XXII

That night, I had a giant pride flag delivered to my room. Earlier, I contacted Ravi about where he had gotten his transgender flag. I asked if they had them for all of the queer identities and he said yes. I ordered the biggest bisexual flag they had, easily over three feet long.

I hung it up on the blank wall next to my desk. The magenta, purple, and blue stripes were so bright they tinted all of my room in a glorious lavender.

The flag served three purposes. One, pride. I was getting the hang of the concept. I liked who I was. Two, a pop of color. Like Abnegation, Candor had a very strict code of what colored decorations one could have in their living space, and pride flags were among the few approved items. Three, subterfuge. It was designed to hang horizontally and had three rings at the top. It covered a beautiful amount of wall space, as well as the poster paper and sticky notes that I hung up underneath it, and which I used to sort my thoughts.

I had several groups of sticky notes and corresponding thoughts. I didn’t know if they were all connected or if I was just crazy, but getting them down all in one place helped me think.

The first group of sticky thoughts: Sajida. For whatever reason, Sajida was reading cases about factionless who rebelled against the system. That lead her to checking out Criticisms of the Selfless Governance, which I skimmed at an ungodly hour of the night. It spoke of the corrupt government that existed before the factions, when there was a country beyond the fence, but more importantly it spoke of the good people that led it. Good people who called themselves Christian men and women. Good people who defended police brutality. Good people who gave to the poor. Good people who tried their hardest to keep the poor in poverty.

It was horrifying, the amount of old government I saw in the new.

But this, somehow, had led Sajida Touma to recall the five-year-old cold case of the missing Abigail Eaton, daughter of Marcus Eaton. Had she transferred to Abnegation specifically to follow Abigail’s case? Had she thought there was something else to solve that years of investigation hadn’t? How had she managed to get Marcus as her host parent? I didn’t know; I couldn’t even say for sure that Abigail’s case was the reason that Sajida transferred. Abigail was the byproduct of a longer search, an exploration of society’s darker side. Morrick v. Erudite, People v. Ophelia, Criticisms of a Selfless Governance, and other unknown materials that she read but hadn’t checked out, all had something in common—the idea that a system wasn’t perfect if it was built on the backs of people in pain.

So where did a missing Abnegation girl fit in all of this?

The second group of sticky thoughts: Mom. Everything she had told me. Erudite. I didn’t quite understand how Erudite could be split in two and united in their hatred of Abnegation. This group had a hole. I needed to get my hands on some of those publications. It would mean more trips to the library and a lot of coins for newspapers.

The third group of sticky thoughts: Lady Rose.

It was actually the thought group for the factionless, but I was coming to organize my thoughts by name of the person I associated them with. I wrote down everything I knew about Lady Rose. Her past, her abuse, her final day. Her legacy.

I had acquired a camera as part of an Investigations exercise and had snapped pictures of the vandalism I had seen in the past week. The first was the spray paint on the Merciless Mart door. There were others like that. A painted outline of the angel girls’ dead bodies on the sidewalk outside Antigone’s. On the blade of Themis’ sword, someone had written “True justice is not here.” I had a newspaper clipping; two factionless men were shot for trying to enter the Erudite compound and murder Thomas Beauregard. Seven factionless dead because of the Beauregard case.

I had yet to separate my current feelings for the factionless from my past feelings. It was harder than I thought. I had to think of what Aletheia said. Was it so hard to believe in selflessness and meritocracy at the same time? What was wrong with meritocracy? It was only fair. You get out of life what you put into it. The factionless already got handouts in the form of food and clothing; did they want places in the factions to be handed out too?

Or was it not about being in the factions at all?

This led me to the fourth group: the group I called Irene. Mom said that Candor was splitting apart too. But if it was happening, I didn’t see it. Though we emphasized free thought and expression, we still loved conformity here in Candor. At least that part hadn’t changed from Abnegation. The only sign of deviance that I had seen was in Irene. I determined to ask her about it.

Which took me to my last group.

