There is a table full of knives awaiting us in the training room the next morning. Eric tells us tomorrow is the last day of stage one – so if I'm close to being cut, tomorrow is my last chance to correct it.

The instructors all said I was the most improved last night, but when you start at the bottom and eventually 50% gets cut; being the most improved could still not be enough.

After watching Four for several throws, we scramble for knives and then line up at our targets. Clunks and clangs sound through the room as everyone immediately starts throwing. No one has even hit the target yet.

I can't stand out too much. I take a few moments working on my stance while Eric paces impatiently behind us.

"Princess has taken too many blows to the head!" Peter laughs out from down the line. "Ever held a knife before, princess?"

Ignoring him, I continue working on my form, moving my hand from back to front, holding the knife but never releasing it. I'm being stared at, but I'm not sure by who. I can't determine if it's Eric or Four, but I know the both of them have been watching me at one point or another.

Eventually, though, Eric does come to a stop behind me and he's so close I can feel his breath hitting my neck on each exhale.

"Why are you still playing this game, princess?" he asks quietly, making sure no one around can hear him. "You and I both know what you're capable of with a blade."

He doesn't give me the chance to respond – just takes a few steps back from me. I turn to look at him, and the challenge is clear on his face.

"I'm losing patience, initiates!" he calls out, but his eyes are still on me.

Fine.

I hold the knife in my hand and give him one last defiant look before releasing the knife while turning back towards my target.

Dead center. Peter misses his throw again, and I can't help it.

"Peter, ever heard of a target?"

I throw my remaining two knives quickly and they land with a thud next to my first.

"How did you do that?" Christina whispers in awe. I glance back and Eric is nowhere near me.

So I lie.

"That's why it was taking me so long to throw. I was just working on making sure I could exactly copy Four's stance from when he showed us what to do, and then I was making sure I could balance the knife correctly in my hand."

If Christina doesn't believe me, I can't tell. She seems to take it in stride and actually starts doing exactly that. First working on correcting her stance, she glances over at me in question and I put myself in to my stance for her to copy.

"Good?" she asks.

"Straighten your shoulders," I tell her. She complies and I nod.

After several practices without actually releasing her knife, I tell her to give it a go and she releases. It hits the target but does not stick.

"That was actually really good, Chris," I say encouragingly. "Your aim was perfect. You just need to have a little bit more power in the throw."

A half hour later, Christina's throwing has greatly improved, as has everyone else's, with the exception of Al. He appears to be the only one that has been unable to hit his target.

On his next miss, the knife is barely airborne; it just clatters to the floor without even making it to the wall.

"What was that, initiate? Do I need to move the target closer to you?" Eric berates, hovering next to him.

"It – It slipped," Al stuttered out.

"Well go get it!" Eric demands. Everyone around Al has stopped throwing, but Eric turns to them and says "I didn't tell you to stop!"

"Go get it?" Al asks, eyes wide in… dammit, fear. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"I don't want to get hit."

Eric gives him a cruel smile. "I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you."

I can't help the slight snort that escapes me. Eric's eyes shoot to mine. "Opinion, princess?"

Shit. Well, I'm already in, aren't I? "No, he can't."

The look on Eric's face tells me that's exactly the point. "Go get your knife, initiate."

"I'll get it," I offer up. I'm pretty sure I can at least dodge the knives.

"No," Eric says forcefully. I notice Four's mouth was open as well, but Eric beat him to it. Eric is watching Al in anticipation.

"No," Al says forcefully.

"Are you afraid?" Eric mocks.

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife, yes!"

Eric shouts out for everyone to stop and we all comply immediately. The room has gone silent.

"Stand in front of the target," he commands to Al. Al's shaking as he walks to the target and faces us.

"Hey, Four." Eric looks over his shoulder at him. "Give me a hand here."

He looks back at Al. "You're going to stand there as he throws the knives until you learn not to flinch."

Four looks exhausted. He was throwing with extreme precision earlier, but I think everyone in the room is a combination of tired and hungover this morning. "Is this really necessary, Eric?"

Bad idea. As much as Four is trying to sound disinterested, he's challenging Eric. In my limited experience, Eric is a bit power hungry and does not appreciate any kind of challenges to his authority.

"Yes," Eric snaps. "You have no authority here to question me."

Four approaches the line in front of Al. His jaw is tight, and he's gripping the knives so tightly his knuckles are white. Al looks terrified. This will go on for hours; he is in no state of mind to not flinch if he already can't stay still.

This is a bad idea, and I know it is, but I'm going to do it anyway.

"Stop it!" I burst out. There's a mixture of amusement and irritation when Eric turns his gaze to me. Four gives me a hard look – you're being an idiot – and I do my best to ignore their judgements.

