Then Drew shuffles into the dining hall. I drop my toast, and my mouth drifts open. Calling him “bruised” would be an understatement. His face is swollen and purple. He has a split lip and a cut running through his eyebrow. He keeps his eyes down on the way to his table, not even lifting them to look at me. I glance across the room at Four. He wears the satisfied smile I wish I had on.

You sadistic pansycake.

I have done bad things. I can't take them back, and they are part of who I am. Most of the time, they seem like the only thing I am.

Some people will always fear change. But we can't indulge them.

He bends over to untie his shoes. “So, have you been ostracized from your little crowd of devotees?” “No,” I say automatically. Then I add, “Maybe. But they aren’t my devotees.” “Please. They’re like the Cult of Four.” I can’t help but laugh. “Jealous? Wish you had a Cult of Psychopaths to call your very own?

Tris," said tobias. "I love you

The battle we are fighting is not against a particular group. It is against human nature - or at least what it has become.