XL

“The court will now hear the testimony of Phoebe Prior,” announced the clerk. “Miss Prior invoked her right to legal counsel and shall be represented at this hearing by Irene McCandless.”

From the audience, Irene stood up and cautiously made her way down the stairs, feeling with her cane. As she did, the bailiffs returned to me and led me to the edge of the center circle, even though I had already been going. Just like everyone before me, I stepped out of my shoes. The black marble floor was cold on my feet. One bailiff unlocked my handcuffs, though it was only to pull the robe off my shoulders. As she locked the cuffs again, the bailiff raised her eyebrows at the colorful ink on the insides of my arms. But she said nothing, only gave me back my journal to hold.

I stood exposed in front of Candor. As I approached the judges and stopped next to Irene, I kept my eyes forward, but in the periphery, I could see the glaring red and green of the rose tattoo. There were whispers. I wasn’t the first Candor initiate to reveal secret tattoos, but all of those initiates had been Dauntless.

“Miss Prior, do you have your prepared testimony?” asked Jack Kang.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said quietly, my voice cracking. He held out his hand and I gave it to him. He frowned as his eyes caught on something else, the flashes of ink on my arms, but he didn’t say anything. He passed the journal to the clerk. “I’m reading the part between the two red bookmarks,” I added to her, and scowling, she began passing the selected pages through a machine on her desk.

“Miss McCandless,” said Kang.

“Yes, Your Honor?” Irene replied.

He stopped thumbing through a plastic folder with my name on it to look up at her, his eyebrows raised. After a second of silence, Irene asked, “Did you need something, Your Honor?”

“I expected you to have quite a bit to say,” said Kang. “What your client wants is highly unconventional. Do you have no objections?”

“Not yet,” said Irene. “Proceed, Your Honor.”

The clerk finished passing my journal through the machine and handed it back to me. Irene touched my shoulder, nodded, and stepped out of the way. At least, until I needed her counsel after the testimony, which I undoubtedly would.

“Miss Prior,” said Kang. “Do you consent to receive your exam scores, take an injection of 46% concentrated veritarbital, and answer the questions of the court?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said.

“Do you intend to verify the testimony you provided one week ago upon your arrest by the Dauntless?”

“Yes.”

“And do you swear that your new, prepared testimony is, to the best of your knowledge, a truthful and accurate account of your secrets?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. You received an average of 87 on your final exams. Please be seated.”

There was enough tension in my spine that it might shatter if you tapped it too hard, but at that, I relaxed a little. I had passed. Just barely, though it didn’t matter; a pass was a pass. I turned to the chair and the tension returned. I had much more important things to think about than an exam score. Or not think about. Maybe it was better if I didn’t try to think too hard. There wasn’t much I could do to manipulate what I was going in to. My testimony was already written and copied for the judges to read.

I sat and opened my journal in my lap. On the selected pages, the last chunk in the book, I had actually written legibly. Ben came up with the final syringe and pushed my curly hair out of the way, his face in a frown. There were a lot of frowns out there. Nobody knew what they were about to hear. And if I was honest, I didn’t either.

I had to trust myself.

There was a pinch, and the serum washed over me like a wave. Ben stepped back and the five one-way mirrors slid up around me. At eye level in the first mirror was a raised circular section, where I knew a camera was staring back at me. The tiny red light signified that it was recording my every move and word. I sat before all of Candor and all of Chicago. The mirrors just told me I was alone.

“May the truth set you free,” said Kang’s voice.

+ + +

I had felt truth serum before, at a weaker dose. But that was different. This kind felt like a dream. I had rehearsed this first part enough times to commit it to memory. I was moving without thinking. Speaking without reading. Feeling without knowing.

I didn’t like the cold cuffs around my wrists. I couldn’t hold my book like I wanted to. I lifted my hands above my head, feeling thick and clumsy from the serum, and rummaged through my hair to find the single pin. I kept my hands up, resting them on my forehead as I probed the lock.

“My name is Beatrice Phoebe Prior,” I said.

My words were slow, thick. But my fingers were moving like they were made to break chains.

