rumbled his thanks, rolling his shoulders as he closed his eyes.

I gently ran my fingers through his short, soft hair as his breathing became deeper, more even. Although there were deep bags under his eyes, the look on his face was one of innocent serenity in this state. I wondered how long it had been since he'd gotten a decent night's sleep.

I left the lantern burning low as I gently extricated myself from his grasp and climbed into Rowan's bed. As I pulled the scratchy blanket over me, I could smell him slightly over the scent of soap. I stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe in time with Wade's slow rhythmic breaths, willing myself to sleep. I hoped and wished and prayed instead.

Wade

I wake up feeling as though I haven't slept for a single minute. At this rate, I don't know how long I can keep going with the work I need to do for the harvest. Heather and I wash and dress quickly, and she stops me before I open the door, handing me a meal token and giving my arm a quick squeeze of gratitude and support before inconspicuously blending in with the crowd on their way to the harvest trucks. I follow a few moments later.

At midday, as I sit at my usual table, I see a Dauntless guard approaching me. I stiffen, willing my hand not to twitch any closer to the knife laying an inch from my fingers. But instead of dragging me back for Questioning, he leans down towards my ear and tells me that Rowan is being released.

Immediately, I jump up from my seat and hurry across the Mess Hall, not bothering to acknowledge the several heads turning in my direction before quickly snapping back to their conversations. I arrive at the Trial Hall at a near-sprint, stopping in front of the entrance guarded by several well-dressed Dauntless carrying enormous, sleek weapons.

Two of the guards open the doors, and I see a shivering, ragged figure flanked by more Dauntless approaching me from down the corridor.

As I walk up to him, he stops dead in his tracks. A moment of stunned silence passes between us, and then he is stumbling forward, sobbing with relief.

I haul him towards me, half-carrying him out of the Trial Hall. He's crying too hard for me to understand what he's saying, but I offer soothing words of comfort as I support him and we make our way slowly to the bunkhouse. And all the while, he repeats the same words over and over. After some time, I'm finally able to understand what he's saying:

"Wade. You're my brother. I remember you. Wade. I remember."