I unlock my door and open it slowly, the soft click sounding as the metal slides out and the silent scrape of the door against the frame is grating and familiar now.

I half expect Eric to be inside but I don't sense him. I flick the light switch on before entering and shut the door quietly behind me, locking it.

Everything in the room is in place, except the scarf, gloves and Eric's jacket draped over the back of the couch and the book about animals on the table, a slip of paper jutting out of the side catches my attention, along with a folder.

His gift.

My bedroom door and spare bedroom door are closed and everything else looks undisturbed.

I unzip my jacket and let the cool air dust my neck and arms, and I sling it over a chair.

Eric's note is wedged between two pages that depicts a brightly colored bird with large tail feathers, in an array of flashy designs.

Another bird next to it, sports dull colors, that looks similar but without the large train of tail, it looks lackluster in comparison to the other. The other one takes all the attention.

Pavo Cristatus, they are called. [Peafowl]

I'm certain there is relevance, knowing him it means something, I close the book and head to the bathroom.

Once I've showered and dressed, I settle myself on the couch with my toes curling against the cushions and my chin resting on my crossed arms. Only the lamp from beside the couch casts faint light in the living area.

Shadows stretch and sway across the concrete walls as the electric bulb flickers. I stare idly at the tall and shapeless forms that meld into the darker corners of the room untouched by the light.

The watch reads 1046PM

I toss it onto the coffee table where it slides past the folder Eric left and clatters onto the cement ground.

My bedroom door opens, I don't turn around to face him. Unsure if he'd been asleep or lying in wait. He never seemed to be patient enough for that.

He doesn't say anything and I lean over to take up the folder, when I rest back on the couch his arms encircle me from behind, his lips pressing against my neck.

His warm breath and touch trails up to the bottom of my ear. I don't expect the pin prick of a needle in my neck that comes directly afterwards.

"Take a deep breath." Eric says with a low and contemptuous tone. His lips fluttering gently against my skin.

My grip on consciousness falters as my eyelids droop heavily and everything spins out of focus, morphing together to form one giant dark hole.

I open my eyes to darkness and a cold pillow pressed to my cheek. My eyes don't adjust and blinking only puts me in one state of solid blackness to the static blackness behind my eyelids.

I spread my arm in front of me and feel the bed sheets beneath my fingers. I'm lying on my side.

Seconds pass before I can start making out shapes. The form of the lamp on the bedside table and the outline of the closet doors.

I'm aware that I am still fully dressed but I know not what time it is or how long I've been unconscious. I focus first on my condition. Taking note of the minor pains and aches.

There is a constant throb in my head, the fmiliar itch in my shoulder and an intense burning on my back located between my shoulder blades behind my neck that takes precedence over all the rest.

I slowly push up onto my elbow, pausing to breathe and allow my consciousness the time to adjust, and I swing my legs over the side of the bed.

The motion sends small bursts of fire rippling down my spine as if a metal rod is being jammed down it.

I shut my eyes and wait till it subsides and listen to the room but the only sounds are from my shallow breathing and the continued steady thump of my heart beating in my ears.

I'm alone.

My mouth feels thick and I swallow once, filling my mouth with saliva.

I ignore the nausea that rears behind another swallow and pull my hair over my shoulder, stopping when it catches and sticks onto something. I tug it loose.

I press my fingers slowly from my hairline down the back of my neck till I reach a gauze, just at the collar of my shirt, held to my skin with papery medical tape.

Whatever is beneath the gauze, is the main cause of my discomfort. My main focus now is to find out what it is exactly. Although I have some idea.

When I stand, my legs buckle, giving out beneath me and I catch myself on the edge of the bedside table nearly knocking the lamp from its perch.

I steady it before pushing myself up again. My spine ripples with sharp stabs as I straighten up.

I use the wall as support and make my way out the still open door. My living area is dark as well, indicating that he turned it off before leaving but, I know it well enough to traverse without light.

At the bathroom I flick the light switch on and the bright bulbs attack my sensitive eyes. I blink away the sting and allow them to now adjust to it, squinting at the mirror.

The first thing I notice is a note taped to it, directly in the middle, blocking my reflection. I'm no longer surprised by the appearance of them or the fact that it's placed exactly where I would look.

But I need to hold it close to my face to distinguish the words. The fact that my sight is hindered is extremely inconvenient.

