The gunshot. Blood, dripping down his palm. The smell of smoke and ash and death in the air.

He cannot breathe.

Though his fist clenches, he cannot stem the bloodflow. It hurts more than he thinks it should, and he pressed his hand to his rising chest, trying to gasp in the fouled air when every breath chokes him.

The tepid warmth seeps into his shirt.

She runs to him, perhaps to help him, and he stumbles down to her, weak. He does not understand how she can smile. And she does not look so beautiful as he remembered. "We should get back to the Dauntless." Every word hammers his heart like the sound of the gun.

"Your fiance will be wanting to know you're safe."

As she turns to walk swiftly back, he notices suddenly how her hips do not sway.


Dripping down his palm.

Jack's hand is bloodied too.

And his pistol still smokes.

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