The Son: A Divergent Story

“I would improve Dauntless by fostering true bravery instead of stupidity and brutality,” I say. “Take out the knife throwing. Prepare people physically and mentally to defend the weak against the strong. That’s what our manifesto encourages — ordinary acts of bravery.

People choose a faction because they value the same things that faction values, not because they’re already proficient in what a faction teaches.

It’s easier now, in Dauntless black, than it ever was in Abnegation gray, and maybe that’s why I chose Dauntless as a haven. Not out of spite, not to hurt Marcus, but because I knew this life would teach me a stronger way to be.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” I say, flat. It’s a stupid thing to say. Such a stupid thing to say to your mother when she comes back from the dead, but it’s a stupid situation.

I feel too many things to manage, too powerfully to handle, and then suddenly I feel nothing at all.

I avoid looking in the mirror on my way out, and it makes me grit my teeth, knowing how deep these Stiff roots go, and how hard it will be to excise them from my mind, as tangled up in everything as they are.

I’ve faced my fears so many times in simulations, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to face them in reality.

The chance to make a difference in Dauntless appeals to the Abnegation parts of me, the parts that are lingering around, occasionally demanding attention.

I feel like my skin is too tight for me, suddenly.