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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑:
Day One

"Everybody up! I need you in the training room in 10 minutes!" Four yells as the lights flicker on, pulling me from my sleep. My eyes struggle to lift as if they'd been glued shut. I rub my eyes and sit up in my bed, almost feeling nauseous. It took me ages to fall asleep last night; I couldn't stop thinking about my mom and how disappointed my dad must be. It didn't help that Al cried the whole night either. Despite this, I slept dreamlessly. I let my feet meet the cold cement beneath me as I push myself up from my bed. In a daze, I grab my training clothes from the storage space beneath it and start changing. The good thing about waking up this early is that no one is awake enough yet to cat call.

After tying my laces, I get up from my bed again, with much less difficulty, and head out. I'm one of the first to join Four, something I hope doesn't draw anymore attention to me than there already is. Myra and Edward, a pair of initiates, are the only others so far. They wait in an embrace, his hand on her hip—a couple. I'm certain it's linked to my Abnegation upbringing, but something about public displays of affection make me deeply uncomfortable. I face away from them, engrossing myself with counting the tiles on the wall across from me until Christina pulls me from my trance—a welcomed distraction.

"Hey, Tris," she greets me, "How'd you sleep?" she asks, a uniquely mischievous hint in her tone, like she already knows my answer.

"Not great," I chuckle, "I practically had to pry my eyes open this morning," I choose not to include either reason why.

"At least we're suffering together," she remarks with a teasing smile as Will approaches from behind.

"Good morning," he yawns, his voice deepened with sleep, "What are we talking about?" he asks.

"Oh, y'know, just about how much sleep we didn't get last night," Christina replies, earning a soft, almost weak chuckle from Will.

"I'd be surprised if anyone slept," Will remarks.

"I know Al certainly didn't; that'd imply he stopped crying for more than five minutes," Peter butts in as he walks into the training room, Drew and Molly at his sides. Christina's brows furrow as she starts to say something in Al's defense, but Four cuts her off.

"Listen up! Today is the first day of training," he starts. As he begins speaking we shuffle in, forming a crowd in front of him, "We'll start with a run, then some gun and knife safety, followed by target practice for each of them," he states with a glance around the room, briefly meeting the sleepless gaze of each initiate, some returning dazed nods. "Let's get started," he says with a start towards the exit.

We follow him to a door that leads out to a beautiful landscape of smudged grays and blacks. He looks around briefly to make sure he's got everyone, then starts jogging—the male initiates hot on his heals. Christina and Will run beside me, and no matter how breathlessly, Christina manages to talk the whole way. It's difficult to get used to at first, but I adjust pretty quickly and actually start to enjoy the run; it makes me feel athletic, and in a way, more Dauntless. Though, I know the other things we'll learn today won't come so naturally. It's hard to know for certain, but I think we run for about 5 miles. I jog towards the front of the pack while others stagger behind. Peter, Drew, and Will look as if they've been trained for this, while Christina and I keep pace at the middle of the pack.

We turn a corner and the group comes to a halt. I slow down when I notice and stop behind Will, peering around the tall figures in front of me. The scene is bleak; the factionless live in terrible conditions, with ripped tents that barely offer them a roof over their heads. My heart drops a little as I take in the sight. Peter leans back a bit and turns to me.

"Check it out, Stiff, it's your new family," he remarks, "Go say hi."

"Do you ever stop talking? Or is it just a birth defect you Candors have?" I retort, my brows furrowed slightly.

"Ouch," he replies, a smirk playing on his face. I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.

"Alright, let's head back," Four calls as he turns and starts jogging in the direction we came.

I turn and follow behind him, taking a spot at the front, though I quickly lose it to Peter and Drew. We make the 5 mile run back to the Dauntless compound, dispersing immediately after entry to search for our water bottles.

"Don't get too comfortable, we're heading up to the roof in a few minutes," Four calls out while heading off. I walk over to my bottle and pick it up as I slide down the wall. As I take a swig, Christina sidles next to me.

"That was rough, huh?" She asks, more of a statement than question, but I nod my head in agreement regardless.

