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      THE GAME of capture the flag remained a popular topic of conversation amongst the initiates. Even days later, even after another day of matches that Davina crushed Christina in, she could not escape the reminder that she had lost. Even after Peter had brought a smile to her face and they got on the train covered in paint, talking the entire ride home with Apollo practically half-asleep on the floor beside Davina's knee, she could not escape the shadow when the lights went out.

When the dorms went quiet and Davina was left staring at the bottom of Apollo's bunk, her mind went back to the game, and shame pooled in her stomach. The familiar sensation of failure, that she had tasted when Edward had beaten her, that she felt whenever her twin was the object of praise. It was a familiar feeling she had long grown to hate. Edward had called her a sore loser once, which had ended with him being the sore one in one of their training sessions, but the title always taunted Davina.

This time, however, she didn't feel so alone in the misery, as Eric seemed to mirror her feelings, and even Molly had been withdrawn for a few days. Not the most admirable people for Davina to relate to, but she digressed. At least she wasn't the only one taking the loss to heart for once.

But things were starting to sink back into normalcy and routine, and the ache of the wound was starting to fade, at least until one morning when Davina entered the training room and was met with knives. Beside her, Apollo scanned the table of blades strewn across it, some different shapes and sizes, all glinting in the fluorescents above them.

Davina looked wearily at the other end of the room at the large target set up. "Well, that's new," she remarked.

"You ever study knife throwing?" Apollo said, a hint of mocking in his voice.

Davina couldn't give him any sort of answer that would boost her confidence, so chose to stay quiet as they gathered with the others in the middle of the room. Since starting her routine of existing with Apollo, especially at breakfast, they were always just on time. Apollo was not a morning person, perhaps even less than Davina, so by the time he was out of bed and they were having breakfast, time was already short.

Eric was standing in the centre of the room, hands tightly behind his back. Ever since losing the game of capture the flag, he had stalked around the compound looking ready to attack at any moment. Davina suspected he didn't share her sentiment and would not share the frustration with anyone– he probably blamed parts of his team for the loss, and did not count herself as safe from his wrath.

"At this point, we are two weeks into initiation," Eric told them. "There are another two weeks left of stage one. And while drills, shooting and fighting are important, this is another skill you will be graded on for your final rank. It is very different from aiming a gun."

Davina swallowed thickly at the acknowledgement that it had been two weeks since she had left the mirror behind and taken a leap into the unknown.

"Everyone pick up three knives," Eric continued. "And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them." The other instructor was off to the side, looking as stoic and disinterested as usual. No one moved immediately, and Davina didn't want to be the first. "Now!" Eric snapped.

The transfers scrambled for them, Davina once again serving to lead the way for Apollo's lithe frame. She picked up three at random, hating how they felt in her hands. She had read up on guns before their target practice then, she had anticipated the weight and the kickback and how to handle them.

The small blades felt wrong in her thin fingers, as if she wasn't allowed to be handling them. The Erudite part of her, the logic and reasoning, feared she would cut herself. She held them awkwardly, violently aware of mishandling them or dropping them. It was a stark difference to Apollo, who picked them up like extensions of his hand, lazily holding two in one hand, and the other practically where the blade started.

Four said nothing as he demonstrated for them, taking Eric's place in the centre of the room. Davina watched his stance carefully, where his feet and hips were positioned, as she had become used to when practising martial arts. Their instructor threw three knives, hitting the target each time, and each time Davina watched a different part of his body.

"Line up!" Eric ordered once the demonstration was ordered.

Davina and Apollo moved together, standing in front of the target. She could feel nerves building in her stomach. This was the one aspect of training so far she felt unprepared for; no amount of books she had read or training she had done with Edward had ever given her tips on knife throwing. She could rationalise it, break it down, as she was accustomed to.

Eric pacing behind them made it much harder for Davina to concentrate and adjust her stance to match what she could remember of Four's. It was only a minute ago, but she felt as if it had fled her memory already. She swallowed thickly, doing a few mock throws, the blade pressed between the pads of her fingers.

She exhaled when it released from her hand, and she watched in agony as it missed the target completely, and didn't even stick into the wall. Davina kept her composure as best she could, switching a new knife into her hand and trying again. She focused on the stance, adjusting her feet and hips slightly, but still missed.

