"If you heard me talking to Johanna, then you know that I didn't even tell her about this. So what makes you think that I would share the information with you?"
I don't have an answer at first. But then it comes to me.
"My father," I say. "My father is dead." It's the first time I've said it since I told Tobias, on the train ride over, that my parents died for me. "Died" was just a fact to me then, detached from emotion. But "dead," mingling with the churning and bubbling noises in this room, strikes a blow like a hammer to my chest, and the monster of grief awakens, clawing at my eyes and throat.
I force myself to continue.
"He may not have actually died for whatever information you were referring to," I say. "But I want to know if it was something he risked his life for."
Marcus's mouth twitches.
"Yes," he says. "It was."
My eyes fill with tears. I blink them away.
"Well," I say, almost choking, "then what on earth was it? Was it something you were trying to protect? Or steal? Or what?"
"It was … " Marcus shakes his head. "I'm not going to tell you that."
I step toward him. "But you want it back. And Jeanine has it."
Marcus is a good liar-or at least, someone who is skilled at hiding secrets. He does not react. I wish I could see like Johanna sees, like the Candor see-I wish I could read his expression. He could be close to telling me the truth. If I press just hard enough, maybe he'll crack.
"I could help you," I say.
Marcus's upper lip curls. "You have no idea how ridiculous that sounds." He spits the words at me. "You may have succeeded in shutting down the attack simulation, girl, but it was by luck alone, not skill. I would die of shock if you managed to do anything useful again for a long time."
This is the Marcus that Tobias knows. The one who knows right where to hit to cause the most damage.
My body shudders with anger. "Tobias is right about you," I say. "You're nothing but an arrogant, lying piece of garbage."
"He said that, did he?" Marcus raises his eyebrows.
"No," I say. "He doesn't mention you enough to say anything like that. I figured it out all on my own." I clench my teeth. "You're almost nothing to him, you know. And as time goes on, you become less and less."
Marcus doesn't answer me. He turns back to the water purifier. I stand for a moment in my triumph, the sound of rushing water combining with the heartbeat in my ears. Then I leave the building, and it isn't until I'm halfway across the field that I realize I didn't win. Marcus did.
Whatever the truth is, I'll have to get it from somewhere else, because I won't be asking him again.
That night I dream that I am in a field, and I encounter a flock of crows clustered on the ground. When I swat a few of them away, I realize that they are perched on top of a man, pecking at his clothes, which are Abnegation gray. Without warning, they take flight, and I realize that the man is Will.
Then I wake up.
I turn my face into the pillow and release, instead of his name, a sob that throws my body against the mattress. I feel the monster of grief again, writhing in the empty space where my heart and stomach used to be.
I gasp, pressing both palms to my chest. Now the monstrous thing has its claws around my throat, squeezing my airway. I twist and put my head between my knees, breathing until the strangled feeling leaves me.
Even though the air is warm, I shiver. I get out of bed and creep down the hallway toward Tobias's room. My bare legs almost glow in the dark. His door creaks when I pull it open, loud enough to wake him. He stares at me for a second.
"C'mere," he says, sluggish from sleep. He shifts back on the bed to leave space for me.
I should have thought this through. I sleep in a long T-shirt one of the Amity lent me. It comes down just past my butt, and I didn't think to put on a pair of shorts before I came here. Tobias's eyes skim my bare legs, making my face warm. I lie down, facing him.
"Bad dream?" he says.
I nod.
"What happened?"
I shake my head. I can't tell him that I'm having nightmares about Will, or I would have to explain why. What would he think of me, if he knew what I had done? How would he look at me?
He keeps his hand on my cheek, moving his thumb over my cheekbone idly.
"We're all right, you know," he says. "You and me. Okay?"
My chest aches, and I nod.
"Nothing else is all right." His whisper tickles my cheek. "But we are."
"Tobias," I say. But whatever I was about to say gets lost in my head, and I press my mouth to his, because I know that kissing him will distract me from everything.