I Reach Out And Take His Hand.

Okay. Then...i Can Talk. Ask Me Something." "okay." He Laughs Shakily In My Ear. "why Is Your Heart Racing Tris?" I Cringe And Say, "well, I...i Barely Know You. I Barely Know You And I'm Crammed Up Against You In A Box, Four, What Do You Think?"... "maybe You Were Cut Out For Candor," He Says, "because You're A Terrible Liar.

I Hear My Heartbeat. I Have Been Looking At Him Too Long, But Then, He Has Been Looking Back, And I Feel Like We Are Both Trying To Say Something The Other Can't Hear, Though I Could Be Imagining It. Too Long - And Now Even Longer, My Heart Even Louder, His Tranquil Eyes Swallowing Me Whole.

Four Flips The Gun In This Hand, Presses The Barrel To Peter's Forehead, And Clicks A Bullet Into Place. Peter Freezes With His Lips Parted, The Yawn Dead In His Mouth. "wake. Up," Four Snaps. "you Are Holding A Loaded Gun, You Idiot. Act Like It.

Your Daughter Is Doing Well Here. I've Been Overseeing Her Training." Since When Does "overseeing" Include Throwing Knives At Me And Scolding Me At Every Opportunity?

A Sob Racks My Body Again, And He Wraps His Arms Around Me So Tightly I Find It Difficult To Breathe, But It Doesn't Matter. My Dignified Weeping Gives Way To Full-on Ugliness, My Mouth Open And My Face Contorted And Sounds Like A Dying Animal Coming From My Throat. If This Continues I Will Break Apart, And Maybe That Would Be Better, Maybe It Would Be Better To Shatter And Bear Nothing.