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but it definitely wasn't easy," I reply, my chest heaving. Peter saunters over to his water bottle just a few feet from us, Drew standing beside him and Molly sitting with her back against the wall.

"You're not as out of shape as you look," Peter teases as he turns his attention to me, a smirk pulling slightly at the corners of his lips, "Good. You'll need it for running away in sparing matches." Molly laughs breathlessly, still gasping from our run.

"Oh, will you shut up already?" Christina retorts, beating me to the punch.

"Hey, I'm just being candor," He replies and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"You come with corny comebacks too? Wow, really living up to the bully stereotype, huh?" I reply, letting my head loll back to rest against the wall. Amusement swells in his eyes, a smirk playing on his face.

Four suddenly calls for the room's attention and Peter turns to face him, blocking my view. I take it as a sign to stand, though Peter's height makes it impossible to see around him anyway. I briefly dust myself off and turn to offer Christina a hand.

After waiting for people to gather around, he tells us to follow him and he starts toward the exit. We follow him up a thin stairwell for a few flights before he steps out onto a chilly rooftop. I zip up my jacket and stuff my hands in my pockets as I look across the roof. Several orange busts line one end, and a long table equipped with guns reside at the other. Despite all I was taught throughout my childhood, a small thrill sends an electric pulse through me. We line up by the table, each in front of a target, and wait for instruction. After settling in, Four speaks up.

"If it wasn't clear yet, today we're recording a baseline of your skills. At this point of initiation, it's not important to be good. In our eyes, improvement is equally impressive as raw talent. Point is, don't panic if you aren't exactly a sharpshooter," he takes a beat to watch for some head nods then continues, "Pick up a gun and give it a go."

I turn to the table behind us and pick up a gun; it's heavier than I'd imagine and feels awkward in my hands. I turn to face my target as shots begin to ring out. I glance around at my peers, mimicking their stances; I tuck the gun into my right shoulder as I raise it and take aim. I take a deep breath then flex my pointer finger, releasing my first shot. The kickback nearly sends me stumbling back and my shot completely misses the target.

"Fuck," I mutter, starting to feel pressure as those around me continue firing.

After a few minutes, I empty nearly half a clip and a pit sinks in my stomach. I notice Will looking over at me out of the corner of my eye and lower my gun as I turn to him.

"Statistically speaking, you should've hit the target at least once by now—even by accident," he remarks.

"Wow, that's super helpful, thank you Will." I reply sarcastically and a smirk tugs at his lips.

"Hey, Stiff, try leaning—" I hear Peter's voice to my left. I turn to face him, expecting another snarky comment, but suddenly hear another voice talk over him.

"It might help if you lean into the stock," Four remarks from behind me. I turn to face him and feel one of his hands at my waist, the other holding the side of my arm. My stomach twists and I feel my face turn red.

"Aim," he instructs. I raise the gun till it's eye level and copy my stance from before. He pushes my left hip back and angles my right arm out.

"Now, push your weight into the gun," he says. I lean in and feel his grip leave my body. I hold my breath as I did before and breathe out as I pull the trigger. The bullet rips through the air and strikes the target, piercing it through the center of the head. I let out a shocked laugh and turn to Will, a smile plastered on his face. I turn to thank Four and he simply nods before walking off. My gaze follows him briefly before I catch Peter looking at me in my peripheral vision, a strange expression on his face—something of anger, though it softens slightly when I meet his gaze. He turns back to his target before I can ask any questions, and I hesitantly return to mine.

***

After about an hour of practicing, Four called us back inside and gave us a few minutes before our next training session. I found a place near the back of the training room and sat with my back against the wall, sipping from my water bottle as Will and Christina talked beside me, Al sitting quietly next to me.

As Christina and Will become further engrossed in conversation, my gaze wanders across the training room and lands on Peter at the other end. I watch as he bends over and picks up his water bottle, taking a swing. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, a drop falling past his lips before he wipes it away with the back of his hand. My eyes travel down his frame, landing on his strong back and defined torso. I spot his tattoo and think back to last night; I recall how good he looked with messy wet hair and the way his arm muscles flexed as we made eye contact.