“I am an initiate of Candor and a transfer from Abnegation. I am the child of Andrew Prior and Natalie McCandless Prior, and I am the older twin of Caleb Prior. I am sixteen years old.”

The lock clicked. The handcuffs fell. I looked right in the camera and the little red dot, still holding my hands above my head, letting them get a clear view of the tattoos on my wrists.

On the right arm were three symbols. In gold ink was the delicate budding tree of Amity, in dark grey were the gentle clasped hands of Abnegation, in ocean blue was the curious eye of Erudite. On the left arm were a mirrored three. In black ink were the Dauntless flames; in silvery ink were the balanced scales of Candor; and between the two was a symbol of my own design, a red one, a single rose ringed with thorns. The factionless, and Lady Rose, and Ace, and me.

“My name is Phoebe Prior,” I repeated, “and I am Divergent.”

Beyond the mirrors, there were murmurs. A male voice yelled, “Stop filming! Stop it!” but a loud crack made the voices go silent.

“Order! All Full Unveilings must be broadcast to the public in their entirety,” said Kang. “Miss Prior will speak until she has nothing more to say.” The red light stayed on.

I lowered my hands, picked up my journal, and looked at it. My vision was blurry. It was frustrating. I tossed the journal to the ground, its pages scattering, and it slid to a stop at a mirror.

“I don’t want to read,” I said thickly. “Can’t see well. Don’t worry, I didn’t leave anything out of the version you got, and I won’t leave anything out now. You can quote me on that.”

“Objection!” said the male voice again. It was Judge Morris. “Failure to respect the prepared testimony.”

“A reminder, Lysander, that you’re not on the bench,” said Kang.

“He is right, though,” said Judge Coulter-Moore. “Prepared testimonies must be read aloud for purposes of comparison.”

“If Miss Prior testifies to the same information,” said Judge Williams, “then the exact wording of the testimony is semantics.”

“The truth serum’s gonna wear off before I can talk,” I said, annoyed.

“ ‘Semantics’. This impropriety is an insult to the tradition of the Full Unveiling,” Judge Paylor scoffed. “This court cannot allow it. I object on behalf of Lysander Morris.”

“Overruled,” said Kang.

“Suck it,” I grinned, hoping it was in Morris’ general direction. I was ignored.

“At this time, the only party who can intervene on Miss Prior’s behalf is her counsel,” said Kang. “Miss McCandless, will you allow Miss Prior to discard her prepared testimony?”

“Proceed,” said Irene.

“Really now,” said Jack.

“This was always a very real possibility,” said Irene. “Miss Prior’s mind is… unique.”

“Hell yeah it is,” I said. I suddenly didn’t care much for the fact that swearing was impolite.

I could hear the smile in Irene’s voice. “We prepared the written testimony to the fullest degree of truth, so I assure you, you will find no more than the usual discrepancies. Now, please, let my client speak.”

“Miss Prior may proceed,” said Kang.

“Thank you,” I said.

I stared at the little red light for a long time.

“This is me,” I said. “This is a story about family. This is a testimony for everyone in this room. This is the truth about Candor. This is a tale of a whole city.”

Which one of us would blink first?

“When I was writing my testimony, those were the openings I went through. I never knew how to start it. So that’s why I’m not starting with any of them; take them all, and take them how you will. The point is, when I say I’m Divergent, some of you will know what that means—I can lie under the truth serum. Dunno how it’s done. I haven’t tried it yet, but I’ve been told I can do it. It discolors my ethos, I know. So I understand if none of you want to trust me. But I’m not interested in hiding the truth anymore. I’m giving you all of it, all of the forms and phases, and maybe it’ll be nonsensical, indecent, whatever. I don’t care if you like it.”

I inhaled.

“All I ask is that you believe it.”

+ + +

“You guys know most of the story. Aletheia told it. Last Friday, I found her in our apartment, mourning the death of her ex-boyfriend, Al, a transfer to Dauntless. I took her to the Institute roof, helped her disguise herself as a Dauntless, and led her through the train system to the Dauntless compound. It was a crime. I did a few more while I was there. Those aren’t important right now.