Me.

I understood so little about Divergence except that it was dangerous for me to understand more. So I tried to look at myself. With every one, I was growing unsure. Perhaps I had passed the Candor portion of the aptitude test. But I lied every day, and it didn’t even make me feel bad. Was that a problem? Yes, I’d passed the Erudite and Abnegation portions, but I felt more estranged from each faction with each day I spent doubting them. Every conflict I stuck my nose into pushed me further from peace-loving Amity. And I already knew I was a weakling and a coward—Dauntless felt a whole world away.

But whatever I truly was, why was it dangerous?

By the time I finished organizing the notes on my wall, it was four thirty in the morning. I stepped back and looked at it. I had used a red marker to connect things that I thought might be relevant, but it didn’t look like a pattern so much as it did a mad, bleeding spiderweb. I had been developing a headache all night, and now it was so bad that I was seeing black spots.

I hung up my bisexual flag again, covering the red web and sticky thoughts. Then, too tired to shower, I crawled into bed in my clothes, trying not to think of waking up in three hours.

+ + +

I didn’t wake up in three hours. I woke up in six and a half. I slept right through my alarm for Reasoning and missed the class.

At lunch, Lars said, “You look like you just died.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

At one point I met Ace’s eyes from across the room. Where did she fit into the web? A factionless who got into Dauntless. She must have been very smart for a factionless, that’s how she got to take the aptitude test. But the question was, why? From what Miriam had told me, it seemed as if the factionless hated the Dauntless.

My mother’s voice came back to me. A little Dauntless-style training would help Phoebe stay out of such messes.

Maybe I had a way to find a couple answers.

After Investigative Technique, where Judge Morris also pointed out that I looked awful and probably needed a nap, I found Ace in the lobby. As usual when she saw me, her face screwed into a frown. I smiled.

“What do you want?” she grunted.

“Your guidance, actually,” I said, to which she glanced up.

“Are pigs flying yet?” she asked. “Has Phoebe Prior asked for guidance instead of doing whatever she pleases?”

She led me to the dining hall, then down the corridor to the Authorized Personnel Only door. “Are we going in there?” I asked.

“Only if your request requires more ammo than what I’ve got,” said Ace. My gaze darted to the gun on her hip. “What’s the problem?”

I glanced around. The hallway was empty, since all classes were done for the day.

“I want you to train me,” I said finally.

Ace’s eyebrows flew up. Her right eyebrow was only a half, the other half having been sheared off by the scar.

“Train you?” she echoed.

I nodded. “Like a Dauntless. I want to learn how to defend myself.”

Something flickered across her face—fear?—and she turned. She swiped her ID and the mysterious doors opened.

She pulled me inside. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I entered, but a generic office with a desk, couch, and minifridge was definitely not it. The only things that stood out were the rack of firearms and knives along the back wall and the Dauntless symbol, the red flames, on the front of the desk. This must have been where the Dauntless security did some of their work. It was empty, but Ace still ducked into the bathroom to double-check. Then she locked the doors and pulled metal shutters over the window.

“Would you care to repeat yourself?” Ace asked, clearly stunned.

I squared my shoulders. “I said I want to learn self-defense. Dauntless learn how to fight, don’t they? Just teach me what you know.”

“I can’t just do that,” said Ace. For the first time, she actually seemed rather ruffled. “You’re a Candor initiate. Do you know how many rules you’d be breaking—”

“I don’t think rule-breaking is a thing that I’m scared of anymore,” I said plainly.

Ace turned away, muttering vile curses. She rubbed her forehead and ran her hand through her hair. It was an odd time to think “ oh my god, she’s so hot”, but there the thought was.

“Do you know how many rules I’d be breaking?!” she repeated, her eyes wide.

“Look,” I said, “you clearly know that I’m—” I hesitated. Did she? She had to. “—That I’m you-know-what.”

Her lips tightened. Oh, yes. She definitely knew. “Yeah. I know that you have a death wish.”

