Page 27 of The Sixth Fraction

I sob harder, and I can hardly believe the sounds that are coming out of me—desperate, animal sounds, like a creature in pain.

She holds me until my tears run dry. When they do, I lean my face into her shoulder, smelling laundry detergent on her shirt and rosemary from her soap.

A breeze blows through the alley, making the cardboard rattle and the weeds growing through the cracked pavement shift.

“I know a place you can go. I have a contact among the factionless,” she says. “But . . . if I reach out to them, I want to be sure you understand where you’re going.”

Her voice is different again. Not so careful and deliberate.

“I’ve been trying to build trust with some of the factionless who come to the donation center, and what I’ve learned is this: There are two types of factionless, Beatrice. The kind you’ve seen . . . and the kind you’ve never seen.”

Those words send a shiver through me.

“The factionless you’ve never seen, they’re better off than the ones we know. That’s all I know about them,” my mother says. “You could go there. You could be yourself there, and I don’t think they would hurt one of their own, if that’s what you became.”

There’s something she’s not saying. “But,” I prompt her.

“But,” she says. And she pauses for a moment, considering. “There has always been tension with the factionless. Over the past few years, though, it started to dissipate. Your father, the other council members, they saw this as a good thing. I didn’t agree. I thought it was a sign that the factionless were finding other outlets for their discontent.”

I think of the banner unfurling above my head. The white flowers stitched on it.

“Like attacking the Choosing Ceremony,” I say.

She nods. “The council thinks the people who attacked the ceremony are just a band of upstarts. That they killed Robert Black in a random act of violence. That they can be controlled with Dauntless sentries.”

“But you don’t agree?”

“I think that group was part of a larger movement. That the attack on the Choosing Ceremony was just the first act of a much bigger plan.”

The factionless I know are the ones in the donation center. Unwell, unhappy, unfocused. Not the kind I can imagine attacking the Choosing Ceremony. So . . . she must be right.

“Why would they kill Robert? How does that help with anyone’s ‘larger plan’?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she says delicately, “they weren’t aiming for Robert.”

I assumed from the start that Robert’s death was random. An accident, maybe, or just a reaction to the chaos—the factionless woman fell from the rafters, someone panicked, and then bang, a bullet fired into a crowd, Robert’s body in the way. But I never thought about how intentional it had to be, to steal a gun that could kill from the wall guards, to bring it to the Choosing Ceremony, to drop down from the rafters and fire—

Maybe it didn’t matter that the factionless woman fell. Maybe, whoever they were, they were planning on firing that gun from the start.

I say, “And if I was factionless, I’d live with them. The people who attacked us.”

“You would be safe—I would make sure you were safe,” she says. “But yes. If you go there, you won’t know which ones killed Robert. You won’t know who’s dangerous and who isn’t.”

If you go there. God, it sounds impossible.

But there’s a tiny possibility in my mind, like a pinhole for light to get through.

“If I defect,” I say. “I could find out what those factionless are planning.”

“That’s not your responsibility.”

“It’s not?” I say. “Robert was my friend. If I can find out why he died . . . shouldn’t I try?”

She sighs. “I can’t decide that for you. All I want is for you to be happy and safe. But this is one of your options. Stay, or don’t stay. Find answers, or don’t find them. But if you do decide this is what you want—if you decide you want to look for answers—I promise I’ll help you with whatever you need. I’ll help you find out the truth.”

These new choices ahead of me are like the bowls at the ceremony that demanded my blood. Just like those bowls, they offer me the lives I can bear to live, and the lives I can’t. Stay, and deny what happened. Stay, and pretend until you don’t have to anymore. Go, and forget about it all. Go, and find out the truth.

I think about Robert with his nose inches away from a book about pruning, and what he and Susan and his parents deserve, and how this is my chance to do something important and good.