I feel acutely aware of how young I am. In a way that is good. It's productive. It makes me realise that I should be growing as a writer and a person.

I think I speak for everyone," he says, "when I say you have earned the title of Dauntless".

We can’t survive alone, but even if we could, we wouldn't want to.

I try to catch my breath and calm myself down, but it isn't easy. I was dead. I was dead, and then i wasn't, and why? Because of Peter? Peter? I stare at him. He still looks so innocent, despite all that he has done to prove that he is not. His hair lies smooth against his head, shiny and dark, like we didn't just run for a mile at full speed. His round eyes scan the stairwell and then rest on my face. "What?" he says. "Why are you looking at me like that?" " How did you do it?" I say.

We believe in shouting for those who can only whisper, in defending those who cannot defend themselves.

The gun goes off. I fall.

We both have war inside us. Sometimes it keeps us alive. Sometimes it threatens to destroy us.