I didn't think you would let me stick it in you while you were conscious. No worries though, it shouldn't hurt after a while. Unless you try to take it out, then it'll hurt like you've never felt before. Eric

I pull my hair over my shoulder again and turn in the mirror. I am not oblivious to the sexual innuendo he's used but quite literally he's inserted an object under my skin.

The gauze is thick and I gently pull the edge of the tape to remove one side of it. Lifting it.

A lump and dried blood just barely visible at this angle shows and it's difficult to see behind me so I feel with two fingers pressing lightly. There is no mistaking the two stitches, closing an incision about 3 centimeters long.

White hot rage fills me and I rip the gauze fully off my skin and tear his note, discarding them in the waste bin before turning off the light and stalking into my living area.

I press the overhead lamp and glance for his watch on the floor where I left it but it is on the table, next to another note under a glass of water.

I clench my jaw and my nails bite into my palms. Again I have to squint and bring the paper to my eyes.

Take these. I'll see you in the morning.

Eric.

7 blue pills are scattered around and over the note. I sweep my arm over the counter catching them in my hand to throw them all into the sink before gulping down the water to wash down the undoubtedly smoky putrid taste that rises.

I drag my tongue across the back of my teeth and fill the glass once more, gulping it all down.

The action of tilting my head back sends a jolt through me, like electricity.

Either he put it in wrong intentionally to cause discomfort or it's not just a tracker. It's not the first time I've had one and it's a little demeaning that they'd have him administer it, the loction no doubt to discourage removing it myself.

I sigh and shake my head slowly. He must think I'd disappear, although. I don't think I've given him any indication of that being an intention but he may have his own suspicions over the leaders task.

Removal of it myself may prove debilitating. I'll need assistance but, I need to know what time it is.

I still have an objective. I grab his watch, expecting it to be later but it is 1:30AM. I have time.

The folder is on the couch. I take it up, opening it to skim the printed files inside without really looking at them. Having to bring them close to my face.

Only the dates on the documents call my attention, at first glance. I already guessed he was reporting to someone so his electronic signature at the bottom of each holds no significance but, the dates are what cause a frown and my brows furrow.

My teeth begin chewing on the insides of my cheeks.

The very first report came the day he threw his boots at me, pre-dating greatly what I originally thought. The next came a few days later, and then as often of the frequency of his visits to the tattoo parlor.

My immediate theory is that one of the leaders was under suspicion and investigation at that time and Eric was too 'nosy', so, Falen may have simply diverted his attention onto me.

This is why Eric was around so often. Then the idea of my volatility and potential defection when he noticed my behaviors solidified Eric's employ as my observer.

I run a hand through my hair, to push the stray strands out of my face and skip forward.

Eric documents my hair change and other small observations with scribbled notes in the margin intended for me to read while looking this over, his opinions mostly.

The commentary is read with his expression and arrogant tone in mind.

I skip to the day after and keep skipping forward by days as his reports get more frequent, thorough and descriptive.

During these times the thought of Reid having accomplices was dismissed quickly by both Falen and Max. But falsely reignited. Directed at me.

Misdirection.

There is no solid proof that Falen was, working with her, loyalty could have kept Reid from outing him if they were indeed accomplices. Max is easily persuaded and wouldn't have questioned it if they both took her confession.

But, if Falen was, in fact, working with her why then, did he let her die?

I deliberate for a moment and though I can make a connection, I still have reasonable doubt.

They needed a fall guy and she already made a grave mistake.l, risking discovery.

My mind begins to wander off, to reflect on more current times, and I run my tongue across the back of my teeth.

Eric had been toying with me on occasion, with these notes, and predicting my actions or forcefully domineering a conversation.

Those books, observations, psychoanalysis, profiling, almost everything could've been meticulous, but, over such a long period of time?

He takes on the quality of a difficult, arrogant, egotistical child and yet, that may be his intention, to get me to purposely underestimate him.

My head spins with the arduous effort of untangling the many threads of thought filtering through my under-stimulated brain.

It was made quite obvious that Eric is proficient in the field of manipulation, an almost intimidatingly striking amount, if he we're indeed capable of meticulously predicting and guiding the actions of those around him and act accordingly to get to this point.

Getting me to this point, then giving me this folder. Showing me the peafowls insinuating the misdirection.

Then Eric suspects Falen as well. His gift is a warning.