The important thing is—if you go back far enough—it’s not my fault. It’s yours.

Six weeks and one day ago, I took my aptitude test under the proctoring of Irene McCandless, my legal counsel. The day before, Jack Kang approached Irene about a possible conflict of interest—my mother, Natalie McCandless Prior, was Irene’s twin sister. Mr. Kang was concerned that this would prove too close of an attachment for Irene to run the tests fairly. Irene dismissed the concern and administered the test of my brother, Caleb, as well as mine.

Here’s the thing about aptitude proctors. As you know, the board consists of eight Abnegation and two Candor. The Chair of Reviews, the person who reviews all test abnormalities, is traditionally the Executive Director of Candor’s Academic Integrity Department—that’s Irene. The reason for this is checks and balances. While Abnegation handles all administrative duties involved with population and allocation of resources, full control of the aptitude test results is a massive power. So, as long as this system has continued, the power has been split between the Abnegation and the Candor. If every Candor swears to full honesty—our founders reasoned, at least—Candor should take a greater responsibility over the result records. What the Abnegation do with the results may be compared to our records, which are perfect, thus limiting Abnegation’s capacity for misuse.

Aptitude proctors are to follow four criteria for an abnormality: failure to comply, full or partial awareness, passing multiple stages, and-slash-or manipulation of the elements. The abnormalities are first recorded by the computer, then verified by the proctor, and finally submitted to Irene for analysis. If Irene catches any sign of tampering or inconsistency in the reports, she investigates the case and reports to Erudite’s Bureau of Academic Achievement.

Without going into too much detail, I fulfilled all of the abnormalities. And then Irene...didn’t report it. She left the room, deleted the results from the mainframe and inserted a line of mistake code in their place, and told me that I had received an Abnegation result.

Do you know what it’s like? Living your whole life under something that doesn’t feel right, claiming to be something that you know you’re not, waiting and waiting and waiting for the day that you will finally learn the truth—only to hear the same lies as before? Do any of you know what that’s like? God. I wanted to kill myself. I couldn’t take it. I waited for the proctors to leave on lunch break, picked the lock to the testing floor, and guessed the password to Irene’s computer. She caught me, walked up right behind me, and told me to open my file. It was blank. She’d erased all of the results, every last trace. Then she told me to leave, choose Abnegation, and never speak of what I saw in the test again.

That’s why I chose Candor. Because I needed the truth so bad, I was willing to bet my entire future on it.

At that point, I suppose Irene gave in. I tracked her down in her office, asked again, and she told me. I’m Divergent with aptitudes for all five factions. Though I doubt it, because being self-aware in the simulation probably allowed me to cheat a little; I don’t think I’m actually naturally inclined towards all five virtues. Virtues are very, very hard for me to do. The point is, those were the true results of my test, and Irene told me that I couldn’t tell a soul because they’d kill me. Who, I didn’t know. They. The ambiguous They. Even still, I don’t know, some Candor, some Erudite—God—some Abnegation, maybe, They’re everywhere. Maybe some of you know, all you out there in the crowds, ogling me right now; would you lie if I asked you what names you knew? Would you?

God. I didn’t know who to trust. Sometimes, I still don’t. What kind of system did I live in, I wondered, that punished people for coming forward with their true selves. And really, to think that it was a system created and maintained by the people I called my family.

It was Ace who made me realize it—Ace of Dauntless, some of you know her by another, less important name, Abigail Eaton. Please, don’t talk. I’m not supposed to say all this here, since it’s an... ongoing legal wrestling ground right now, so some things are confidential...but it’ll come out eventually, right. Ace ran away from Abnegation at age thirteen and hid in the projects. She said she was factionless, some orphan kid abused by her single parent. Not a total lie there. Then she took the literacy tests, passed, and chose Dauntless, where she passed at the top of her initiate class. Now she works in Candor as the Institute’s head of security. That’s how I met her. That’s how she saved my life.

I’ve heard a lot of questions about the thing I used to be most famous for, the Beauregard case. Now, my most famous thing is the fact that I’m on trial for crimes and misdemeanors, but for a while, times were simpler. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, because they weren’t simple at all, but since I can’t exaggerate on truth serum, maybe you can draw a conclusion about how not simple things are right now.

