𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟐𝟎

"𝙒𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡.
𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡.
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙚𝙨, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨."

𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘴 - 𝘛𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘴

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It had been so long since you left that stuffy room in the infirmary that you barely recognized the barracks where you'd been living since the very start of the summer. Your bedrest had finally come to an end, and while you weren't cleared to rejoin the group training sessions, you were free to take as many laps around the compound as you wanted.

You would miss how gently everyone was treating you. People you've never spoken to before smiling and waving as you passed them in the hallways. It was pity kindness, but it was kindness nonetheless. You were getting a little too comfortable with all the knowing sneers and hardened glares around here.

Only a handful of initiates had it in them to curl their lips at you as you hobbled past. Word must've gotten out that you'd received a handful of forfeit points, taken straight from Edward's winnings. Those points were really the only reason they didn't throw you out with the factionless immediately after you were healed. 

"(Y/N)!" Al's face lit up like a firefly when he caught sight of you rounding the corridor, half your weight on Tris's shoulders. The call for dinner was only a few minutes away and the rest of your class stood huddled in close circles around random bunks. Al was quick to take up your other side, securing his arm under yours and guiding you gently into the barracks. "How are you feeling?" He asked, reminding you of your neighbor's sheep dog from back home, tail wagging in excitement.

"Better," you said, telling the truth. You were a farcry from the state you were in immediately after the fight. You could finally walk, ribs no longer sending sharp stabs to your heart with every attempted step. And the bruises to your face and collar had been all but washed clean from your skin.

"She's still injured," Tris reminded him while shooting you a warning look. She must've known somehow that you were eyeing the punching bags as you walked past the training center. "No training until you're totally cleared."

"Okay, mom," you pretended to scowl, rolling your eyes as Tris and Al helped you elbow past everyone on your way to Christina's bunk in the center of the room. That's where she and Will were waiting for you, sitting knee to knee and making disgustingly long eye contact.

As you passed the corner where yours and Peter's bunks were, all heads snapped up and the hushed whispers suddenly went silent. Your eyebrows furrowed and you slowed to a stop. Molly, who you thought you could have been friends with at the beginning of training, stepped aside and you saw what they were all so passionately crowded around.

Peter sat with his knees spread at the edge of his cot. Laid out in his palms was one of the holographic tablets that the trainers always had glued to their hands. You didn't even want to know how he got his hands on one of those. You were more interested in the article that appeared to be plastered across the screen. An article with your name written across the title.

"What's that?" you asked naively. If you were lucky, it was just some inner-faction incident report. But you were very rarely lucky these days, and you knew before asking that it couldn't have been anything good.