"Tris?" Al asks, pulling me from my trance.

"Yeah?" I respond, turning my gaze to Al before stealing another glance at Peter.

"Are you worried about Peter?" He replies.

"What? Why would I be?" I ask, my brows pulling in.

"Um, maybe because he's fucking psychotic," Christina butts in, "He used to start fights with kids from other factions on the playground then act innocent when a teacher came over. They'd always believe him because Candor don't lie," Christina continues to rant about him for a bit, but I tune her out. I knew he was an asshole, but it makes me feel uneasy to realize he may be nothing more.

Just as I feel myself about to spiral, Four calls for us to follow him and others around me stand. Al reaches a hand out and I take it; he easily pulls me to my feet and I offer him a soft smile.

We follow Four through the Dauntless compound's maze-like hallways until he rounds a corner and steps into a dark room. He flicks on the lights as we funnel in and I spot a series of blue 2-D targets at one end of the room, throwing knives grouped in threes lining a table at the other. Excitement floods my senses and I try to relax my shoulders as we step closer.

"Pick up a set of knives from the table and choose a target," Four demands.

Each initiate follows his order; Peter picks a spot to my left and Christina stands to my right. I separate a knife from its set and fidget with it a little as I get accustomed with its shape; its blade is dull, but the point is sharp. I tilt the knife side to side and watch as it reflects the bright overhead lights.

"Begin," Four remarks simply and knives begin to soar through the air. As with the rifle, I take a moment to observe those around me—taking note of their stances and the way they hold their knives.

"You know you're supposed to throw them, right?" Peter teases, a small smile present on his face.

"Oh, really?" I turn to him and ask, "I thought Four was getting ready to teach us kitchen safety," I reply sarcastically. Peter chuckles and I can tell he's trying to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"Y'know, I can show you the ropes if you want," he continues, tossing the knife in his hand a bit.

"Go for it," I remark, a knowing smirk on my face.

An arrogant smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and he turns to face his target. He stands with his chest angled towards me and sucks in a breath, grasping the knife tightly before throwing it in one swift motion. The knife flys through the air, flipping end over end until it strikes the target and bounces off, clattering on the floor.

I hold in a laugh, my face contorting uncontrollably into a smile. He turns to me, his expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment.

"I'll admit, it's harder than it looks," he replies, crossing his arms over his chest, "Let's see you try," he retorts, waving towards the target in front of me expectantly.

I shrug and turn towards my target. I briefly glance at the others around me and mimic their stances, my back to Peter. I hold the knife loosely in my hand and concentrate on my breathing. I take in a slow breath and suddenly fling the knife towards the target. It flips one end over the other before hitting the target and sticking, protruding from the target's head.

I turn to Peter with playful casualty, fighting back a smirk, and bow ceremoniously. He rolls his eyes and claps slowly, though I notice a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Bravo," he remarks, teasing faux boredom lacing his tone.

"Thank you, thank you," I reply, letting my lips curl into a smirk.

"Really, initiate?" Eric's voice suddenly booms, making me jump, "That was pathetic." He must've joined a little after we started; I hadn't noticed him walk in.

"It slipped," Al replies timidly, looking down at his feet.

"Well, go get it," Eric bites.

"Now?" Al asks, "While they're throwing?"

"Yes," Eric demands abruptly, "Are you scared?"

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife? Yeah," Al bites back, his brows furrowing slightly. Eric chuckles bitterly.

"Everybody stop," he shouts after a beat. The clatter of knives halts suddenly and an uncomfortable silence suffocates the room.

"Stand in front of the target," Eric continues, venom consuming his tone, "Four? Mind giving me a hand with this?" Al doesn't fight this time and promptly walks over to the targets while Four picks up a set of knives. "Four's going to throw knives at the target behind you," Eric starts, his words causing a chill to run down my spine, "if you flinch, you're out," he promises unforgivingly. I can tell Al's heart sinks because his expression does too. "One thing you will learn here is that orders are not optional," Eric remarks while four approaches the target, standing at a distance. He loosely grasps a knife in his right hand, the other two in his left. After a beat he suddenly raises his arm to throw.

