Athos takes another drink before slipping the flask back into his jacket. Though he has observed blithe acceptance of every form of dalliance since coming to Darrow, and never for a moment believes that Tris herself will disapprove, he still shies from the telling. Surely this is not something to be spoken of, every instinct and understanding of propriety tells him, and certainly not to a young woman. Not even one who reminds him more of his brothers-in-arms than any girl he has ever met.

“I wanted you to hear it from my lips before word reached you. If it has not already.” He looks away when he thinks precisely how Tris may have surmised the truth already. “Aramis, and Paris, and I… The nature of our friendship has changed of late."