I surface from the simulation with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I detach from the wires and get up. She’s still recovering from the sensation of almost drowning, shaking her hands and taking deep breaths. I watch her for a moment, not sure how to say what I need to say.
“What?” she says.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Crack the glass.”
“I don’t know.”
I nod, and offer her my hand. She gets up without any trouble, but she avoids my eyes. I check the corners of the room for cameras. There is one, just where I thought it would be, right across from us. I take her elbow and lead her out of the room, to a place where I know we won’t be observed, in the blind spot between two surveillance points.
“What?” she says irritably.
“You’re Divergent,” I say. I haven’t been very nice to her today. Last night I saw her and her friends by the chasm, and a lapse in judgment—or sobriety—led me to lean in too close, to tell her she looked good. I’m worried that I went too far. Now I’m even more worried, but for different reasons.
She cracked the glass. She’s Divergent. She’s in danger.
She stares.
Then she sinks against the wall, adopting an almost-convincing aura of casualness. “What’s Divergent?”
“Don’t play stupid,” I say. “I suspected it last time, but this time it’s obvious. You manipulated the simulation; you’re Divergent. I’ll delete the footage, but unless you want to wind up dead at the bottom of the chasm, you’ll figure out how to hide it during the simulations! Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I walk back to the simulation room, pulling the door closed behind me. It’s easy to delete the footage—just a few keystrokes and it’s done, the record clean. I double-check her file, making sure the only thing that’s in there is the data from the first simulation. I’ll have to come up with a way to explain where the data from this session went. A good lie, one that Eric and Max will actually believe.
In a hurry, I take out my pocketknife and wedge it between the panels covering the motherboard of the computer, prying them apart. Then I go into the hallway, to the drinking fountain, and fill my mouth with water.
When I return to the simulation room, I spit some of the water into the gap between the panels. I put my knife away and wait.
A minute or so later, the screen goes dark. Dauntless headquarters is basically a leaky cave—water damage happens all the time.
I was desperate.
I sent a message through the same factionless man I used as a messenger last time I wanted to get in touch with my mother. I arranged to meet her inside the last car of the ten-fifteen train from Dauntless headquarters. I assume she’ll know how to find me.
I sit with my back against the wall, an arm curled around one of my knees, and watch the city pass. Night trains don’t move as fast as day trains between stops. It’s easier to observe how the buildings change as the train draws closer to the center of the city, how they grow taller but narrower, how pillars of glass stand next to smaller, older stone structures. Like one city layered on top of another on top of another.
Someone runs alongside the train when it reaches the north side of the city. I stand up, holding one of the railings along the wall, and Evelyn stumbles into the car wearing Amity boots, an Erudite dress, and a Dauntless jacket. Her hair is pulled back, making her already-severe face even harsher.
“Hello,” she says.
“Hi,” I say.
“Every time I see you, you’re bigger,” she says. “I guess there’s no point in worrying that you’re eating well.”
“Could say the same to you,” I say, “but for different reasons.”
I know she’s not eating well. She’s factionless, and the Abnegation haven’t been providing as much aid as they usually do, with the Erudite bearing down on them the way they are.
I reach behind me and grab the backpack I brought with cans from the Dauntless storeroom.
“It’s just bland soup and vegetables, but it’s better than nothing,” I say when I offer it to her.
“Who says I need your help?” Evelyn says carefully. “I’m doing just fine, you know.”
“Yeah, that’s not for you,” I say. “It’s for all your skinny friends. If I were you, I wouldn’t turn down food.”
“I’m not,” she says, taking the backpack. “I’m just not used to you caring. It’s a little disarming.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling,” I say coldly. “How long was it before you checked in on my life? Seven years?”
Evelyn sighs. “If you asked me to come here just to start this argument again, I’m afraid I can’t stay long.”
“No,” I say. “No, that’s not why I asked you to come here.”
I didn’t want to contact her at all, but I knew I couldn’t tell any of the Dauntless what I had learned about the Abnegation attack—I don’t know how loyal to the faction and its policies they are—and I had to tell someone. The last time I spoke to Evelyn, she seemed to know things about the city that I didn’t. I assumed she might know how to help me with this, before it’s too late.
It’s a risk, but I’m not sure where else to turn.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on Max,” I say. “You said the Erudite were involved with the Dauntless, and you were right. They’re planning something together, Max and Jeanine and who knows who else.”
I tell her what I saw on Max’s computer, the supply lists and the maps. I tell her what I’ve observed about the Erudite’s attitude toward Abnegation, the reports, how they’re poisoning even Dauntless minds against our former faction.
When I finish, Evelyn doesn’t look surprised, or even grave. In fact, I have no idea how to read her expression. She’s quiet for a few seconds, and then she says, “Did you see any indication of when this might happen?”
“No,” I say.
“How about numbers? How large a force do Dauntless and Erudite intend to use? Where do they intend to summon it from?”
“I don’t know,” I say, frustrated. “I don’t really care, either. No matter how many recruits they get, they’ll mow down the Abnegation in seconds. It’s not like they’re trained to defend themselves—not like they would even if they knew how, either.”