Davina bit back a noise, and finally looked around to see varying levels of success amongst the others. It seemed knife throwing was far harder than anything they had attempted before, and Davina would have accepted being mediocre like the rest if her friend next to her hadn't managed to hit the target two times out of three already.

She gave Apollo a thinly-veiled look of shock, but he seemed unfazed by the success. Further down the line, Tris had not even released a knife yet. She was doing the smart thing– practising the stance and arm motion before throwing. Davina looked down at the single knife she had left, and cursed herself for not doing that first.

"I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" Peter remarked. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?" Tris ignored him, and Davina masked an eyeroll at the brunette boy's jeering.

And a moment later, Tris threw the knife, which spun end over end until it slammed into the board. It didn't stick, but aside from Apollo, she was the first person to hit the target. Davina swallowed thickly and looked away for her own good, feeling her stomach twist into familiar, biting knots. Peter, too, seemed to take the success as a threat and had returned to his own practice.

He, too, missed.

"Hey, Peter," Tris called. "Remember what a target is?"

Next to her, Christina snorted, and Peter clenched his jaw.

"You get one thing right and your ego skyrockets," Davina bit out before she could help herself.

Tris faltered at the unexpected jab, the relative neutrality between the pair breaking. Davina only shot her a hard look before turning back to the board. She could take Tris down in five minutes if they shared a match– the Stiff would have been lucky to be top five in the ranking at the halfway point. Davina hated the gall to speak as if throwing a knife and winning a game of capture the flag suddenly made her superior.

Apollo looked impressed by the jab, and Peter looked pleased, but Davina ignored both to try with her third knife, which missed again. She ground her teeth, moving back to the table to restock, still handling the small blades like weapons.

"It's all in the wrist," Apollo told her quietly as she rejoined him in the line.

The unasked for advice made Davina's hand shake, which she desperately tried to mask by gripping the knife even tighter. She could feel Apollo watching her, and she looked down at the knife in her hand. A warped reflection stared back at her, and in the fluorescents, her eyes might have looked blue.

Davina clenched her jaw, trying to compose herself as she readjusted her stance and wound up, trying to mirror what Tris had done. She exhaled slowly and released, watching the knife fly through the air, where it missed the target again. Apollo was giving her a sympathetic look, but she simply ignored it and persevered, licking her dry lips.

A sore loser.

Apollo was only the person in their group consistently hitting the target, his knives forming a small cluster around each other. After half an hour, Davina had managed to at least land them on the board, the blades sticking out in different spots each time. But at least she had hit them, unlike Al, the only one who hadn't.

Davina recognised that it should have made her feel better– she wasn't losing. Al's knives didn't even stick in the board, the blades clattering to the floor or bouncing off the wall behind it. But there was something in the way Apollo had the technique down, and tried to pass it down to her, in the way that Tris of all people had picked it up that dug under her skin.

The mirror in the knives stared back, Davina scowling down at the blade in her hand. She felt mocked, as if her twin were standing before her and reminding her of what it felt like for their mother to look at her every time. Two weeks, Davina thought. Two weeks and she was no further from the shadow than the day she had let her blood simmer on the coals.

Eric marched past them, and Davina glanced up from the wretched mirror. "How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?" Eric demanded of Al. Apollo shot her a glance, but Davina didn't meet him, instead watching on warily.

Al had gone red in the face as he tried to throw another knife, which missed the target by at least a few feet. Davina sighed, anticipating the incoming wrath.

"What was that, initiate?" Eric said quietly, leaning closer to Al. Somehow, the quiet anger felt more dangerous.

Al's throat bobbed, as he refused to meet Eric's eyes. "It– it slipped."

"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric told him lightly. He turned back to the other initiates, many of which were watching on like Davina and Apollo. "Did I tell you to stop?" the leader asked harshly.

Davina turned away, looking back down at the mirror in her hands. In a flash she had thrown it, and it lodged itself towards the top of the board, the blonde let out a huff. She noticed Apollo hadn't resumed throwing, and turned to see Eric was still with Al.

"Go get it?" Al asked, wide eyed. "But everyone's still throwing."

Eric's eyes were cold. "And?"

