"How are you awake?" I demand.
He lifts his head, and I click the bullet into its chamber, raising an eyebrow at him.
"The Dauntless leaders … they evaluated my records and removed me from the simulation," he says.
"Because they figured out that you already have murderous tendencies and wouldn't mind killing a few hundred people while conscious," I say. "Makes sense."
"I'm not … murderous!"
"I never knew a Candor who was such a liar." I tap the gun against his skull. "Where are the computers that control the simulation, Peter?"
"You won't shoot me."
"People tend to overestimate my character," I say quietly. "They think that because I'm small, or a girl, or a Stiff, I can't possibly be cruel. But they're wrong."
I shift the gun three inches to the left and fire at his arm.
His screams fill the hallway. Blood spurts from the wound, and he screams again, pressing his forehead to the ground. I shift the gun back to his head, ignoring the pang of guilt in my chest.
"Now that you realize your mistake," I say, "I will give you another chance to tell me what I need to know before I shoot you somewhere worse."
Another thing I can count on: Peter is not selfless.
He turns his head and focuses a bright eye on me. His teeth close over his lower lip, and his breaths shake on the way out. And on the way in. And on the way out again.
"They're listening," he spits. "If you don't kill me, they will. The only way I'll tell you is if you get me out of here."
"What?"
"Take me … ahh … with you," he says, wincing.
"You want me to take you," I say, "the person who tried to kill me … with me?"
"I do," he groans. "If you expect to find out what you need to know."
It feels like a choice, but it isn't. Every minute that I waste staring at Peter, thinking about how he haunts my nightmares and the damage he did to me, another dozen Abnegation members die at the hands of the brain-dead Dauntless army.
"Fine," I say, almost choking on the word. "Fine."
I hear footsteps behind me. Holding the gun steady, I look over my shoulder. My father and the others walk toward us.
My father takes off his long-sleeved shirt. He wears a gray T-shirt beneath it. He crouches next to Peter and loops the fabric around his arm, tying it tightly. As he presses the fabric to the blood running down Peter's arm, he looks up at me and says, "Was it really necessary to shoot him?"
I don't answer.
"Sometimes pain is for the greater good," says Marcus calmly.
In my head, I see him standing before Tobias with a belt in hand and hear his voice echo. This is for your own good. I look at him for a few seconds. Does he really believe that? It sounds like something the Dauntless would say.
"Let's go," I say. "Get up, Peter."
"You want him to walk?" Caleb demands. "Are you insane?"
"Did I shoot him in the leg?" I say. "No. He walks. Where do we go, Peter?"
Caleb helps Peter to his feet.
"The glass building," he says, wincing. "Eighth floor."
He leads the way through the door.
I walk into the roar of the river and the blue glow of the Pit, which is emptier now than I have ever seen it before. I scan the walls, searching for signs of life, but I see no movement and no figures standing in darkness. I keep my gun in hand and start toward the path that leads to the glass ceiling. The emptiness makes me shiver. It reminds me of the endless field in my crow nightmares.
"What makes you think you have the right to shoot someone?" my father says as he follows me up the path. We pass the tattoo place. Where is Tori now? And Christina?
"Now isn't the time for debates about ethics," I say.
"Now is the perfect time," he says, "because you will soon get the opportunity to shoot someone again, and if you don't realize-"
"Realize what?" I say without turning around. "That every second I waste means another Abnegation dead and another Dauntless made into a murderer? I've realized that. Now it's your turn."
"There is a right way to do things."
"What makes you so sure that you know what it is?" I say.
"Please stop fighting," Caleb interrupts, his voice chiding. "We have more important things to do right now."
I keep climbing, my cheeks hot. A few months ago I would not have dared to snap at my father. A few hours ago I might not have done it either. But something changed when they shot my mother. When they took Tobias.
I hear my father huff and puff over the sound of rushing water. I forgot that he is older than I am, that his frame can no longer tolerate the weight of his body.