Page 44 of The Sixth Fraction

“There’s no hurry,” Colin says to me. “Take your time.”

Rory shoves a spoonful of oats into her mouth. Miles, on her other side, is unrolling a city map on the table in front of him.

“We need to focus,” he says. “The older strays already have the map memorized, and we need to catch up if we’re going to make it.”

I peer down at the map, which is marked with red X’s. It takes me a few seconds to realize the X’s are train stations. Miles is reciting a mnemonic device to remember them all.

But there’s a group of people walking in from the lobby. Each of them is dressed in Amity yellow and red. It almost looks like faction members have invaded our space. I straighten up.

“Just Foxes,” Rory says to me. “They were on an Amity raid, I guess.”

“A raid?” I take note of the sacks a few of the Amity invaders are carrying, and the crates I can’t see into. They’re delivering food.

Stolen food.

“They only steal from the factions,” Colin says. “Never from each other.”

As if that changes it. “And that’s just . . . okay with everyone?”

“Well, it’s not okay with the people we steal from, I guess,” Colin says. “But the alternative is not having basic necessities like, I don’t know, food. Or bandages. Or soap. Or menstrual products.”

I want to argue that the factionless lost their right to take more than they’re given when they failed out of the faction system. But the gnawing in my stomach last night still feels too nearby. Part of me is glad they stole sacks of grain, because it means I’ll be able to eat it.

Rory seems to notice my hesitation. “We keep the city running, you know. Who do you think transports goods from one faction sector to another by train? Who do you think fixes downed power lines or blocked sewers? We do. And they pay us for it, sure—but not enough to sustain our population. And so”—she gestures to the Foxes—“we take the rest. Evelyn says it’s just until we’re self-sustaining.”

“And that’s the goal?” I say. “To be . . . self-sustaining? I thought the factionless wanted the factions gone.”

“Some do. Most don’t.” Rory shrugs.

I watch the Foxes for a moment. One of them is handing off a sack of rice to a woman wearing a kerchief around her neck. Rory tells me she’s Jove, leader of the Rookery. Evelyn is with them, watching as two of the others wrestle over a cap.

A guild of thieves. This is exactly what I was hoping to find.

“You have a guild in mind?” Rory asks me.

“Leave her alone, she just got here five seconds ago,” Colin says. “She probably doesn’t even know what they all are.”

I think back to the list Rory gave me before I met the Mender. Healers, Travelers, Makers, Foxes. Are there more?

“The good guilds are competitive!” Rory scowls at him. “She has to hit the ground running.”

I feel dizzy with all of it, the same way I did in the Mender’s workshop. Everything I knew about the factionless has been turned upside down by a bright secret hidden behind boarded windows.

“I don’t know,” I say. “How do you join a guild?”

“They all have entrance tests,” Colin says.

“Like initiation,” I point out.

“But not only a test. They’re usually followed by a vote on whether you can cut it as one of them, which may or may not be influenced by whether they like your personality,” Colin says. “Not exactly Abnegation initiation.”

“Foxes have an annual contest,” Rory says eagerly. “They hide banners throughout the city, usually in the faction headquarters. If you can retrieve them without getting caught, you’re almost guaranteed a spot.”

I bite into a piece of bread. It’s fresh-baked, but it doesn’t taste like Abnegation bread—it’s deflated, with no crust.

“But in order for them to let you stay, you have to demonstrate some kind of useful skill,” Rory goes on. “Last year they took an ex-Amity who knew all about biotechnology, and an ex-Erudite who knew their software.”

I frown. “Sounds like they’re more interested in information than skills.”