Page 59 of The Sixth Fraction

Eric’s black hair is stuck to the back of his neck, limp and sweaty in its ponytail. He stares at me like it’s a dare. Dare you to keep fighting with me. Dare you to get yourself sacked as initiation instructor.

“You heard her,” I say. “She’d like you to leave, and since you’re no longer her faction leader, I suggest you listen to her.”

“Of course.” Eric smiles, the holes in his lower lip stretching wide around their piercings. “I assume you’re going to report to your job sometime today?”

“I’m sick. I’ll probably feel better by the afternoon.”

“See that you do.”

Then he’s walking out of the room, his boots squeaking on the tile. I wait for a few seconds and then turn back to her.

“Do you think . . .” Her voice is weak, now. “Do you think my parents would take me in for a little while? Just until I’m . . . better? I know it’s against the rules and they could get in trouble, but . . .” Her voice breaks. “I don’t know where else to go.”

“I’m sure they would,” I say. “But if you’d rather not put them in that position, I know a place you can go.”

I may not be eager to join the factionless, but I’m not going to withhold help from Christina. And Evelyn will make sure Christina is safe if I ask her to, even if it’s just to manipulate me.

Christina wipes her eye with the heel of her hand. “You do?”

“I have friends, you know,” I say, trying for a lighter tone. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah, actually. You seem like someone who spends a lot of time alone.”

“And what do I do alone, in your imagination? Whittle?”

She smiles, and I take it as a good sign.

I’m pretty sure it’s against the rules for me to know the location of a factionless safe house, but Evelyn didn’t seem to care when she was telling me how to get in touch with her, so I try not to think about it as I cross a street in the abandoned district with Christina at my side.

Shauna drove us here in the ambulance—also against the rules, but I wasn’t going to let Christina walk all the way to the safe house with a bandaged head, all doped up on painkillers. Said painkillers are in a bag at her side, rattling with every step she takes, along with spare bandages and a little bottle of antibiotics, freshly printed by the hospital’s medicine machine. Shauna also brought her some clean clothes. She didn’t have much else to take with her.

“I don’t know,” Christina says. “It looks abandoned, doesn’t it?”

“That’s their whole thing.” I step over the weeds to remove the board covering the window, then I offer Christina my hand to steady herself as she climbs in. I replace the board behind me once I’m through.

It’s a long stretch of dark in front of us, but there’s a light somewhere up ahead. I move toward it.

Christina follows me in, a little unsteady on her feet. I feel my way along with one hand on the wall, and she walks in my wake. When we reach the end of the hallway, we both stop and stare.

We’re standing in a grand, bright room, so at odds with the dark stone facade that I wonder if I’ve passed through a portal to another world. The ceiling is vaulted glass arranged in delicate geometric patterns; the floors are pale, polished tile. And it’s full of people, some eating at little tables, some milling around the edges.

I don’t really know what to do now that I’m here. I didn’t realize this place would be so big, so bright, or so full of people. I hesitate, and in my moment of hesitation, the factionless start to notice us.

At first they just stare, and then two people charge at us from two different directions. I step in front of Christina just in time for a black-haired factionless girl—no older than me, surely—to put a gun to my head.

I freeze, my mouth going dry. I can tell by the make that the gun is loaded with nonlethal rounds—needles, we call them—but those are still painful and I’m not eager to get shot with one, especially not in the skull. I feel a harsh breath against the back of my neck as Christina ducks behind me. She just got attacked; she shouldn’t have to deal with this right now. I should have come in alone, first.

“State your business,” the girl says.

Her hold on the weapon is loose and lacking conviction. If it was one of the lethal ones that the Dauntless wall guards carry, I wouldn’t do anything—I’m not stupid. But this is a needle gun, and I don’t like to be threatened.

I’m raising my hands to show I’m not armed, and then one hand is on her wrist and the other is on the weapon. I twist her wrist hard enough that she has to let go of the gun—which I grab, and flip around so I have it trained on her instead.

Everyone in the room goes still.

“Don’t get so close to the person you’re aiming at,” I say. “Just makes it easier to do that.”

I turn the gun around again, and offer it to her. She eyes it suspiciously.