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EVERY morning, Tris and I have gotten up before the sun, our footsteps echoing in the quiet halls as we made our way to the training room. It's become our routine, knowing that without our training, we were more likely to become factionless. It wasn't that I didn't believe in myself, but I knew I wasn't as strong as the others, Tris and I's names were some of the lowest.
This morning was no different. As we spar, the dim light casts long shadows, highlighting the determination in Tris's eyes. We exchange blows and dodges, our movements synchronised after weeks of practice. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Four walking past, his gaze lingering on Tris as he does. I can't help but tease her.
"What's happening between you and Four?" I ask playfully, dodging a punch.
Tris rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Nothing," she insists, focusing on our training.
"Sure," I say, smirking. "If you say so."
Every morning as we got up I could always hear Peter snoring from across the room, which was typical of him. But as the mornings went by, it started to stop, which is a weird thing to notice but I did.
One night I had told Tris I wanted to try a different training session than our regular ones, knife-throwing. It's always been a weak spot for me, and today, I decide to do something about it. Tris offered to go with me but I refused, knowing she didnt need to practice as much as I did.
So, instead of heading to the regular training room, I snuck into the knife room, a place we're not supposed to be without supervision.
The room is dimly lit, the walls lined with various knives. I trace my fingers over the cool metal, feeling the weight of each blade before finally selecting one. I position myself at the throwing line, taking a deep breath before letting the knife fly. It misses the target entirely, clattering to the floor.
"Fuck" I say, frustrated. I pick up another knife and try again, once again positioning myself in front of the line and throw it, but I failed again. I wasn't usually one to become super angry easily, but every since transferring to dauntless I noticed my temper with each week had become increased. Probably from the constant insults and yelling from Eric. I hated that guy.
Lost in concentration as I twisted another knife around, I didn't even hear Peter approaching until his voice startled me.
"Nice throw," he says, a smirk evident in his tone. "Maybe you should try aiming for the target."
I yelp in surprise, spinning around to see him standing there, chuckling at my reaction.
"What the hell, Peter!" I snap, my heart racing. "You scared the crap out of me."