I sigh and read a hastily scribbled note in the margin with an arrow circling a date. 'Amity day' A morbid name for an event Eric so likes to remind me of.

'Falen told me to shadow you, closely, which is why I was able to catch you.'

I close the folder and tap my chin with it.

The rest of the words read.

'Then of course because of your "carelessness " - when in fact you were very cautious (I might not have caught you if I wasn't instructed) He got you to track down some individual in faction-less territory as a 'penalty' and that led to us getting stuck together.'

I nod my head slowly to myself. It was Falen who suggested it, on both accounts although, I had some un-admitted reason for just accepting it, almost requesting it, so I never questioned it.

A lot of meticulous planning went into this it seems; over a long period of time, though I can't quite fathom another purpose other than…To make Eric and I distract one another so that Falen could continue his activities without notice.

So, it would seem, I have been following by some design, one that put me when and where he wanted me to be, making me the point of focus and scrutiny while also providing a distraction for Eric.

Everything must have been deliberate. I reopen the folder and continue skimming the margins for Eric's deductive commentary, it's unwise to go by it, but, it assists in my own deductions.

It should bother me that Eric is so well informed but it doesn't, obviously I've underestimated him and as a born Erudite the manipulation of knowledge isn't much a learned trait, and of course, with the right connections he can get any and all the information he wants.

Lauren's computer skill must be exemplary. His conquest for power must be broad to begin influencing support.

I shake my head back to another thought. Of the night Falen had gone after me, under the guise of assuaging Max and Jeanine's concerns over my loyalty. . .He must've known what I would discover, the message his son was trying to send.

He went to hide evidence, or, he might have planned to get rid of me before I found any.

He didn't. Why?

Something must have changed his mind.

Or was it indeed Eric's reports of my hesitations and reservations that stayed his hand, considering me a potential ally.

The very thing that must have added to how much of a distraction I became to Eric.

Then the tracker in my neck may be a precaution, in the off chance that Eric is wrong about me.

There is a lot that I don't know, and this new information makes it difficult to find any one conclusion.

The last page in the file is a separate note. I read Eric's scribbles with a book of matches taped to the back cover of the folder. He is thorough.

'There's an unlisted tracker in your watch.'

Of course that doesn't come as much of a surprise. There had to be some way for Falen or the other leader to find me and follow me without my knowledge, he couldn't have been close, he had to have been far enough away for me not to notice but close enough to track.

Ridley and Falen knew where I was at all times.

Unlisted, I take it no one else knows about the watch tracker, otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to put another in my neck.

The request, approval and administration of the second, internal tracker might have just been a way for Eric to disguise his discovery of the first. To make Falen think he doesn't know about the watch.

Eric must have discovered it when he took it before and then paraded it in front of the leaders.

Falen was the one who took notice and told him to return it, Max just thought it humorous.

Such small things that escape my notice that, Eric, in the background caught.

He is much much more observant and conniving than I thought, it would be remiss not to suspect him of his own misdirection as well and I should act with caution.

This could just be his way of manipulating me too among all the other ways hes been trying to.

I check the time hastily, putting Eric's watch on my wrist. He must have mine still.

2:18am.

I swipe my boots. Taking a seat to put them both on. I slide my first foot in only to find another note and something solid accompanying it inside.

It takes a startling amount of my usually limitless self control not to just hurl it across the room. I take several deep calming breaths and turn it upside down.

Another note and my watch spill out.

I clasp my watch over my wrist, and remove Eric's, throwing it to the side and check the time immediately.

2:22am

I'm on a time crunch now. If I am to make it to where I need to be by 3 A.M I'm left with no time to find and confront Eric, or Falen.

Don't forget your toys. And try not to break mine. Eric

I blink several times at his note and rub my eyes violently to focus on his p.s at the end where he seems to have written impossibly small.

In your spare room. Lapse of vision is only temporary. Relax.

The kitchen sink screeches as water flows out of the faucet in roaring gushes, washing the shards of glass and whitish oily liquid of the propofol vial and syringe down the gaping drain.

This is definitely not the proper way to dispose of chemicals but as I lack the time, it is my best option.

It would be unwise to leave them, equally unwise to take them. I glance at the time. 2:37 A.M.

The mask secure in my back pocket with my jacket and shirt pulled over. The heat radiates off of me, creating a scorching tingle between my skin and the fabric. My hairs stand on end.

