𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟏𝟒

The night air was warm and still. A breeze brushed through your hair that you didn't think to tie up before leaving your bed. When you looked up, all you could see were stars – so many of them that it almost felt like you were seeing the night sky for the very first time. It had been a long time since you'd seen the stars.

"I didn't bring you up here to stargaze."

You turned, noticing that Eric had been watching you the entire time. He'd almost forgotten what you looked like with your hair down like that. Like you had just wandered a little too far from the fields. It was the uniform that ultimately gave you away, bringing him right back into reality.

"You didn't?" you asked, leaning your back against the tall ledge.

"No." Eric shrugged off his jacket to reveal a black, messily cut tank top. He looked a little too pleased with your confused and slightly frightened expression. Tossing his jacket aside, he raised his fists. "You're going to fight me."

His tattoos seemed to glow under the silvery moonlight and you studied the one on his forearm for much longer than you would like to admit – the maze of geometric lines and patterns. Everyone at Dauntless always seemed so eager to show theirs off, but Eric wore his privately. Ironically enough, his were the only ones that you wanted to see more of.

But enough about his tattoos, no matter how cool they were. He was trying to fight you.

"Why?" you asked, stepping closer to him. "Did I do something wrong?"

As soon as the question left your mouth, you felt your entire body go cold. I'm Divergent.

That's what Tori said. And she also expressly told you that anyone in any leadership position was considered a direct threat to anyone like you.

A beat of anxiety pulses through you like a second heartbeat. Eric, the boy you knew from Erudite who was now your instructor in Dauntless (funny how these things happen), dropped his all-knowing smile. "They have you down to spar with Edward later today," he said. "He's in the top five. You need to be prepared."

"Edward?" you find yourself repeating shakily. You were thankful that no one else knew about your little secret, but this wasn't exactly the alternative answer you'd been hoping for either.

You did your best to befriend everyone in your class but Edward was by far the least open to your friendly advances. Even Molly, one of Peter's ex-Candor lackeys, who beat the living shit out of Christina on day two was your friend. And she was terrifying.

You avoided training in his general area at all costs. But now you were expected to spar with him?

"It's a scored fight," Eric explained. "Could mean the difference between being number one in your class and becoming factionless."

"Oh," you breathed, nodding with a faux smile. "Great. Perfect."

He pursed his lips, lowering his fists and extending his arms to leave his torso wide open. "Hit me."

You sighed in defeat, hesitantly dropping into the fighting stance that Four taught you – knees bent, elbows angled, chin down. After waiting for another nod of approval (and an eye roll), you struck Eric between the ribs with a punch that landed much weaker than you'd intended.

It was like hitting a brick wall. He took a sharp intake of breath, but didn't flinch or otherwise acknowledge that he'd just been jabbed. "You're weaker than I thought," he tut, almost regretfully.

You furrow your eyebrows, letting your fists settle at your sides. "Hey–What?" That same punch could take down someone as big as Al. You've done it before more than a few times. In the back of your mind, you made a mental note to scold him for letting you win. No use in training as rigorously as you were if he was just going to let you pretend to be stronger than him.