"And I don't want to get hit," Al said simply. Davina felt like she was watching a car crash.

"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you," Eric said simply. He had a smile on his face, but it didn't meet his eyes. "Go get your knife."

Al, who Davina had always judged as unassuming and soft, squared his shoulders. "No."

Eric sneered at him. "Why not? Are you afraid?"

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" Al said rhetorically. "Yes, I am!"

"Fucking Candor," Apollo said under his breath, as it immediately became clear that Al had said the wrong thing. And like Christina weeks before, Davina could only watch it play out.

"Everyone stop!" Eric shouted. Everyone else who had been throwing knives stopped, and the room went quiet. "Clear out of the ring," Eric continued, shooting Al a pointed look. "All except you."

The initiates moved to the edge of the room, Davina trying to catch Four's eyes, as if that would make him intervene. In the crowd, Edward caught up to her, hand going around her upper arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. Apollo gave him an annoyed look, but Davina only shrugged. Edward glanced across at Eric, and reached out his other arm to take Myra under his wing. "Isn't Four going to do something?" Edward hissed under his breath.

"I don't know," Davina snipped, frustration lacing her tone. Edward only looked at her like he'd been burnt, hand slipping from her arm. Sucking on her bottom lip, Davina turned back to the punishment playing out.

"Stand in front of the target," Eric instructed. Al didn't protest this time, walking out– from where they were standing, Davina could see his hands shaking. "Hey, Four," Eric said over his shoulder. "Give me a hand here, won't you?"

Davina could only stand to the side as Four approached Eric, mouth set in a firm lime. Eric looked positively elated about his participation, turning back to Al with a nasty glint in his eyes.

"You're going to stand there as he throws those knives until you learn not to flinch," Eric told him. It was about as bad as Davina had expected.

"Is this really necessary?" Four interjected. His voice was flat, but the way he stood betrayed how tense he was.

The two instructors stared at each other long enough to make Davina anxious, eyes flicking between the pair.

"I have the authority here, remember?" Eric finally said, voice dangerously low. "Here, and everywhere else."

Four did not object, but his grip on the knife he was holding tightened.

"Stop it." Davina couldn't believe who had spoken up for a moment, turning to look at Tris further down. And then she doubled down. "Any idiot can stand in front of a target. It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice."

"Then it should be easy for you," Eric responded with ease. "If you're willing to take his place."

Tris weaved through the small crowd, Peter shoving her shoulder as she went, but the small blonde stayed strong and walked towards Al. The pair swapped places, Al looked forlorn as he joined them. Davina, perplexed, couldn't look away.

To her credit, Tris stayed resolute, lifting her chin to make herself look taller against the board.

"If you flinch," Four told her, "Al takes your place. Understand?"

Tris only nodded.

The first knife landed half a foot away from her cheek. Tris had closed her eyes in response.

"You about done, Stiff?" Four asked.

Tris shook her head slightly. "No," she got out.

He tapped between his eyebrows. "Eyes open, then."

Davina could see how taught Tris was as she opened her eyes again, staring at Four across the room as he passed a knife from his left to right hand. The second one was closer than the last, landing just above her skull. Davina wondered if she could feel the vibration from it.

"Come on, Stiff," Four continued. "Let someone else stand there and take it."

Tris exhaled sharply, ignoring him further. And the next knife went right next to her face, and as Tris pulled away from the board, Davina could see the red spots of blood spitting from her earlobe.

As the former-Abnegation looked down at the blood on her fingertips, Eric stepped up to her, not looking satisfied in the slightest by the display he had initiated.

"I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is but I think that's enough for today," Eric said thickly. He reached up and placed a hand on Tris' shoulder, as if they were friends. "I should keep my eye on you," he added, before pulling away.

"Let's pack this away!" Four announced. "Then pair off."

The rest of the initiates ducked under his gaze and began to move. Apollo was at Davina's hip, but she didn't much feel like talking to him, and for the first time in days her eyes searched for Edward amongst the crowd. Instead, she locked eyes with Will, who then beelined for her as the tables were carried away.

"You look tense, Todd," he mused.

Her fist cracked against his nose before she could stop herself.

Christina shouted something, the movement around them stopped, and Four was storming towards them. Tris was shocked still where she had been standing talking to him, still looking stunned by the knife to her ear.