I breathe heavily through the scarf and cut the sink off before brushing the stray bits of glass off the glove. My hand hovers over the last two items on my counter.

A flashlight and a pair of dark silver rimmed glasses.

The ones Eric wore on his choosing day, and the same ones I found stashed in his scarce belongings when he stayed in the dorms during initiation.

I find I'm more bothered by the fact that they fit perfectly, rather than the fact that I even put them on.

I blink through the lenses. Prescription. Thick.

Unlike many other Erudite that wear them for just for vanity. I wonder then if I will want my own pair one day.

It worsens my vision noticeably and only intensifies the headache but, I find myself wondering if his vision is always as such without them.

His hand writing is scribbled but legible. I've not seen his aim but he's intelligent enough to calculate trajectory. His fear of darkness could be his lack of daylight vision.

If I weren't so incensed because of him, I might be impressed. I can't understand his strategy, antagonizing me, informing me, and then divulging one of his weaknesses.

I remove the glasses and place them on the counter and raise my gloved fist. If he really didn't want me to break his toys, he should've thought twice about giving them to me.

My lungs and throat burn cold and sharp with every inhale of the wintry air as I sprint towards the tracks and the sounds of the train horn blaring.

Every footfall sends a jolt down my back and I push myself to run along the last car, the train picking up speed as it nears the curvature around the back of Dauntless.

I'm losing my only opportunity, just barely catching up to it. I throw myself sideways and grasp the handle next to the doorway and brace my foot on the lip of the step up and nearly slip on the slush built from chugging through snow.

My teeth clench as my shoulder slams into the metal exterior and I grip with both hands as I sway and lose my footing, dangling for a moment.

The gloves keep me from sliding down the handle but the used leather rubs into the skin of my fingers and palms like callous.

I haul myself inside, dropping unceremoniously onto the ground on my hands and knees, panting from the physical exertion. My body is cooperating but only with great effort.

The tracker in my neck causing severe discomfort in my spine.

When I recover I crawl over to the door and brace my back against the wall to look out at the city smearing past with the howl of the wind. I bring my legs close to my chest.

I recognize the tremble beneath my burning skin, despite the many layers. I've no doubt developed a fever.

The train rises and I gaze out through the darkness and the fog of my breathing. The cold begins to seep through and I wrap my arms around my knees, huddling myself.

A sea of crumbling concrete and broken glass flash past the door in a blur of nighttime reds of faded bricks and shades of darkest gray concrete.

At night without the sunlight glinting off the crystal ice, they all look tall and ominous. Shadowed figures with empty hollow insides.

The broken windows like black eyes and gaping mouths with jagged glass teeth.

Of course I have to take in the fact that my eyesight is still blurry, images appear slightly morphed.

There's always a feeling of lonesome abandonment with the way time and neglect have claimed the landscape. Some buildings half fallen, roads so broken they're considered unpaved.

At first glance you would think the city has just been put on hold in the middle of construction, and not that it's been left behind in the wake of some devastation.

The skeletal structures could speak of promise and ingenuity rather than wreck and ruin. Restoration is a slow process. Time rules all things. Creation, destruction, growth, degeneration.

Tonight though I gaze at the faint glimmering in the sky. Instead of individual twinkling stars I see smudges. I suppose it's not so bad if it's only temporary.

These misty glowing lights, both dim and bright like ghostly illusions recede forever across the blanket of night over a sleeping city. The clearest night sky I've seen in a long time and my vision is shit.

I stifle a yawn and rest my head back against the vibrating cab wall. A Dauntless without sight is unheard of.

I close my eyes and relax, taking a deep breath. I don't have to go much further, but I am going to be late.

I lean out of the cab as far as I can, gripping the interior door handle to squint and peer at the large apartment complex building just coming into view.

I'm late.

The train begins slowing and I pull my hood tighter over my head, the scarf over my nose and mouth heat my already warm face with every breath.

I glance out at the other cabs ahead of mine as they all begin to turn, and I roll my shoulders, and stretch my legs. As of now the pain running down my back is hardly noticeable. I prepare myself for the jump and watch the ground passing, gauging my landing in the snow.

The train dips and I bend my knees but before I can jump a figure leaps out several cabs ahead of mine. I quickly duck inside and press my back against the door.

I watch the hooded figure in Dauntless clothing sprint towards the apartments as the train passes it by and I wait till I've gone a full block away before turning and launching myself off.

