Beatrice," she says. "Beatrice, we have to run." She pulls my arm across her shoulders and hauls me to my feet. She is dressed like my mother and she looks like my mother, but she is holding a gun, and the determined look in her eyes is unfamiliar to me.

Dead people can be our heroes because they can't disappoint us later; they only improve over time, as we forget more and more about them.

Shh,” I say. “Arms around me.” Obediently, he slips both arms around my waist. I smile at the wall. I am not enjoying this. I am not, not even a little bit, no.

I don't see any elderly people in the crowd. Are there any old Dauntless? Do they not last that long, or are they just sent away when they can't jump off moving trains anymore?

You chose us. Now we have to choose you.

I get up, because I’m supposed to, but if it were up to me, I’d stay in my seat for the rest of time.

It reminds me why I chose Dauntless in the first place: not because they are perfect, but because they are alive. Because they are free.