But this is the Beauregard case. As simple as it gets.

Thomas Beauregard is the chair of Erudite’s Low-Income Education Board. Twelve years ago, he raped and molested a child named Lady Rose. Beauregard promised her that if she kept silent, he would allow her to pass the literacy exams and take the aptitude test. She was desperate, so she accepted. Beauregard continued to sexually assault her for four years, keeping her as a slave in his house and even having her sterilized when she went through puberty. Then, when the literacy exams came up, Lady Rose failed.

She appealed the exams with the Erudite and Candor, but Beauregard destroyed all evidence of the assaults and the Candor found that no formal contract had been made, so they did not intervene. Of course, the real reason that law enforcement didn’t get involved was because of two things: a wire transfer from Thomas Beauregard to the former director of Academic Integrity, Janice Paltrowski, for twenty thousand credits, and a quiet meeting between Beauregard, Paltrowski, and Abnegation leader Marcus Eaton. Paltrowski brought a copy of Morrick v. Erudite, Beauregard brought blackmail material, and Eaton agreed to drop the appeal. Lady Rose returned to the projects, where she was forced into the brothels.

Four weeks ago, Beauregard returned home late to find that his house had been broken into and a single object, his Choosing Ceremony knife, was stolen. He had a suspicion as to who the thief could be, but when he called the authorities, he claimed not to know. Under the impression that this was only a robbery, the Candor and Dauntless did a quick sweep of the house, found nothing, couldn’t figure out how the thief left the house, and passed it to the Institute, where Judge Lysander Morris decided to use it as an activity for the initiate class. We were to investigate the house and search for clues, even though they were confident that we couldn’t find anything new.

I found something. I realized that there had to be an attic space in the home, since Erudite buildings tend to be symmetrical. When I entered the attic, I was attacked. Lady Rose had broken into the house and stolen the knife, and when Beauregard called for help, she hid in the attic until the authorities left. Or at least, until we found her. She grabbed me, put the knife to my chest, and tried to kill me. Ace shot her. Saved my life.

And this isn’t a theory. This is what happened. After the fact, Beauregard was put under truth serum. He admitted to everything. It’s on record. Legal action was frozen by executive orders from Abnegation, Dauntless, and Erudite. That’s on record, too. For some reason, none of you are talking about it.

That’s what made me realize. All of that, all that happened, but why? Because of me? Because of Ace? Because of Lady Rose? Who killed her? If she was from the factions, there’d be hearing after hearing, trying to figure out who was most responsible for her death, pinning blame here and there. But no. The answer is that she killed herself. She planned to murder a man and she assaulted me. I was doing what my teacher told me, and Ace was doing her job. It’s Lady Rose, she’s the one who’s not doing what she’s supposed to; she broke the rules, so she deserved to die. Asking for it.

It’s a guiltless answer, really; it doesn’t call for change on our parts, it doesn’t call for justice or retribution.

Is that an answer? Is it? What are we calling answers nowadays—when we ask for answers, are we asking for the truth, or are we asking for what lets you sleep at night?

This is the truth. This is all of the truth. A factionless child grew up never knowing the comfort of a name, the kiss of a mother, the safety of a roof over her head. She turns to the project schools, fully believing the faction-created soundbite that ‘ even the factionless children can join the factions, if they try hard enough’. A pedophile—educated by the Erudite, screened by the Candor, and approved by the Abnegation—targets the girl, victimizes her, and coerces her into silence with a promise he fully intends to never uphold. Then the Erudite destroy facts. The Candor accept a bribe. The Abnegation disregard a human being in favor of a court case.

The factionless girl is trapped. Her education won’t get her anywhere. It’s too much. It’s unfair. It’s injustice. She thinks about the man who put her in his rightful prison, the prison of poverty, shame, disgust. She thinks about how he could lie his way out of what he deserves, and that even those who know the truth fail to act on it. She can’t forget. She wants no one to forget. If she can’t have her rapist, she has to make him know what he’s done. She takes a child of Abnegation. Someone who’s cradled in the same privilege, the same genre of soundbites and platitudes, the same idea that victims only get what they ask for.

