Emergent

Chapter 14

Tessa's POV

"If I do this, then my family is safe. You have to promise that they will be safe." My voice shakes as I try to reason with the vile excuse for a human in front of me.

Marcus just shakes his head and smiles, "You want peace, so do I. That is why your family must be irradiated, you see, they are disturbing my peace."

"You call yourself selfless, well let me appeal to that part of you. If you kill my family for the sake of keeping your own peace, then you would be so amazingly selfish and brutal, that I would find you to be more of a Dauntless then an Abnegation." The use of these outdated terms and references to the old faction system and its beliefs sound ridiculous to me, but I know that they can convince Marcus out of doing a terrible thing, and that is what matters.

His lips purse, and the thin skin on his forehead crinkles. "Fine, if you cooperate I will guarantee that your family will not die."

I swallow, "No, if I do this, they will not only live, but they will treated well. They will be free."

"Don't push it." Marcus spits through gritted yellow teeth.

A silence falls between us. I stare into his cold eyes, I look for humility or mercy, but all I find is ferocity and fear. Why would he be afraid? He has me right where he wants me, locked in a place that he can torture and even kill me if he wishes, yet I see roaring, living fear in his pupils. He fears my divergence, I decide. But this doesn't sit well with me, I grow more uncomfortable, realizing that this heartless man can be so afraid of a little girl who posses something that she doesn't understand.

"I'm a threat to you." The words escape my lips and break the silence before I can even think.

Marcus says nothing, but instead stares down at the table instead of me. After some minutes, he speaks the most simplistic and beautiful arrangement of words, "Fine. I agree to your terms."

Something inside of me relaxes, to know that the people I love will be safe, even if means my demise.

Marcus waves a hand to the shadows behind him, and a rather bulky male emerges into the light, the look on his face almost suggests boredom. "Take her to her room," he speaks to the man, then turning to me with a look of disgust on his face he says, "you'll need all of the rest you can get."

I manage to stand on shaky legs, the guard grasps my arm as though realizing that I wouldn't be able to walk without support.

After many minutes we reach a thick piece of metal that breaks the space between two walls. The guard types a series of letters into the pad beside it, careful to keep my peering eyes away. The cold, grey door retracts to reveal my new home.

"I see that I got the presidential suite." I try a joke as I take in my incredibly bland surroundings. The walls are painted a thick eggshell color, and the smell of mold fills the air, weighing it down, heavy and warm. It didn't seem much larger than a closet. A yellowing cot lay on the floors center, leaving only inches of floor to walk around.

Inhale. Exhale. I am going to die here. Inhale. Exhale. And never get to see my family again. Inhale. Exhale. But at least they will be safe.

My thoughts run wild, and dark images of torture fill my mind as I try to relax. I keep telling myself that my family is what matters, that my mother sacrificed herself once for the same reason.

Like mother, like daughter I suppose.

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