"Stop," I say, projecting my voice. Four turns his attention to me and gives me a look. I can tell out of the corner of my eye that Peter is wearing the same expression. "Anyone can stand in front of a target, it doesn't prove anything," I continue, avoiding their gazes.

"Is that so?" Eric replies, a flit of amusement behind his eyes, "Then it should be easy for you to take his place."

I look to Al, whose face is enveloped in shame, and start towards him. He walks past me without meeting my eyes and stands where I had just been. I turn to face Four, my back to the target, and set my jaw.

Four stares at me for a moment, a war behind his eyes, though it doesn't last long. A pit drops in my stomach as he swiftly brings his arm back and throws the knife towards me. The knife strikes the target behind me and a loud thud reverberates through the board.

"Oh, c'mon, Four," Eric remarks, a menacing ring to his tone. Four takes another knife in his hand and pauses a beat, seemingly giving me time to recuperate, then throws the next knife. It hits the target above my head, slightly closer than the last. "You can get closer than that," Eric mutters.

"You want me to give her a little trim?" Four asks as he turns his gaze to Eric, his impatience growing.

"Yeah, maybe just a little off the top," Eric confirms.

Four turns back to me and sets his jaw, adjusts his grip, then sends the knife flying. A loud thud fills my right ear, and I notice a chill run through it. I move my hand to my ear and notice a slickness; I glance down at my hand and find blood.

"You're dismissed!" Eric calls, "You have 10 minutes. Oh, and Stiff, points for bravery, but not as many as you just lost for opening your mouth. We train soldiers, not rebels."

The initiates disperse and I step away from the target. I start towards my water bottle in the corner but notice Four approaching me in my peripheral vision and stop, turning to face him.

"Are you alright?" he asks. My brows pull in and I cock my head—my face must've contorted noticeably because he quickly adds, "I cut you."

"Yeah, it's alright," I reply with a chuckle, "I have a feeling Eric wasn't letting me off unscathed."

His expression softens and he lets out a sorrowful chuckle, shaking his head, "He wasn't."

We fall silent for a beat then he offers me a nod and walks off. I steal a glance back at him once he's left then start towards the corner. Al sits with his back against the wall and his head down. As I approach him to grab my water bottle, he raises his head.

"Tris," he starts, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have talked back to him. If I hadn't, you wouldn't have taken my place and-and you could've become factionless."

"Al," I reply, waiting for his gaze to meet mine, "You did nothing wrong," I affirm, bending over to pick up my water bottle, "He was being a dick and you stood up for yourself."

"Yeah, but you could've become factionless! It was stupid and—" he replies, his brows tugging inward.

"Al," I repeat, "I'm okay," I interject, offering him a small smile, "I'm going to go fill up my water bottle." I shake the empty bottle in my hand and let my gaze linger a bit before turning to exit the training room.

It's not even 30 seconds after exiting the room that I hear a voice from behind me.

"What the hell was that?" Peter asks incredulously. I turn to face him and allow him to catch up to me. His brows are furrowed and he looks pissed.

"What are you talking about?" My brows pull in defensively and my eyes narrow.

"That was stupid, Tris," he replies. He's never called me by my name before and it throws me off. "You could've been factionless right now!"

"But I'm not and neither is Al," I bite back.

"Who gives a shit about him!" he yells.

"Why do you care anyway?!" I retort, "I can handle myself!" He sighs loudly and pinches the bridge of his nose, seemingly trying to calm himself down.

"You think he would've done the same for you?" he asks knowingly.

"It doesn't matter if he would've," I reply.

"Don't be an idiot, of course it does," he bites back. Silence falls uncomfortably between us, the tension sizzling.

"If it's alright with you, I'm going to go fill up my water bottle now," I reply sarcastically, scanning his face a moment before I turn and start down the hallway.