“But you know I need it.”

“I think you need to stay in your lane,” said Ace.

“That’s your opinion.”

“No. That’s a direct order from Irene.”

“Do the math, Ace,” I said. “There are people dying because of something I started. Do you think I’m safe for long?”

“Nobody blames you for what happened to her,” said Ace.

“You’re head of security. How many people have tried to come after me?”

She said nothing.

“What about you?” I asked. “Are they blaming you?”

“I didn’t give the media permission to publish my name,” she said.

“But they probably know anyway,” I said.

Ace’s gaze darted. I wondered how many people had made attempts on her life, just like they’d tried on Beauregard.

“That’s not relevant,” she said. “My answer is no. If you’re in danger, then the Dauntless will protect you.”

I went silent. She seemed to think she’d won. Sighing, she turned away, went to the fridge, and pulled out a beer bottle. Then she sat on the couch and opened the bottle with a knife from her jacket sleeve.

“Do you really believe that?” I asked quietly.

“‘Course,” she said, and took a drink.

It was an obvious lie.

I sat on the other end of the couch. “Why do you really want to be trained?” asked Ace.

“Does there have to be another reason?”

“There always is, with you.”

“I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong again, and I think I might be getting into situations where I’m in danger,” I said.

“Figures.”

“Do you remember the case of Abigail Eaton?” I asked, looking at her.

Ace froze. She was looking straight forward, the scarred side of her face a profile to me. The scar pinched her right eye out of shape, but I saw how her pupil dilated slightly, how her jaw muscles tensed. Something wasn’t right. She wanted to lie.

“Heard of it,” she said, taking another sip.

“An Abnegation girl went missing,” I said.

“And they blamed the factionless.” That must have been why she didn’t like the mention of it.

“But it was declared a cold case and she wasn’t found.”

“You’re not trying to solve it, are you?”

“Actually, I’m not,” I answered. “But someone was. A girl named Sajida Touma.”

Ace stood up. “Judge Touma’s daughter?”

I nodded. “She transferred to Abnegation. Maybe because she wanted to solve the case, maybe for another reason. All I know is that two days before she transferred, she checked out Abigail’s case file from the library, and that when Judge Touma went to visit her two days ago, she was told that Sajida failed out of Abnegation.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Ace. “Stiffs let everyone pass.”

I nodded. “I know. What makes it weirder is that Marcus Eaton, Abigail’s father, was Sajida’s host parent.”

Ace’s face tensed again at the name. Undoubtedly, she knew about Marcus if she hated Abnegation so much.

“So you want to find out what happened to Sajida,” said Ace.

I nodded. “I owe it to Judge Touma. She lost her only daughter, just like my mom lost hers.” I hesitated, then added, “I think it has something to do with the things that are going on now—all the conflict with the factionless, what Erudite’s planning. I feel like Sajida wasn’t just chasing Abigail, she was chasing that mystery too.”

Ace turned away and put her hand over her mouth, deep in thought. Her piercings caught the dim light from the desk, casting red fragments across the mottled skin of her scar.

“Can’t this wait until after initiation?” asked Ace. “You have too much to worry about as it is.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, you know, like a liar. “But you know the stats, Ace. If she’s in danger, every day that passes is a higher chance that she’s dead.”

It had already been two days since Judge Touma first found out that Sajida had failed. And it had been three weeks since she had been seen by anyone who wasn’t Abnegation. According to everything I’d learned in Investigations, her chances of being alive now were very slim.

Finally, Ace sighed.

“Fine,” she said. “I still have some contacts among the factionless. Give me a description of the girl and I’ll pass it along. Tell your housekeeper to keep an ear out.”

Relief swelled in my chest. “Thank you,” I said. “What about training?”

“My shift’s over at eight. Get changed into something you can move in and meet me on the roof then.”

“We’re training on the roof?”

Ace smirked wryly.

“No. If I’m sneaking you out to the Dauntless compound, we can’t just walk out the front door.”