Page 16 of The Sixth Fraction

He brings his hands together in front of him, palms up—our faction’s symbol, brought to life.

“As members of Abnegation, you will spend your life giving to those around you. But tonight, you will be receiving.” He pulls his hands back in, close to his body. “The interconnectedness of all people is at the heart of our faction’s philosophy. We need each other to survive, and to thrive. When we can give, we give—but there will be times when we can’t. When we are ailing, or infirm, or overcome with grief or pain. In those moments, we must learn to receive, and offer others the opportunity to care for us. So tonight, you will dedicate yourselves to the art of receiving.”

He smiles.

“First, though, you have to introduce yourselves to the keeper of our city’s memory. To that end . . . follow me.”

He unlocks the door by touching a sensor beside it, and leads us in.

The room beyond is a perfect circle. Along its edges, everything is dark. But at its center, glowing in the ceiling, is a ring of dim light that illuminates the low stone table beneath it. Marcus directs us to kneel around the edge of it, and I do, so close the stone scrapes my kneecaps through my trousers. Beside me, near enough for me to hear her breaths, is Susan. There are only eight of us, total.

I realize, then, that I know what this place must be. The Abnegation Memory Vault. This is where the city’s records are kept. Whenever I pictured this room before, I imagined something like a library, full of filing cabinets and bookshelves. This place—this empty place that feels almost like a church sanctuary—isn’t what I expected at all.

“For some of you, this will be the last time you ever enter this room,” Marcus says. “The Memory Vault is sacred. It contains the history of our city and our people—all our people, across all factions. As such, the responsibility of maintaining it resides with just one person.” He taps his chest to indicate himself. “Accessing the Memory Vault after this point is forbidden to all except those summoned to make an offering. People of all factions are called upon to make offerings, some more than once, some not at all.”

Marcus presses both hands to the stone in front of him, fingers spread wide.

“It’s time for introductions,” he says, and he doesn’t say it to us but to the stone. “Your hands, please.”

I do as I’m told, and the stone under my palms is warm, like it’s been baking in the sun. I feel a prickle against my palms, and then the space changes.

I’m in the small room where I took my aptitude test. Sitting in the padded chair. Beside me, the Dauntless woman, Tori, sits at the small table behind the computer, drumming her fingers on her legs as she stares at me.

“Well, that was . . . perplexing. Excuse me,” she says.

She gets up and walks out of the room. Fear spikes inside me as I realize: This is my memory of just after the aptitude test, playing out before my eyes. In a few seconds Tori will come back in here and tell me that my results were inconclusive. She’ll point out that I’m not supposed to be aware during simulations. She’ll call me Divergent and tell me it’s dangerous for me and everyone I tell.

And all of that will be shared with the Abnegation Memory Vault.

Tori steps into the room and leans back against the door, her hands trapped behind her.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “I had to report an error and enter your result manually.”

No, I try to say. And: stop.

“What . . . what was my result?” is what I say instead, just as I did before.

“Well . . . it’s hard to say, actually.”

Stop. My chest heaves with panic. I know this isn’t real, that I’m not real here in the way I’m accustomed to. But I have to stop this, I have to—

“What do you mean?”

Stop!

“Some of the things you did in that test . . .” aren’t supposed to be possible, my mind supplies, and if she says that, it will be enough to damn me.

But she doesn’t say it.

Instead, the scene around me changes. Tori disintegrates. Darkness drapes over my body like a blanket. The overhead light turns into the moon.

In Tori’s place is a dark cityscape, the view from the roof of my family’s apartment building. I’m standing near the edge in my nightgown, my boots untied.

I open my mouth, and scream until the birds scatter.

Then I come back to myself. I’m kneeling in front of the table in the Abnegation Memory Vault, lifting my hands from the warm stone. All my fellow initiates appear around me again. Marcus Eaton’s eyes find mine, and then his brow furrows, like I’ve confused him.

The others surface one by one. When everyone else is finished, we all walk across the building to the banquet hall.