"Yeah, at least this place doesn't have serums, to mold people to their way of thinking. Or erase their memories entirely," I say, the bitterness exuding from every word. Not that I trust that there isn't some dark, ulterior motive to this place; Darrow's secrets seem more subtle than those of Chicago, but present, nonetheless.

He speaks with genuine understanding, and I remember what Tris told me, that he knows how to make a weapon out of anything. I suspect he has his own experiences with places like Chicago.

"When we left, Chicago was in the middle of a power struggle," I admit. "And outside the city, well. They made it seem nice, at first. But in the end, all we ever were was an experiment to the government." I glance over at Tris, who doesn't know this yet. I'm glad for her.