Page 62 of The Sixth Fraction

There’s no way I can just wander into the Dauntless compound in search of a fear simulation, but for a second, it feels like he might want me to. Even if it’s just to watch me fail.

He clears his throat.

“So I’m not a soldier,” he says. “And I’m not some mindless Dauntless bootlicker, either, the way you seem to think.”

“Well, consider that you might be as wrong about me as I am about you.”

“Tell me how, then.” We’re in the building next to the Rookery, not far from the alley exit. He turns toward me and folds his arms across his chest. I notice the fabric of his shirt pulling tight around his muscles; I force myself to look away.

“Evelyn is the one who brought me to the Rookery. She helped me, and I wanted to return the favor,” I say. “She asked me to make sure you knew there was another option, if you weren’t happy where you were.”

“Oh, is that all?” He raises his eyebrows.

“What is it between you two?” I say. “You seem to hate her. You seem to know her—”

I cut myself off suddenly, as I think about the two of them standing side by side. Their jaws set, their brows furrowed. And I feel stupid—so, so stupid—for not seeing it before.

“You’re Tobias,” I say. “You’re Tobias Eaton.”

No wonder there’s so much tension between him and Evelyn. She let him think she was dead.

For years.

He steps closer, and suddenly he’s all I can see. Him, and the tension in his shoulders, and the bursting of his breath, the anger fast and sudden.

“Don’t call me that,” he says.

I make myself look into his eyes.

“My last name is Prior,” I say.

He looks stricken. It’s clear he forgot I was there, a family friend, in his childhood home, leaving a flower on his table in sympathy, sitting with my hands in my lap in front of a grieving Marcus Eaton; there, when his mother supposedly died.

“You . . . are even more of a manipulation than I thought,” he says unsteadily. “But fine. You know where I’m from, and you think that’s enough. Well, that’s nothing, Beatrice.” He lowers his voice. “And you don’t know Evelyn. If you did, you might not be so eager to align yourself with her.”

“So tell me what I should know.”

My breath catches as I think maybe—maybe I’m about to find out what the factionless are planning from a source I never anticipated.

He shakes his head and shoves his way through the door to the alley. I follow him outside, where the air is cooler. Then, before I reach the end of the alley, I hear the crunch of boots on gravel, and I move on instinct, bringing a hand up to his chest and pushing him back against the building. He feels as solid as a wall under my palm.

“What—”

I touch my finger to my lips, and he goes quiet. I hear voices echoing up ahead. They have to be Dauntless patrols—no factionless would ever be this loud outside of a safe house.

“Gotta be somewhere around here! I keep seeing them on—”

“Pretty sure I saw a light over here—”

I look up at Tobias. He’s looking down at my hand, which is still on him, my fingers curled into his shirt, just a little. I yank it back but don’t move away, in case I have to stop him from giving us away again. I watch his body shift as he breathes, and listen for the footsteps.

I hear them getting quieter and quieter, running away from us, not toward us, the voices disappearing.

“You’d better go,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll look out for her,” I say. “Your friend. Christina.”