And she’s shot and killed by a second child of Abnegation—one who ran from the factions, but came limping back.

Maybe that’s the simplest answer. Ace killed Lady Rose. Because Abigail Eaton is, really, the poster child of compliance, and I know because we talked about it before I turned myself in. I think about her a lot. I’m in love with her. But she puzzles me. Puzzles herself, too. In her home, under Marcus, she…she went through a lot. I don’t know if it’s my place to tell it. She told me it was fine if I did. But I think she was lying.

What I can say is that the factions hurt her, beyond justification, beyond forgiveness. But she still tried to give them a second chance. The argument to be made there is that it makes her someone to look up to—maybe the factionless will look at her example and stop complaining because they’ll realize that it really is their fault for being poor. But you’re wrong. No, it’s an insult. When Ace came back to the factions, it didn’t make her happier at all. It made her miserable. Dauntless didn’t accept her, that’s why she came to Candor, and she’s still lost, she’s still torn. You gave her a badge and a gun, told her that using them would make her happy, and then praised her when she killed one of her own.

Is she happier? When she plays along, does she ever win? How is she different from the rest of us?

This is what Ace’s presence asked me. Irene told me to play the game, to keep my head down, to learn to lie under the truth serum. That’s what all this was supposed to be, a lie about being the perfect transfer. It’s not anymore because something changed.

I found the answer. And it’s no.

You gave me this truth serum because you want to know what makes me tick, so this is it. I’m fucking furious. I’m angry because I realized that we’re all at fault. Every one of us, we killed Lady Rose, and we’re not sorry. The truth we claim to speak is nothing but the delusion, the deception that this system is for our own good.

It’s Amity’s fault—from the moment we’re born, we’re whispered these platitudes of peace, harmony, prosperity; the factions are the best way to make everyone happy.

It’s Erudite’s fault—we’re taught a meritocracy, that we only deserve what we can work hard for, and that the people who work hard but don’t pass aren’t worthy of respect.

It’s Dauntless’ fault—everyone’s an enemy, there are good citizens and there are risk factors, there are threats around us and below us but never within.

It’s Abnegation’s fault—we’re doing good things, really, we submit to the system because it’s what’s best for everyone.

And, god, it’s Candor’s fault—how we could know all of this and see it all inside of us, that this is wrong, that the factions don’t do anything but divide and pit us against each other, that it’s not justice, there’s no way that we can be aware of this truth and not be horrified except if we’re all lying to ourselves.

I’m furious. That’s all I have to say to you. I was furious, and I was trying to untangle why, so I started looking around. I hung a bisexual pride flag in my room and strung up notes and newspaper clippings underneath it. Tried to figure out what was wrong with us from the inside. The answer walked right into me, a girl named Sajida Touma, who transferred to Abnegation to find out what happened to Abigail Eaton. She found it, by the way, that’s why she failed, but I didn’t know it then. All I knew was that things were changing, and I had to be ready.

This is the part you know most about. I gave a testimony to Dauntless. But it’s not all correct. I asked Ace to take me to Dauntless, but I didn’t know she was Abigail. I couldn’t blackmail her. She said yes, because... I think she saw a bit of herself in me. I don’t know. You’d have to ask her why she did it. I like to think it’s because she liked me back, or maybe she sensed that I liked her, but I still don’t know. It’s all assuming. The point is, yes, I lied about blackmailing her, but that was it. I didn’t want to get her in trouble until you could hear the whole story. Though how much good it’ll do her, I don’t know.

The rest is pretty much true. I’m so stoned right now, I can’t remember what parts were lies, mostly all that minor stuff about Ace and the people who helped me. Which wouldn’t be my testimony to give, anyway. And let’s be honest. Details about my misdemeanor trespassing charge are probably not the biggest thing to hold me responsible for.