My feet slam into solid ground and I roll forward bringing my head down and arms up, ignoring the ache and the wetness that seeps into my clothing from the snow on the ground.

I push off with the momentum of my roll and break into a run. At the corner of an adjoining building I press my back against the brick and look out across the stretch of the street and behind a chain link fence atop a waist high wall.

I watch the Dauntless as they work to bash the locked handle off the door that leads into the apartment building with a brick, with blatant disregard at the noise they're making.

They obviously don't know how to pick the lock. I immediately rule out several individuals. Many actually. That does little to narrow the possibilities of his or her identity.

I'm sure he or she is Dauntless though. Despite it being nighttime and my shitty vision I can tell by the way they landed off the train with ease and their attire is noticeably all black.

What I can't tell is the gender. The large winter jacket and standard issue pants disguise any distinguishable curves.

He or she appears boyish in movement however, brutish and without caution.

Either that person is my target or I'm to meet them. Will they assume I am hostile? or an ally?

I deliberate for a moment.

Is that my choice?

When the handle breaks off, the individual begins slamming his or her boot into the door repeatedly until it opens, banging loudly against the wall inside. They enter and the door begins to close slowly, heavily.

I push myself off the wall and sprint across the street and as quietly as I can, I kick off the lip of the waist high wall and propel myself up the fence, throwing myself over. Landing in a crouch with my hands on the ground.

I just barely reach the door before it closes and I press my palms against it, breathing in and out slowly. I push it inward inch by inch until I can slide into the dimness beyond.

Inside is a staircase, only visible by the faint red-orange glow of a broken emergency exit sign above the door. I step towards the middle looking up and immediately duck back towards the door when I see the beams of a flashlight several stories up, in case they heard me and decided to look over the railing.

Obviously they came prepared as well.

Instead of using my own flashlight I press myself against the wall and begin climbing the flights of stairs, taking them two at a time noiselessly. I listen to the echoes of their boots far above me.

The building is 12 stories and I vaguely take note of their not needing to take a break. I stop several times in case I've caught too far up, but when I steal a glance I can still see the beam of their light streaking across the railings as they climb.

When I hear the sound of a door handle rattling I stop and glance around. Resolving to standing in the alcove to a door leading to what reads is the 10th floor.

The sounds of metal on metal are unmistakable, a loud clattering echo down the stairwells as I take it, they begin beating the lock with the flashlight.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out my mask. Holding it between my gloved palms. The paleness has an eerie glow even in the shadows.

When I put it on, I don't become another person. To me it's just a mask but then when others look upon it they may think or feel different things.

It's not always just a mask.

The first time I put it on, I saw hate and from then on it felt fitting to be hated. Anonymous. Maybe I wear it because I didn't want to be forgiven again, or maybe I just did because the others before me did as well.

I shake the retrospective thoughts from my head. The headache and fever must be taking a toll on rational thinking.

A mask is just a mask to hide my identity, nothing more and right now I don't know their identity and I'm more than inclined to hide mine.

Falen had retrieved it for a reason.

The banging stops and I hear the sounds of them kicking at the door. I breathe in and out slowly and pull the scarf down to secure the mask over my face, the cool material is smooth over my heated skin and I draw my knife.

I swallow thickly, dragging my tongue across the back of my teeth. There Is no smoky feeling, no hesitation or reluctance right now but the mask makes me feel oddly trapped. Confined.

When the door slams open above me, I move and climb the last flights of stairs. Up to the 12th floor. The door clicks shut faster than I can reach it.

My hand hesitates against it and my other hand curls tightly around the handle of my knife. I lift my hand from the door and let it hover over the mask but I don't remove it.

Remember.

I push the door open and exit out onto the roof the initial gush of air burns my eyes and I scan my surroundings immediately. The foot prints in the undisturbed snow lead around the corner of the roof exit.

The crunch of snow is loud under my boots and I move with meticulous slowness in an attempt to minimize the noise and when I round the corner I spot the individual at the end of the roof in front of the short brick lining.

Standing with their back turned away from me, facing Erudite.

The large glass and metal spire lit up blurrily in the distance surrounded by the rest of the sleeping dark city. I blink several times, still impaired.

Moonlight casts soft light down over everything giving the whiteness an eerie glimmer and glow. I take another step keeping my eyes locked on the form ahead.

He or she will no doubt hear me coming now.

"Gene?"