It Was Him Or Me. I Chose

The Only Reason I Haven't Shot You Yet Is Because He's The One Who Should Get To Do It," I Say. "stay Away From Him Or I'll Decide I No Longer Care.

Don't You Dare Try To Apologize." His Voice Shakes. "this Is Not Something You Can Bandage With A Word Or Two And Some Hugging, Or Something.

I Try To Catch My Breath And Calm Myself Down, But It Isn't Easy. I Was Dead. I Was Dead, And Then I Wasn't, And Why? Because Of Peter? Peter? I Stare At Him. He Still Looks So Innocent, Despite All That He Has Done To Prove That He Is Not. His Hair Lies Smooth Against His Head, Shiny And Dark, Like We Didn't Just Run For A Mile At Full Speed. His Round Eyes Scan The Stairwell And Then Rest On My Face. "what?" He Says. "why Are You Looking At Me Like That?" " How Did You Do It?" I Say.

I Have Realized That Part Of Being Dauntless Is Being Willing To Make Things More Difficult For Yourself In Order To Be Self-sufficient. There's Nothing Especially Brave About Wandering Dark Streets With No Flashlight, But We Are Not Supposed To Need Help, Even From Light. We Are Supposed To Be Capable Of Anything. I Like That. Because Their Might Come A Day When There Is No Flashlight, There Is No Gun, There Is No Guiding Hand. And I Want To Be Ready.

Take A Person’s Memories, And You Change Who They Are.