I regret...' Tobias tilts his head, and sighs. 'I regret my choice.'What Choice?', and... I felt like maybe I could make something more of my decision.'.

But then he stops at the door frame and says, It's 9:24. Telling me the time is a small act of betrayal-and therefore an ordinary act of bravery. It is maybe the first time I've seen Peter be truly Dauntless.

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.

Yeah, well,' I say, 'I left Abnegation because I wasn't selfless enough, no matter how hard I tried to be.'That's not entirely true.' He smiles at me. 'That girl who let someone throw knives at her to spare a friend, who hit my dad with a belt to protect me-that selfless girl, that's not you?'...'You've been paying close attention, haven't you?'I like to observe people/'Maybe you were cut out for Candor, Four, because you're a terrible liar.

Intentions are the only thing they care about. They try to make you think they care about what you do, but they don't. They don't want you to act a certain way, they want you to think a certain way. So you're easy to understand. So you wont pose a threat to them.

I regret...' Tobias tilts his head, and sighs. 'I regret my choice.'What Ch.

What did you do?” I mumble. He is just a few feet away from me now, but not close enough to hear me. As he passes me he stretches out his hand. He wraps it around my palm and squeezes. Squeezes, then lets go. His eyes are bloodshot; he is pale. “What did you do?” This time the question tears from my throat like a growl. I throw myself toward him, struggling against Peter’s grip, though his hands chafe. “What did you do?” I scream. “You die, I die too” Tobias looks over his shoulder at me. “I asked you not to do this. You made your decision. These are the repercussions.

I feel something hot and violent writhing in my stomach. I want to hurt them. I stare at my eyes in the mirror. I want so, so I will.

What is wrong with you?' I shake my head. 'Pull it together.' And that's what it feels like: pulling the different parts of me up and in like a shoelace. I feel suffocated, but at least I feel strong.

Dead people can be our heroes because they cant disappoint us later; they only improve over time, as we forget more and more about them.