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target. It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Maybe my definition of bravery is a little bit off, but that seems more like cowardice to me."

I do not like the look on Eric's face. "It's a test of your bravery, not ours," Eric says. "And since you seem to be the bravest in the bunch, at least when it comes to your mouth, you should have no problem taking his place."

I smile back at him, but internally hope that Four isn't so tired and hungover that it impacts his aim.

"Sure," I say easily, making my way towards him. Before moving towards the targets, I stop in front of him and look up at him innocently. "Can I do you next though?"

He doesn't respond, and I honestly didn't expect him to. I ignore the pale look on Four's face; he wasn't happy about throwing knives at Al, but now he looks downright sick. Maybe that hangover is going to be the end of me.

I take Al's place in front of the target and flatten my back against the wall as he slinks away looking both relieved and guilty.

"There goes your pretty face," hisses Peter. "Oh, wait. You don't have one."

Four's holding three knives in his hands, one in his right and two in his left. My eyes lock on Four. This is fine. He was the top ranked in his class. He will not hit me.

"If you flinch," Four says slowly, "Al takes your place. Understand?"

My head barely moves as I nod, but my response is clear. I don't think he even takes his eyes off mine as he moves his arm, pulls his elbow back, and throws the knife.

The knife embeds into the board six inches from my cheek. I close my eyes and let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"You done already, princess?" asks Four.

"No."

"Eyes open, then." The blade of his next knife lightly taps the spot between his eyebrows.

I stare at him and clasp my hands together in front of me to will them not to shake. I barely see him move another knife from his left to his right hand before I hear the thunk as it hits the target above my head – much closer than the last one.

"Come on, princess," he goads me. "Let someone else stand up there and take it."

Honestly, I wouldn't hate for someone else to volunteer. But my eyes scan my class and I know there's absolutely no one else that's willing to do this. Why is Four trying to humiliate me? I'm not going to fail.

"Shut up and throw the knife!"

I see something that almost looks like regret flash in his eyes before he pulls back and releases the third knife. The trajectory has this one coming right at me, and the thought crosses my mind that I'm going to die in order to pass Dauntless initiation. Because I'm not going to duck.

I feel it slice through the tip of my ear as it hits the board. I can feel the cold metal against the side of my face and the blood dripping down my ear tickles my neck.

I remember the regret before he threw.

That was intentional.

Eric's hand is on my shoulder pulling me away from the board. "I'd love to see if the rest of you are as daring as she is," he calls out smoothly, "but I think that's enough for today."

The class filters out and Eric's hand squeezes my shoulder as he guides me over to sit down.

"Take a breath. Well done, today," he says as he releases me. "But you've really got to stop being such an idiot."

I smile at him petulantly. "Does that mean I don't get a turn throwing things at you, then?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not sure I trust your aim that much yet."

Four has been hovering off to the side until the door closes behind Eric, leaving us alone in the training room. He walks towards me hesitantly.

Before he can open his mouth to say something, I stand up and turn away from him. "Why?" I hiss out, refusing to look at him.

"Is your ear okay?" he asks instead of answering me.

"It's bleeding," I say dryly. "More to the point, you did that on purpose! Why?"

He looks frustrated. He's glaring as he forces out, "You know, I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!"

In a burst of anger, I swipe a knife off the table and throw it as hard as I can at the target. I'm much further away than we had been for class, but it still lands in the general head area on the board.

"Tris," he tries to interrupt, but I'm mad.

I grab more knives, throwing them repeatedly. This time, I'm intentionally not hitting the target, instead taking care to aim right on the edges.

"See how easy that is?" I yell back at him when I've run out of knives within my reach. "See how easy it is to NOT hit the target!"

All traces of everything else fell off of Four's face and he was left was awe. "How did you-?"

"You are at least as capable as I am with a knife, Four. There was no need for that."

"How are you so good with knives already, Beatrice?" he asks, stressing the drunken mistake I made.

"Don't," I hiss at him. "For someone who has worked so hard to protect their own identity, you're awfully inconsiderate of others doing the same."

"You've never asked me," he responds.

"Must be because you're so approachable," I say, reminding him of the last time I attempted to ask him any sort of personal question. His face reddens.

"I just need you to trust me," he says, moving on from the topic of our names. "If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have already?" His voice is softer now. He sounds somewhat less angry, but his tone is still frightening, especially combined with the thud as he his hand down swiftly to impale the table with the knife he was holding.

I take a deep breath, calming myself, before responding. "Why? Why would I do that? And why does it matter?" I don't wait for him to answer and make for the door. As I'm turning the handle, I hear him call out my name, but I don't respond.