The cruelty of fate is that I must travel with the people I hate when the people I love are dead behind me.

How have I never realized before that for all the strong, kind parts of him, there are also hurting, broken parts?

Yesterday he told me he thought I would have to pretend to be weak, but he was wrong. I am weak already. I brace myself against the wall and press my forehead to my hands. It’s difficult to take deep breaths, so I take short, shallow ones. I can’t let this happen. They attacked me to make me feel weak. I can pretend they succeeded to protect myself, but I can’t let it become true.

The fire, the fire. It rages within, a campfire and then an inferno, and my body is its fuel. I feel it racing through me, eating away at the weight. There is nothing that can kill me now; I am powerful and invincible and eternal.

I frown at him. How does he know all this information? And why, after two years of avoiding becoming a Dauntless leader at all costs, is he suddenly acting like one?

People are supossed to aspire to become their fathers, not shudder at the thought.

Inquisitiveness is self-serving, Johanna. -Marcus Eaton