You're not as brave as you were at the start.

As soon as Tobias and I arrive back at the compound, goosebumps rise across my skin. I know something is wrong. There’s a gnawing in my gut, and I try to keep my gaze focused on the landscape around us. But then Cara comes into view, tears streaming down her face, and I clench my hands into fists by my sides, as though they might protect me from whatever news she has.

It’s not Cara’s fault that she bears the burden of being the messenger; yet it’s nearly impossible not to want to shake her when she lets out the news that Tris Prior is dead.

“No,” I say, giving into my own denial for the moment. “No way. There must be some mistake.”

But Cara’s expression, her eyes wavering from the weight of her tears, is as honest as I’ve seen any person look. And then my gaze falls on Tobias, and I can tell in the way he stiffens suddenly that his thoughts align with my own: you could take the girl out of Abnegation, but you couldn’t take the Abnegation out of the girl. Tris, as I’ve always known her to be, spared her brother the fate he deserved out of her love for him.

I yell, first. Scream out into the void as though the power of my voice could change the fact of Tris’ death. I’m not entirely aware of the words that leave my mouth; I’m only sure that they’re ugly and painful, stained with grief. Beside me, I barely register Tobias anymore, as tears start to blur the world around me.

My stomach hurts, is the thought that flashes in my mind, bright, and bold, and stupid. Tris is dead, and all I can think about is how my stomach hurts. What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times before; choosing Dauntless over my native Candor, jumping off the train for the first time with a girl I’d only just met, a seemingly shy girl from Abnegation, no less.

She’s dead. She’s dead. Not Caleb. Tris. She’s dead. Oh, God.

My best friend. My anchor in this hell of a world. The one who killed the man I’d loved; the same one I forgave. She’s dead, and her traitor of a brother lives, and my stomach hurts, because I can’t choose between horror and grief.

I fall to my knees, because I can’t stand up. Not with the numbing reality creeping into my skin, like one of Jeanine’s serums.

I don’t notice the world when it shifts; I can’t even bring myself to look at Tobias or Cara, who both mirror my own pain in their grief. But when I manage to regain control over my breathing, I find myself looking at pavement, like that of the streets of Chicago.

A sudden, onset of noise pulls me from my grief, just as I find myself nearly blinded by a surge of light.

There is a car, similar in shape and color to those held by the Erudite, heading straight for me.

My Dauntless instincts take over then; I crouch, leaning forward as I wait for just the right moment. I jump towards the car just as the driver, a man, young, by the brief look I get of him, stomps on the breaks. My hands push onto the hood of the vehicle, giving me enough leverage to flip onto the very top, clutching onto the metal roof with my bare hands.

The car screeches beneath me, like someone caught in the throes of fear serum, as it comes to a stop. I manage to catch my breath, just as the door to my right opens, and the man comes out, swearing and making rude gestures in my direction.

“Sorry,” I say, leaping down from the car as though it were nothing. I glance around me; wherever I am, it isn’t the compound, nor Chicago. But the closeness of the buildings reminds me of the city I thought of as home but which, in truth, was only an experiment.

Beside me, the guy is going purple with anger. He looks like an overcooked vegetable, that’s what Tris would say, if she were here with me. If she were still alive.

“Look,” I say at last, trying to distract myself of the awful truth I’ve left behind. “Can you tell me where I am? This doesn’t look like Chicago.”

I get a raised middle finger for my trouble, along with another string of curses.I have only one thought:

I wish Tris were here with me.