Here’s the thing I didn’t say and I never lied about. I went to Dauntless, trained there, and took on the identity of one because, yes, I was angry. I wanted to know what it’s like on another side. Heh, three factions down, two left to go. And maybe I also just wanted to hold Ace’s hand, do all those things that sappy couples should be able to do in public—which we couldn’t do here because it’s illegal, or back in Abnegation because it’s obscene and selfish. I wanted to live! I wanted to know what it’s like to not feel tethered somewhere. Or what it’s like to see family wherever you go, not enemies.

I don’t know the science behind aptitude—maybe there is something in our brains that makes us naturally inclined towards one virtue over another, maybe there isn’t. But, god, for the first time in my life, it’s clicked.

Look around you.

There are kind people here; there are smart and selfless people; there are brave people. Despite being in the most ruthless, loveless faction of them all. Despite—despite Candor aptitude being the end of the line, the aptitude you get when you fail all the others, or when you cheat the test without knowing it. Despite only making the choice because you don’t know who you are.

Despite everything, you’re these things because you’ve chosen to be.

And I went to Dauntless because I realized this, that the factions are lines to divide the colors in a spectrum.

If you do care about truth—if you’ve thought at all about the black and white that you wear—you’d know. You can’t ignore four virtues and expect to preserve the integrity of the fifth.

Listen to the streets.

There is injustice all around you, all beneath you.

And all you can think about are these arbitrary lines and fighting like children on the playground and arguing over whose team is better. This division—these stereotypes, these little tantrums and power grabs—

How dare you insist that those are your biggest problems? How dare you reject those who can’t prune themselves into the right shape, then pretend that you’re not just like them? And how dare you lie to me, how dare you lie to the whole city, telling us that our system is as fair as it could ever get?

How dare you?

I’m speaking to you right now, and I shouldn’t be. You’re supposed to be the adults, and you’re supposed to see these things happening and speak on them. I should be confessing my nonexistent sex life or the time I got blackout drunk after my final exam. Hey, I’m in love with a Dauntless woman, hah, that should be my biggest scandal, I should be in pieces about that. But I’m not. I’m trying to defend my right to live, two hundred thousand people’s rights to live, I’m betraying you and my family in Abnegation because—because you’ve given me no choice. You want the truth? You have it. All of it, in all its forms, and maybe, at some point, I’ve doubted about whether I care if you like it, I’ve been so fucking afraid to say it, but this is all I have left to say—if I’m guilty, it’s not because of what lies I’ve told. It’s not because of what lies Irene has told, and it’s not because of what lies Ace has told.

It’s about you, and it’s about if you decide that you’d rather look me in the eye and tell me that you’ve never— never— lied to yourself or to the people around you about what’s really going on in the city right now.

About the fact that you know this system is bullshit and you’re too scared to call it out.

About who you really are.

If I’m guilty, it’s because of the lies you told.”

+ + +

“Mom.

I love you.”

+ + +

I fell silent.

For what felt like hours, there was no sound. I heard no movement beyond the one-way mirrors. Maybe I was dead; maybe the afterlife was sitting alone in the quiet where you took your last breath. I touched my palms together. I could feel them, my slow pulse in my wrists, under the Amity tree and the Dauntless flames. Unusually slow. Then, as I waited, the pulse began to quicken. I sighed. The serum was wearing off.

“Miss Prior. Is there anything more you wish to say?”

It was Kang’s voice. I felt like I hadn’t heard another human voice for years.

“Not right now,” I said, my voice hoarse. I rubbed my cheek. “My jaw’s too sore.”

There was another pause, then Jack said, “Thank you for your candor.”

Some of the crowd said, “Thank you for your candor.” It couldn’t be more than half. It was the quietest Candor chorus ever sung.

The mirrors slid down. I approached the bench, looking only at Kang’s indifferent expression. I was too afraid to meet any of the other judges’ eyes until Irene stood and came to my side. Even then, I couldn’t manage more than wary side-glances. Their faces were just as indifferent, unreadable.

“What—on earth— was that?” asked Kang.

“My eulogy,” I said. “Since nobody’ll do it when I’m found dead in the canal.”

“Phoebe,” Irene warned. “Your Honor, I apologize on my client’s behalf. As you know, the side effects of truth serum can last as long as—”

“Let her speak,” said Kang.