"Initiate!" Four shouted.

Davina hardly flinched at the scolding, only glaring at Will as he held his hand over his nose, streaks of red gleaming in the fluorescents. Apollo's eyes were wide at the action, but he did not move, as Davina did not step forward to continue. Her knuckles throbbed slightly, and she unclenched her fist and then clenched it again.

"Why would you do that?" Christina shrieked, moving to stand between Will and Davina.

The blonde girl only looked at her dully. "None of your business."

"Save it for the arena," Four interjected, but he made no move to get between them.

Davina glanced between Christina and then Will, who she had already beaten in fair combat, and then back to the dark-haired girl. "Tell your boyfriend to stop acting like we're friends," she said sharply.

"He's not my–" Christina went to snap, but Four held up a hand and she went quiet.

"Take a break," he said firmly.

Davina didn't need to look at him to know he was talking to her.

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the training room, violently aware of all the eyes on her. Someone was jogging after her, someone with a larger presence than Apollo. The doors squealed on their hinges as she left, and bumped against Edward as he followed her.

"Davina," he hissed. She ignored him. "Come on, hey." He took a large step and cut in front of her, forcing her to stop before she hit his chest. She lowered her eyes, not wanting to see how he looked at her. "Feel better?" Edward asked.

"A little." She didn't. Far from it.

"I know what that was about," Edward said gently. Davina still avoided his gaze. "Davina, you don't need fancy knife work to stay in the ranking," he told her, so earnestly she wanted to believe him. "You're already good enough–"

"No I'm not," she cut in.

"This isn't about Will, is it?" Edward said, barely a question.

Davina finally looked at him, eyes narrowed. "What would you know?" she said, quietly.

Edward's face softened slightly. "I do know," he replied softly, in a tone Davina had come to know well. "But that's all behind us. No one is comparing you to Viviane anymore. Taking it out on Will, taking it out on Tris – on me – isn't fair."

The truth cut at her, but Davina only swallowed her pride. "Whatever," she bit out. Her fist was clenched by her side, knuckles still crimson in the creases of her skin from where she had struck Will.

"We're not kids anymore," Edward said, firmer. "You need to grow up and stop being a sore loser."

"Get out of my way, Ed," she snapped, voice spitting out between the tightness in her throat and the angry burning sensation behind her eyes.

"Or what?" Edward said in a challenging sort of way. He took a step forward, Davina tilting her chin up to maintain eye contact. "Are you going to hit me, too?"

"Get out of my way," she repeated.

Edward stared her down for a few more long seconds, before stepping out of her way. He held out an arm, almost politely. The passive-aggressiveness of the gesture was not lost on Davina, but she only tore her gaze from her oldest friend and moved past him. This time, his footsteps did not follow her, and she was left in silence as she paced a lap of the compound.

Her knuckles had stopped throbbing now, but her head was still pounding. The distorted reflections in the bars around the compound made her spin, and she quickly lost track of time as she tried not to think too hard. An Erudite– trying not to think. What a fucking joke.

By the time lunch rolled around, Davina had skipped out on an entire morning of training. She acknowledged the failure to show up and get ahead with the others, but she also found herself too hurt to fix it. The thought of sitting down to eat with the likes of Peter, Apollo, and her old Faction mates made her stomach twist until her appetite choked and went away.

Davina was used to being wrong. She was used to disappointing the people she wanted to impress. She had spent eighteen years under her mother's thumb and in Viviane's shadow simply for trying to succeed. She had had countless conversations telling her to slow down, to take a look in the mirror, to reconsider her future. That was supposed to be in the past.

Edward had sounded like her mother, and Davina had felt as if she had been teleported back to the white living room she had cut her palm trying to escape. Nothing had changed– she still hated the mirror and she knew she would still bleed herself dry to get to the top if that's what it took.

A sore loser.

Grow up.

She was trying.

"Didn't think you'd show," Apollo remarked when Davina showed up for their afternoon training.

Her stomach was still in knots, from that morning or the hunger she was fighting back, she wasn't sure. All she had was her pride, and she had to prove to herself that throwing a knife was the one thing she still needed to improve on.

