Drea's eyes touch mine for just a moment, then move away.
I drag him down the hallway, not the way I came, but another way, toward an emergency exit. We walk down a flight of narrow stairs where the echo of our footsteps layers over itself, dissonant and hollow. Once I'm at the bottom, I knock on the exit door.
Zeke opens it, a stupid grin on his face.
"No trouble with the guard?"
"No."
"I figured Drea would be easy to get by. She doesn't care about anything."
"It sounded like she had looked the other way before."
"That doesn't surprise me. Is this Prior?"
"In the flesh."
"Why's he bleeding?"
"Because he's an idiot."
Zeke offers me a black jacket with a factionless symbol stitched into the collar. "I didn't know that idiocy caused people to just start spontaneously bleeding from the nose."
I wrap the jacket around Caleb's shoulders and fasten one of the buttons over his chest. He avoids my eyes.
"I think it's a new phenomenon," I say. "The alley's clear?"
"Made sure of it." Zeke holds out his gun, handle first. "Careful, it's loaded. Now it would be great if you would hit me so I'm more convincing when I tell the factionless you stole it from me."
"You want me to hit you?"
"Oh, like you've never wanted to.
Just do it, Four."
I do like to hit people—I like the explosion of power and energy, and the feeling that I am untouchable because I can hurt people. But I hate that part of myself, because it is the part of me that is the most broken.
Zeke braces himself and I curl my hand into a fist.
"Do it fast, you pansycake," he says.
I decide to aim for the jaw, which is too strong to break but will still show a good bruise. I swing, hitting him right where I mean to. Zeke groans, clutching his face with both hands. Pain shoots up my arm, and I shake my hand out.
"Great." Zeke spits at the side of the building. "Well, I guess that's it."
"Guess so."
"I probably won't be seeing you again, will I? I mean, I know the others might come back, but you . . ." He trails off, but picks up the thought again a moment later. "Just seems like you'll be happy to leave it behind, that's all."
"Yeah, you're probably right." I look at my shoes. "You sure you won't come?"
"Can't. Shauna can't wheel around where you guys are going, and it's not like I'm gonna leave her, you know?" He touches his jaw, lightly, testing the skin. "Make sure Uri doesn't drink too much, okay?"
"Yeah," I say.
"No, I mean it," he says, and his voice dips down the way it always does when he's being serious, for once. "Promise you'll look out for him?"
It's always been clear to me, since I met them, that Zeke and Uriah were closer than most brothers. They lost their father when they were young, and I suspect Zeke began to walk the line between parent and sibling after that. I can't imagine what it feels like for Zeke to watch him leave the city now, especially as broken by grief as Uriah is by Marlene's death.
"I promise," I say.
I know I should leave, but I have to stay in this moment for a little while, feeling its significance. Zeke was one of the first friends I made in Dauntless, after I survived initiation. Then he worked in the control room with me, watching the cameras and writing stupid programs that spelled out words on the screen or played guessing games with numbers. He never asked me for my real name, or why a first-ranked initiate ended up in security and instruction instead of leadership. He demanded nothing from me.
"Let's just hug already," he says.
Keeping one hand firm on Caleb's arm, I wrap my free arm around Zeke, and he does the same.
When we break apart, I pull Caleb down the alley, and can't resist calling
back, "I'll miss you."
"You too, sweetie!"
He grins, and his teeth are white in the twilight. They are the last thing I see of him before I have to turn and set out at a trot for the train.
"You're going somewhere," says Caleb, between breaths. "You and some others."
"Yeah."
"Is my sister going?"
The question awakes inside me an animal rage that won't be satisfied by sharp words or insults. It will only be satisfied by smacking his ear hard with the flat of my hand. He winces and hunches his shoulders, preparing for a