Omniscient's POV

Death looms like a vulture wherever she goes, it is the plague, an abomination to many, but for people like Grace, it can even be a blessing.
An escape, the just and eternal rest. And for Grace, to feel death creeping up her neck again is to relive the old times. Like the reunion with an old friend from the past, who reminds her of what she once was, and what she never should have been.

She didn't want to die, but she wasn't afraid.
Though she would have liked to have a proper farewell from her loved ones, to finish her business, and kiss Eric one last time, she knew she wouldn't be able to. She grew accustomed to the darkness, welcomed loneliness like an old friend, and rested her head on its shoulder as she waited for the man who would take on the role of her executioner.

After almost four hours in the dark, she decided to see the glass as half empty, she thought it was the best option considering the situation she was in. Despite the fact that there was a blonde with anger issues who could rescue her, she chose not to get her hopes up. At the end of the day, her executioner might finish her off, and the disappointment would be irreparable. It's even possible that her villain in shining armor had no idea that his Grace was in the black hole where Max had thrown her. Grace couldn't help it, her thoughts wandered involuntarily, letting her mind jump from one topic to another without anything concrete, distracting herself from the darkness.

She had stopped crying half an hour ago, her eyes were dry, and there was an infinite emptiness in her chest. She went through a grief unlike anyone else's, felt scared, grew tired of trying to free herself, her arms were red from the strength she used to untie herself, but nothing was worth it.

She tried to calm herself, assuring herself that Eric would come to her rescue. He would arrive with a mocking comment, scolding her for being a liar and a fool. He would laugh at her, and they would kiss. But she herself drowned those hopes—what if he doesn't find her? What if by the time he arrives, she's already gone? 

She started crying again, had a panic attack, and her throat hurt from screaming at the top of her lungs about how much of a coward Max was. 
But she grew tired, she couldn't go on any longer. Her energy was drained, and she decided to wait patiently for whatever fate had in store for her, no matter what it was. She didn't care anymore. 
The door opened, along with the ceiling light that turned on, and Grace squinted at Max's presence. 

"I see you've been crying," Max murmured, closing the door behind him.

He wanted to appear professional, to be a master in the art of torture, but he couldn't help feeling utterly exhilarated in Grace's presence. Finally, he had her in his grasp—tied up, vulnerable, her cheeks red and wet, her eyes swollen, and the fear unmistakable in her gaze.
It was ecstasy to be the hand of God, to have the power to end her, to take the light from her eyes and make her beg for her life. He couldn't stop it—his erection was undeniable, and he was genuinely concerned by it. How deep was his desire to kill her that it made him feel this way?

"Just kill me already," Grace whispered, her eyes fixed on her legs, her voice barely audible.
"I can't, Grace. I have to enjoy it." He grasped her chin and lifted her head, staring into her green eyes. He caressed her skin, wondering how to make her beg for her life, though he only hoped he wouldn't finish too soon, before the light faded from her eyes.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment," he declared.

Grace began to feel nauseous. She furrowed her brow, pulling her head away to avoid his touch. She exposed her neck in the process, and Max seized the opportunity to let his eyes travel over her body, ending at the poorly arranged neckline of her white blouse, smeared with mud. It left nothing to the imagination.
Grace noticed this. Her heart raced with nerves, terrified by his behavior and desperate about her clothing. She couldn't fix it; she was tied up.

"After all this," Grace growled.
"I've endured the worst tortures in your stupid faction. What makes you think you'll make me beg to live?"

"I have a table full of toys, Grace. I can do whatever I want to you. Humans always beg when they're about to die," Max stated matter-of-factly, stepping back to walk toward that table. He picked up a 20-centimeter knife, thin and wickedly sharp.

"Yes, a table full of toys, but I doubt you know how to use any of them. If I remember correctly, you always ask Eric to do the dirty work for you, and not because you need to protect your image—it's because you're an idiot who doesn't know how to..."

Grace tried to toy with Max's patience, but instead, she wounded his pride. He interrupted her by driving the knife into her right hand.
Grace closed her eyes, clenched her lips, and refused to scream, even though Max twisted the blade while it remained buried in her flesh.
The first two tears of her torture escaped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. But for Max, it wasn't enough. Still, seeing those tears brought a smile to his face.

"I remember the first time I tried to kill you," Max said, straightening up. "You were a newborn. I needed you dead so Freya would be vulnerable, open to me. But when the midwife refused, I had to take other measures. It only took seconds to decide, and I think everything turned out quite well." He sighed. "Of course, everything was ruined the moment you arrived."

"Don't lie, I was your favorite."

Max looked up and smiled at her, confirming what she had said. He set the gun down on the table and picked up some pliers, returning to Grace.

