Page 140 of The Sixth Fraction

“What are you saying, exactly?” she says tersely.

“I’m saying that if I ask him to leave for me, he will.”

Her eyes narrow. “And you’re so sure of this.”

“Yeah. I am,” I say. “And I’ll do it, if you let me help with whatever you’re planning. So now it’s up to you: Do you want him back in your life, or not?”

Another long stretch of silence. Guilt pulses inside me like a second heartbeat. Even if she abandoned him, even if she lied to him, I still hate this—weaponizing her love for her son against her. But it’s what I have to do. This is what I have to be.

“I didn’t think a Stiff could be so manipulative,” she says.

“Well,” I say. “I’m not a goddamn Stiff.”

I’m surprised by how natural the vulgarity feels, coming out of my mouth. But then again, I’ve gotten good at playing parts. Playing an upright Candor who’s ready to bite back at anyone who talks down to her. Playing a confident Erudite with just a hint of superiority. A swaggering Dauntless with nothing to lose. All these costumes I’ve learned to shrug on and off. This is just the latest one: shrewd factionless bargainer who cares only about results.

“Why?” Evelyn asks me. “And don’t tell me you just want to get rid of Marcus.”

Choose a better lie, Boots told me once. I’ve gotten better at thinking on my feet since the day Gretchen pulled me out of the cabinet while I was trying to spy on the Foxes, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at it, exactly. So I try to choose some version of the truth.

“My mother told you I left Abnegation because I didn’t belong there. But I left because my own father tried and failed to erase my memory.” I decide not to mention that he tried to erase her from my memory. “So when I said Marcus didn’t deserve the power he had, I really meant all of Abnegation. And I think you agree with me.”

It’s a risk, revealing that the memory excision didn’t work—revealing that I’m Divergent. But making myself a little vulnerable might convince her to be vulnerable in return.

Evelyn looks at me for what feels like a long time. Then she says coolly, “The name we use for ourselves is Hemlock.”

Hemlock. That’s what Sly called the white flowers growing outside the Museum, the ones she warned me not to touch. Very poisonous.

Evelyn pulls away from the railing.

“Be in the train yard on Friday. Early—three in the morning. I’ll introduce you to the others,” she says. “And if you need to persuade him, tell Tobias that my dream is about to come true.”

She walks away, back toward the Mender’s workshop and its warm glow, its busy hum. I wish I could follow her there.

Instead I walk alone back through the Museum, a tremor in my chest I can’t seem to get rid of. I don’t know what’s coming next. But I did it.

6

Hemlock

Chapter 48

Caleb

It’s Wednesday, which has quickly become Caleb’s favorite day of the week. Wednesday is the day that he goes to Jeanine Matthews’s office to assist with what she likes to call “tedious work.” He rarely finds it tedious. Instead he relishes the opportunity to observe her, to experience just a small sliver of her life alongside her.

Jeanine Matthews, he’s decided, is the most brilliant person he’s ever met. Her memory is faultless, her mind flexible, and her capacity for retaining information seemingly endless. Sometimes, when he assists her, he struggles to keep up with the changing topics. She’ll talk to one person about a mundane aspect of Erudite life and then another person about a specific experiment involving lab-grown meat and then spend ten minutes updating her observations about a set of brain scans and then meet with Cara about a new, portable signal repeater—exciting technology that would allow someone to use any faction computer anywhere in the city. All of this happens inside of an hour.

He’s taken to color-coding everything he takes notes on. Blue for Erudite business, red for city business, green for experiments with short-term value, purple for experiments with long-term value—and he’s still finding new labels.

After Jeanine’s finished for the day, though, is his favorite time. She goes into her personal library, right next to her laboratory, and makes a pot of tea—she grows flowers and herbs along the windows, and dries the leaves herself in the sun—and invites him to sit with her. They go over everything he observed that day, and he’s free to ask as many questions as he likes. She sometimes offers advice, sometimes just observations. She recommends reading material to help him catch up to his fellow initiates.

She’s been kind to him. Kinder than he ever imagined she would be.

And that’s why he has to do this now.

When all of Jeanine’s files and notebooks are packed away for the day, he follows her into her library, where she’s already busy with the hot-water kettle she keeps plugged into the wall. He clears his throat.

“I . . .” He feels so nervous he can barely breathe. He forces himself to continue. “I have a confession to make.”