“Pretty easily, actually,” Peter says. I had forgotten that he was there.
“What are you even doing here?” I demand.
“I went to see Uriah,” he says. “Is there a law against it?”
“You didn’t even care about him,” I spit. “What right do you have—”
“Tris.” Christina shakes her head. “Not now, okay?”
Tobias hesitates, his mouth open like there are words waiting on his tongue.
“We have to go in,” he says. “Matthew said we could inoculate people against the memory serum, right? So we’ll go in, inoculate Uriah’s family just in case, and take them back to the compound to say good-bye to him. We have to do it tomorrow, though, or we’ll be too late.” He pauses. “And you can inoculate your family too, Christina. I should be the one who tells Zeke and Hana, anyway.”
Christina nods. I squeeze her arm, in an attempt at reassurance.
“I’m going too,” Peter says. “Unless you want me to tell David what you’re planning.”
We all pause to look at him. I don’t know what Peter wants with a journey into the city, but it can’t be good. At the same time, we can’t afford for David to find out what we’re doing, not now, when there’s no time.
“Fine,” Tobias says. “But if you cause any trouble, I reserve the right to knock you unconscious and lock you in an abandoned building somewhere.”
Peter rolls his eyes.
“How do we get there?” Christina says. “It’s not like they just let people borrow cars.”
“I bet we could get Amar to take you,” I say. “He told me today that he always volunteers for patrols. So he knows all the right people. And I’m sure he would agree to help Uriah and his family.”
“I should go ask him now. And someone should probably sit with Uriah . . . make sure that doctor doesn’t go back on his word. Christina, not Peter.” Tobias rubs the back of his neck, pawing at the Dauntless tattoo like he wants to tear it from his body. “And then I should figure out how to tell Uriah’s family that he got killed when I was supposed to be looking out for him.”
“Tobias—” I say, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
He starts to move away. “They probably won’t let me visit Nita anyway.”
Sometimes it’s hard to know how to take care of people. As I watch Peter and Tobias walk away—keeping their distance from each other—I think it’s possible that Tobias needs someone to run after him, because people have been letting him walk away, letting him withdraw, his entire life. But he’s right: He needs to do this for Zeke, and I need to talk to Nita.
“Come on,” Christina says. “Visiting hours are almost over. I’m going back to sit with Uriah.”
Before I go to Nita’s room—identifiable by the security guard sitting by the door—I stop by Uriah’s room with Christina. She sits in the chair next to him, which is creased with the contours of her legs.
It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to her like a friend, a long time since we laughed together. I was lost in the fog of the Bureau, in the promise of belonging.
I stand next to her and look at him. He doesn’t really look injured anymore—there are some bruises, some cuts, but nothing serious enough to kill him. I tilt my head to see the snake tattoo wrapped around his ear. I know it’s him, but he doesn’t look much like Uriah without a wide smile on his face and his dark eyes bright, alert.
“He and I weren’t really even that close,” she says. “Just at the . . . the very end. Because he had lost someone who died, and so had I . . .”
“I know,” I say. “You really helped him.”
I drag a chair over to sit next to her. She clutches Uriah’s hand, which stays limp on the sheets.
“Sometimes I just feel like I’ve lost all my friends,” she says.
“You haven’t lost Cara,” I say. “Or Tobias. And Christina, you haven’t lost me. You’ll never lose me.”
She turns to me, and somewhere in the haze of grief we wrap our arms around each other, in the same desperate way we did when she told me she had forgiven me for killing Will. Our friendship has held up under an incredible weight, the weight of me shooting someone she loved, the weight of so many losses. Other bonds would have broken. For some reason, this one hasn’t.
We stay clutched together for a long time, until the desperation fades.
“Thanks,” she says. “You won’t lose me, either.”
“I’m pretty sure if I was going to, I would have already.” I smile. “Listen, I have some things to catch you up on.”
I tell her about our plan to stop the Bureau from resetting the experiments. As I speak, I think of the people she stands to lose—her father and mother, her sister—all those connections, forever altered or discarded, in the name of genetic purity.
“I’m sorry,” I say when I finish. “I know you probably want to help us, but . . .”
“Don’t be sorry.” She stares at Uriah. “I’m still glad I’m going into the city.” She nods a few times. “You’ll stop them from resetting the experiment. I know you will.”
I hope she’s right.
I only have ten minutes until visiting hours are over when I arrive at Nita’s room. The guard looks up from his book and raises his eyebrow at me.
“Can I go in?” I say.
“Not really supposed to let people in there,” he says.
“I’m the one who shot her,” I say. “Does that count for anything?”
“Well.” He shrugs. “As long as you promise not to shoot her again. And get out within ten minutes.”
“It’s a deal.”
He has me take off my jacket to show that I’m not carrying any weapons, and then he lets me into the room. Nita jerks to attention—as much as she can, anyway. Half her body is encased in plaster, and one of her hands is cuffed to the bed, as if she could escape even if she wanted to. Her hair is messy, knotted, but of course, she’s still pretty.
“What are you doing here?” she says.
I don’t answer—I check the corners of the room for cameras, and there’s one across from me, pointed at Nita’s hospital bed.
“There aren’t microphones,” she says. “They don’t really do that here.”