“Miss Prior,” said Judge McDougall, one of the elderly white women. She leaned forward, hand under her chin. “Why are you so certain that you will be found, quote, ‘dead in the canal’?”

I looked at Irene, who nodded hesitantly.

“According to Executive Director Irene McCandless,” I replied, “any person suspected of Divergence—by witnesses or by proctors—must be reported to Academic Integrity. They investigate and forward confirmed suspects the Erudite Bureau of Academic Achievement. Not all of the suspects end up dead. But there’s an unusual correlation between being reported and being found dead from food poisoning, overdose, or suicide. About fifty-two percent of all suspects, actually.”

“This is nonsense!” Judge Paylor sniffed. “To suggest that Candor allows such—underhanded savagery— ”

“We do,” said Irene. “I’m the one you assigned to allow it. Candor’s presence on the Aptitude Committee was always strategic—Erudite would never trust Abnegation to report the suspects, but they trust us.”

“I’m not listening to this,” said Paylor. “You’re a liar.”

“But she’s not lying about this,” said McDougall.

“Miss McCandless,” said Judge Williams softly. “Do you mean to suggest that Erudite is using Academic Integrity’s information to...target citizens?”

“I do.”

“Can you provide any proof?”

“I can,” said Judge Coulter-Moore. Until then, she had been mostly silent. Now she folded her hands. “Before McCandless and Paltrowski, I ran Academic Integrity. It’s all true.”

“Leslie?” whispered McDougall.

“It’s all very legal, as well,” Coulter-Moore continued. “We’re not well-known for it, but it’s a codified responsibility—Article 14, Section 7, Candor Code of Governance. ”

“Article 14 is only intended to regulate inter-faction departmental relationships,” Paylor snapped. “The code never approves of these—baseless claims about Erudite murdering citizens without due process of law. No proof exists that such cruelty has ever happened. Miss Prior and Miss McCandless are out of line, using conspiracy theories to defend their blatant lies, and I refuse to stand for it. Judge Coulter-Moore, you would be wise to consider your own seat.”

Coulter-Moore did not respond. Judge Williams looked at her and Paylor for a very long time before sighing.

“Miss Prior,” said Williams. “Do you know why people lie?”

“Because they’re afraid,” I said.

“What were you afraid of?”

“Dying.”

“Do you believe this is a justifiable reason to lie?”

I looked her in the eye. “Do you?”

She said nothing.

The question hung in the air. Heavy. Unanswered. I wished, for a moment, that I could open my mouth again, to take what might be my last opportunity to speak to the crowd. But the words had all come out, and something deep inside me told me to wait. It was time to listen.

In the back of the room, a tall black man stood up. My Arguments professor, Judge Bandele, clasped his hands in front of him.

“I did,” he said.

The room began to murmur again. A young man, maybe his son, touched his arm and hissed something. But Bandele stayed standing.

Then a woman stood. Her elderly mother joined her, at her side. Around the room, people stood, one after another. It wasn’t many. A hundred, maybe; two hundred scattered. Faces I knew. Faces I didn’t. All of Candor’s Divergent—at least, all of those who were honest enough to stand.

The security woman from the front entrance.

One of the bailiffs.

The priest from the church.

Amalka.

Brighton.

After a long, long time, Judge Williams stood.

Irene stepped forward and reached up to her glasses. Slowly, she pulled them off and dropped them to her side. She tilted her face to the glass skylight. A late sunbeam touched her cheek. Her unfocused brown eyes darted, here and there, without rhyme or reason, vulnerable and frightened of a future they could not see. But she let all of Candor look.

“Justices,” she said. “Miss Prior isn’t calling for violence. Only change. You wanted to know her thoughts, and you heard them. If you show her mercy, all we ask is for the court to grant the proper platform to make that change—due process, protection from Erudite, and a fair trial as a member of Candor.

“If you cannot grant this, fine. Give Miss Prior’s case to Erudite. But before you do, look around. If you dismiss Miss Prior’s request on the basis that she lied to you, then take the names of whoever else is standing right now. Starting with mine.”

