How is it I know this little about the boy who says he loves me -- the boy whose real name is powerful enough to keep us alive in a train car full of enemies?

I glance at Tris. She grins at me, then leans in to whisper something to Christina. "Are you here to help or what, Stiff?" I say.

I wonder if fears ever really go away, or if they just lose their power over us.

Peter: Where are you two going? Tris: Why aren't you with your attack group eating dinner? Peter: I don't have one. I'm injured. Christina: Yeah right, you are! Peter: Well, I don't want to go to battle with a bunch of factionless. So I'm going to stay here. Christina: Like a coward. Let everyone else clean up the mess for you. Peter: Yep! Have fun dying.

You won," Four mutters. "Stop." I wipe the sweat from my forehead. He stares at me. His eyes are too wide; they look alarmed.

It happened. It was awful. You aren't perfect. That's all there is. Don't confuse your grief with guilt.

I breathe in. The water will wash my wounds clean. I breathe out. My mother submerged me in water when I was a baby, to give me to God. It has been a long time since I thought about God, but I think about him now. It is only natural. I am glad, suddenly, that I shot Eric in the foot instead of the head.