Page 36 of The Sixth Fraction

Amar was our initiation instructor. Dead now.

I ignore the jab. “I didn’t hurt Peter,” I point out. “And I very much could have. I was just trying to—”

“Prove a point? And what point is that?”

“That he can’t just do whatever he wants without any consequences,” I say. “He’s been attacking his fellow initiates from the start. I know you’ve seen my reports.”

“Ah yes, your reports. Of him taunting his fellow initiates and making their lives miserable. What a crime.” He rolls his eyes. They’re flat as a snake’s. “You do know this is a competition, right?”

Dauntless has three leaders, though only one represents us in the council. Max is the leader of the majority, which means anyone between age twenty-five and fifty. Harrison is the leader of the elders—Dauntless over fifty. And there’s always a youth leader, who has to be under twenty-five. By tradition, that leader is usually new to the faction, because they’re supposed to bring in fresh ideas and perspective. That’s Eric—eighteen years old, Erudite-born, and full of all kinds of ideas about how we should run things.

It’s a job I could have had, if I wanted it. Max was pushing me toward it, but I said no, and I’m pretty sure Eric still resents me for being Max’s first choice.

“It’s always been a competition,” I say. “A relatively friendly one. You’re the one who turned it into an all-out war.”

“I don’t see the problem with separating the wheat from the chaff,” he says.

I tense up at the phrase. It’s a saying I used to hear as a child. And I’m sure that’s why he chose it.

“The problem with it,” I say, “is that it brings out the worst in people. Peter’s behavior is escalating. I knew if no one put a stop to it, he would end up seriously injuring someone. He already would have, today, if I hadn’t intervened.”

“Well, how fortunate that you were there, then.” Eric crosses his arms. “What is it you’d like me to do about it, exactly?”

“I want you to rank him lower. Don’t reward brutality; punish it.”

He pushes his greasy hair behind his ears, and nods. I know better than to think that means he agrees with me. It’s a mistake, telling him what I want instead of maneuvering around him like I usually do. The only thing he’s going to do now is use it against me.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it? That I have the power to do that and you don’t?” he says.

“If I’d wanted it, I could have had it.”

“We both know that’s not true.” He smiles a little. Patronizing. “And we both know why.”

I set my jaw. I don’t have a response for that, because he’s right. I was never going to pursue a position as Dauntless leader. And he might be the only person alive who knows why.

“I’m not going to encourage our new initiate class to hold hands and sing songs like a bunch of mild-mannered Amity.” Eric steps closer to me, and even though he’s shorter than I am, it’s still threatening, and I have to resist the urge to step back. “Our job is to keep this city from tearing itself apart—to keep this city safe. We can’t do that if our new members think weakness is acceptable.”

He tips his head up.

“If I find out you’re teaching them that it is,” Eric says, “I’ll ensure you’re removed from your post. Understood?”

The blue-white light makes his skin look even paler, like the silverfish that lived in my building’s basement growing up.

“Yeah.” I try not to choke on the word.

“You can go now,” he says, just because he can.

And I do, because he’s right: I don’t have any power here.

“I have a question, and I really, actually want an answer to this,” Shauna says. “Why is he like that?”

She’s sprawled across my bed on her stomach. It took me a while to get used to how casual Shauna is about things—she’s just a friend, but she treats my bed like it’s hers every time she’s here.

“Oh, you want to come up with Eric’s tragic backstory?” Zeke says from the kitchen, where he’s searching my refrigerator for something he wants to eat. He hangs one gangly arm over the top of the refrigerator door. “God, Four, do you ever eat anything with flavor? I swear these leftover mushrooms don’t have any seasoning on them at all.”

“They have salt,” I say, and Zeke gives me a look of disgust while Shauna laughs into my quilt. It’s one of the only things I have from my childhood home. It’s pieced together from all kinds of fabric scraps, faction clothing and old salvage alike.

“New goal: teach Four about spice,” Zeke says.