I looked up. I expected to see some people sit down, but not one person did. A couple more stood.

At the far back of the room, Judge Morris stood, but then ducked out of the door. I wondered where he was going.

The clerk stood, too, but only to rush over to Jack Kang and whisper something in his ear. He thought, then nodded. She rushed back to her microphone.

“Justices,” said the clerk, her voice trembling, “do you grant Phoebe Beatrice Prior membership into Candor?”

“I vote nay!” Paylor snapped. “We cannot make this vote!”

“I…agree,” said Coulter-Moore slowly. “Our court is not equipped to form such precedent. Nay.”

“We cannot grant her protected due process without membership,” said McDougall.

Paylor slammed his hand on the podium. “Then let the Erudite take her—”

“Aye,” said McDougall. “I vote in favor of membership.”

“Clearly,” said Williams, still standing, “I also vote aye.”

Everyone looked to the center seat. My hand found Irene’s and clasped tight.

For the longest time, it was like the room was only me and Kang. He didn’t blink much. Please, I wanted to tell him. I know I lied, disobeyed, and broke the law. I don’t deserve justice. But...please. If you care about the people you swore to protect—

“Aye,” said Kang.

“The court grants Miss Prior membership into Candor,” said the clerk.

My hands went over my mouth, and the room exploded.

I don’t remember what happened next. The bailiff, the one who had stood as Divergent, draped the black robe, white sash, and silver cord over my shoulders. She was smiling. Irene was in such shock that she dropped her cane, but when she picked it up again, she dropped it again when I hugged her. There was chattering and screaming and everything was in an uproar, a blend of angry shouts but then—like music—cheering.

Kang tried to get the room in order again, but ultimately failed. Bailiffs swarmed around me, and within seconds Irene and I were being bundled out of the Grand Courtroom. They took me to a private bathroom and Irene gave me my bag. She had returned her glasses to their rightful home on her nose.

“Get dressed and wait in there,” she said.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. They’re doing the closing ceremony right now, escorting out most of the spectators, and then you’ll be allowed to rejoin your class. If we let you do the closing ceremony, there might be a mob.”

Oh. Honestly, understandable. I nodded, closed the door, and turned the lock.

It might have been a few minutes or an hour before I heard the knock again; I wasn’t sure. I had spent most of it sitting naked on the toilet, my head in my hands. I was reeling. What I had just done—it hadn’t registered. I suspected it wouldn’t for a very long time. I exchanged my graduation robe and modesty cloth for the black trousers, shirt, and capelet, taking extra care to pin the silver scales and chain just right. After a few minutes, staring at myself in the mirror, I rolled up my sleeves to expose the tattoos.

I had done it. I was Candor. I was Divergent. I had told the truth.

Then the knock came. I stepped out into an empty, quiet hallway. As we passed a window, I saw crowds in the plaza below the Merciless Mart—all of Candor filing onto a line of buses. There seemed to be some sort of commotion, with some of the Candor overflowing into the streets and blocking traffic, but it didn’t seem too unusual. Candor were notoriously bad-tempered drivers.

The last people left in the Merciless Mart was a special group in the south lobby. All of my classmates had changed out of their uniforms and into their finest clothes. Some still wore their graduation robes over their shoulders. In the case of the Candor-born, their families flocked around them, chattering wildly, before leaving with the other adults. Oona hugged her father and then sat with Sherlock. Older law students hung behind to keep the former initiates company.

“They’re going to Antigone’s,” said Irene. “Old tradition.”

“Can you come with me?” I asked quietly.

She squeezed my hand. “Of course.”

In the group, two sunny-haired kids waved to me. Amalka and Brighton. As the group began to move to the door, I grinned back and tugged Irene’s hand to catch up to the brother and sister.

Things were changing. That was okay. My old friends were gone, but I could make new ones. The family that raised me...in their own ways, they had let me go, and I had let them go in turn. We could still move forward.

I stepped out of the Merciless Mart for the first time as a true Candor. I breathed in the pleasant summer air and smiled—certain, for once, that I would be alright.

Then I was shot in the ribs.