Davina said nothing to her friend, only staying focused on the lesson Four was teaching. He gave her no word of acknowledgement for her return, or even further scolding. It was as if nothing had happened earlier that day. Well, it might have been– had Edward not looked at her like her mother had countless times, if Christina and Tris did not shoot her annoyed looks, and if Will wasn't ignoring her for the first time since they had transferred.

"Don't wait up for me," Davina told Apollo once afternoon training ended.

The brunette looked confused as she left him behind, but she trusted Peter would meet up with him at some point. He wasn't her responsibility. He couldn't be when she needed to succeed.

Davina found herself on the roof, watching the sun arc further and further down towards the horizon, her eyes glazed over and her mind wandering far away. Far away to a room covered in her own art, a room far away from the shadow or the mirror with a view of trees and a field. She could hear the leaves rustling through the noise of a distant train, and she could almost believe she was free for a moment.

"I thought I'd find you up here," a voice cut in.

Davina's features twisted into a scowl. "What do you want?" she asked sharply, not even looking over her shoulder.

"Checking up on the competition," Peter responded simply as he took an uninvited seat beside her. Davina's expression was far from amused. "What's wrong with you?" he asked directly.

"You really do belong in Erudite," was all she said.

He ignored the jab, and pulled out a bread roll. "Here." Davina only blinked. "It's a bread roll– for you," he added snidely when she didn't move.

"I know that," she ground out. "What, did you poison it?"

Peter scoffed. "You wish." He shrugged. "I'm still hungry from dinner– so if you're not going to–" She snatched it from his hands, ignoring the pleased look on his face. "I brought dessert, too," continued as she bit into the crisp bread roll. She looked at him quizzically as he held up the pack of cigarettes she had bought him.

"Boy, do you know what girls want," she said dryly.

"Correct," he replied simply.

Davina ignored his easy charm as she ate in silence, surprised by Peter's ability to stay quiet for more than one minute as he just sat with her, sometimes glancing at her, but mostly watching the sun finally set. Even once she had finished and brushed the crumbs from the corners of her lips, and the darkness set in properly, she did not move.

Peter continued to say nothing as they exchanged the lighter, Davina exhaling steadily. Her head did not spin with its usual relief, and she continued to look out into the dark skyline as they sat there, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, but not quite.

"You're not afraid of the dark tonight," he remarked quietly.

Davina paused, filter on her lips. "That's not it," she responded.

"So vague," he scoffed.

"You're not my friend," Davina said simply.

Peter, as always, was unfazed. "Well, I'm not your enemy." Davina regarded him carefully, feeling the heat of the ash nearing her fingertips. "If you say some bullshit now that everyone's your enemy I'll push you off the roof," Peter added after she was quiet for a few seconds.

Davina's face broke into a grin, which seemed to be the last reaction Peter expected as he looked at her in confusion. "Maybe when this is over, you and I can be friends," she told him, inhaling deeping. Smoke filtered out of her lips as Peter only looked at her, and she wondered if he would spin another lie or say something smart.

He did neither– instead staying quiet, exchanging the cigarette until it burned away, and with the night fully upon them, the pair headed back into the compound.

Davina didn't stir that night once she got into bed, ignoring the looks thrown at her by Tris' posse, or the way Will didn't say something snide for the first time since they had transferred, or how Edward gave her a disapproving look for coming back with Peter. Whatever.

Apollo greeted her when they came back, and Davina had apologised for disappearing. And though he gave her some sort of joke and smirk, the blonde felt no obligation that night. For the first time since stage one had started, she spent a full night in her bed, cradled by the covers and with a mind that never shut down. She heard Apollo go, but she did not join him.

One day, she told herself, she would stand in a mirror that did not look back. One day, she could cope with the pain of being looked past. But today was not that day, and maybe that was okay.

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if anyone ever read the first edition of this fic (if you did you're a trooper) we're now further in than that one, which made writing this take a little longer as i had no old writing to chop up and rearrange BUT! we're here it's fine

writing bitter davina heals a little part of me, her sore loser era will come to an end eventually, but for now it's basically her entire character. sorry this one was a touch shorter, it was mostly tris being the main character, and davina watching in shock

the next few chapters are some of my faves, and i can guarantee some pavina development! thank you for reading <3