A/N: So... long time no see? I've finally regained my love for writing, after almost two years! But I'm back, and here's a short chapter to help you get back into the story. As always, let me know what you think and any predictions you have...

I stare at her.
Time seems to slow down.

Tris is staring at me, open-mouthed, her eyes widening as she looks between us.

The initiates fall silent, no longer cheering on the fight from moments before.

I can still taste the blood. It tastes like battery acid, metallic and bitter in my throat. I wipe my palms down my jeans before tucking my hands deep into my pockets to stop them from trembling. I avert my eyes to the ground. I can't look at her.

Eric takes a step closer to me, clapping a hand hard against my shoulder. It looks like it's supposed to be a friendly gesture, but the pain shoots down my arm, and I curl my fingers reflectively into a fist. He's enjoying this.

"Mommy's come to save the day," he snarled, his voice laced with sarcasm. He side-steps me, taking slow steps in the direction of Evelyn. "Who let you in here?"

"I come peacefully," she says. She isn't looking at Eric as she speaks. I can feel the burn of her gaze on me, along with the stares of the initiates. "I want to talk to my son."

Christina is sitting on the edge of her seat, her eyes darting between us. I can feel her curiosity, but she knows better than to ask questions. They all do, and for once I'm grateful for it.

I look up then, my eyes meeting hers for the first time since I was a child. She hasn't changed; not that I can remember. Her hair is shorter than before, stopping just below her shoulders. She stands taller, somehow, stronger, perhaps? She is wearing mis-matched clothes, a navy blazer on top of a white shirt, with black pants and grey shoes. A strange combination.

Factionless. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. She's an outcast, too.

I avert my gaze again. No. I'm not going to let her win. Not this time.
I reach down, grabbing my shirt from the back of my chair and stalk past her, heading towards the door. I need to get out before I do something I'm going to regret.

"Tobias!"

She calls out to me, but I ignore her. I feel like I'm drowning.

I can't breathe.

I quicken my pace, shoving open the door that leads out into the dark corridors. I don't think about where I'm going, I just need to get as far away from her as I can. My breathing is shallow, breathless, almost, and I keep throwing glances over my shoulder to ensure I'm not being followed.

I'm not.

I find myself heading towards the one place that gives me comfort.

The training room.

I don't know how long I spend in here. By the time I'm finished, only feeling a slight sense of relief, my knuckles are beaten and sore, the skin split between them, blood trickling down my wrists.

I almost feel at ease.

Almost.