Pyre

Chapter 1

TRIS POV

The training room is busy, in a way it never has been before.

I had always gotten the feeling that the training room was mostly for the initiates. In an unknown place with strangers, with no family or home to return to at the end of the day, each of us had a period where we were disconnected from our surroundings. We stuck to familiar areas of the compound that we could navigate—such as the training room—in order to find some comfort.

Some Dauntless members still return after their initiation, but eventually their numbers dwindle. They move on to their new life, with a job and friends. Most would rather avoid their negative experiences of initiation, especially when they are past the point of needing the practice—the majority of people would rather not exercise if they did not have to. The few times that I saw older members in the training room were exceptions, to watch and bet on a fight, or just if they were the ambitious type.

That is not the case anymore.

With no escape from this confining underground compound, with nothing to do except bide the time that builds toward war, the Dauntless turn to the training room for a distraction. They find solace in the actions of running, lifting weights, punching, fighting, knife-throwing, and shooting. It is often that there are people filling each station; in fact, when people refuse to trade off, brawls will break out.

I wonder if they spend time in the training room because they are bored, or if they are trying to prepare for the impending conflict.

Like me.

Fortunately, I arrived early enough today to seize a punching bag for myself. As I wrap my knuckles with tape, I glance around the room and catch a few people staring at me. They dart their eyes away as soon as I narrow my eyes.

I have become a sort of center of interest to the Dauntless. War drew their attention to me in the first place, but now there is a confusing fascination that people have with me that has nothing to do with the fact that I stopped the simulation and turned myself into Erudite. It must be because of my more recent actions, such as being arrested and releasing that video implicating Erudite, Abnegation, and the factionless.

Though, if I had to guess, I would say that it has to do with my deceased boyfriend. Everyone knew Four, after all.

Setting my jaw, I face the punching bag. My stance shifts into an offensive one, and I hit the bag, barely generating any movement from the solid mass. It only takes me a second to recognize what I am doing wrong.

Keep tension here. I feel the ghost of his palm against my stomach, strong and steady. A sharp breath travels through me. No, not now.

I shake my head and clench my teeth harder, frustrated. I am in here every chance I get, and somehow I am still making stupid mistakes in my form and my actions. This is not the time to be unprepared for a fight.

Tightening the muscles in my torso, I try it again. My fists fly into the punching bag. It swings a bit more as I warm myself up. I time each punch with my breaths, letting them out simultaneously with my aggravation.

Initiation was practically unavailing in the scheme of things. Hitting a bag and using weapons may have been useful at the time, but when it comes down to it, pulling the trigger on a human being takes more nerve than practice on dummies and targets. Even our mock fights on each other were not realistic, since I have found myself mostly in situations where my enemy had an upper hand that rendered my fists useless.

The main reason I bother spending time hacking at a leather bag is that it tires me out, making it much easier to collapse at night in my empty apartment. The other reason is that it gives me the power I have never been able to build up behind my punch. I need strength more than anything.