"Of course you were. I gave you another chance, but you threatened me and lost it. When I threatened that guy to kill you, Freya gave her life for you, and once again, you got away. Not only did you weaken Eric, but he also betrayed me because of you." He brought the pliers to the brunette's skin, near her elbow, and pinched it softly, giving her a slow, dull pain. "I can only hope that Eric still has a chance to be saved." And finally, he cut Grace's skin with the pliers.

"Killing me won't give you the success you seek, because even with my death, Eric will send you to hell."

Max squinted, noticing that the cut hadn't been painful enough to make her shed another tear.

He had to think of something quickly. Stabbing her would only make her bleed out, and her death would be almost instant. Max didn't want that. He wanted to savor her pain, relish in her pleas, and cherish every expression on her face as she cried for him to stop or end her life.

He let the pliers fall to the ground. His hand formed a tight fist, and he slammed it into Grace's face with brutal force. But it wasn't enough. He hit her again, over and over. His knuckles burned, but he couldn't stop. He was venting his anger, quenching his thirst with the blood spilling from Grace's lips.

Until he finally stopped.

The brunette let her head hang, blood mixed with saliva dripping onto her pants. Max didn't wait any longer and yanked her by the hair to see her face, but he wasn't expecting to be met with that smile.

"Jina could have hit harder than you on her last day alive," Grace insulted with satisfaction, wounding his ego and ignoring the numbness in her face.

This wasn't enough, and Max was losing. He didn't know how to draw out the weakness and cowardice he was sure Grace kept buried deep inside.

His gaze dropped to her neckline, and he smiled, narrowing his eyes as he wondered if touching her might destabilize her.

"When I'm done with you, I'll go after Norman. I'll show him your corpse and stuff it with your guts. Maybe then I'll finally rid myself of his cursed name once and for all," Max promised as he caressed her chin. He lowered his hand slightly and cornered her neck, pushing her back as far as her spine would allow.

Then, without warning, he slid down the strap of Grace's blouse.

The brunette began to grow scared again. All she could see were Max's eyes, smiling, fascinated by her fear as he dominated her with his will, his free hand shamelessly touching her breasts.

"No!" Grace yells trying to move with despair. "Get away! Don't touch me!"

And he finally got it, to hear her whine like a little girl.

"Don't you like it?" Max frowned, pretending to be confused, and he pinned her nipple with his fingers by shaking it sharply. "It's strange, your mother was fascinated by this. Or do you prefer that I bite them?"

"You disgust me." Grace snarls to the brink of panic. "I'll kill you! I swear I will kill you."

She knew there was no way to fight, he had a hand on her neck that choked her, and her hands and feet were tied. But she didn't stop trying to break free, she would fight until the last second to keep Max from touching her.

She felt dirty, the nausea was inevitable, and the trembling was the result of uncontrollable fear. Max had succeeded, he made her cry, scream, and shake. He had to abuse her to bend her to his will.

He left her nipples alone, and his hand moved to her thigh, so close to her inner leg.

"At this point your mother was wet, let's see if you too." murmured Max extasiously.

"No, please don't. Don't touch me, stop." whispered Grace with pleading.

"Do you want me to stop?" Max asked, just inches away from his hand touching Grace's inner thigh, and she nodded. "I'll stop when I finish inside you, when my semen and your blood mix," he said.

She was about to vomit; Max's fingers began touching her over her clothes, and at that moment, she didn't know if she should keep moving—it would only encourage him to keep touching her.

There was no escape, and Grace was giving up, growing tired little by little. She would have preferred the kind of torture Eric usually used. Grace would have preferred to end up like Oliver.

But there was still hope, and Grace's pleas, along with her sobbing, made it impossible for either of them to hear the door opening.

An image he would never erase from his mind, one that would forever remind him of how foolish he had been and how he had allowed things to go this far. Seeing his girl being sexually abused by a man he had once admired was a low blow, beyond anything he could have imagined.

Eric grabbed the only two knives from his belt and strode toward them with long steps. He plunged the blades into Max's back, moving him at will and pulling him away from Grace. The king had found his queen, and the executioner would pay for what he had done to her.

He yanked the knives out of Max's back, twisted his torso, and attacked with his fists, hitting him relentlessly, one punch after another, without mercy.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch her?" Eric spoke, and with every word, his fist collided with Max's face.

Eric stood up from the ground, retrieved his knives, and with a scowl, kicked Max several more times. He gathered spit in his mouth and spat on him. Eric wasn't thinking clearly; his mind was flooded with countless tortures he could inflict on Max. But when he turned and saw Grace trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks, her sobs filling the room, he realized that, despite how much he would enjoy it, he wasn't the right person to kill him.

With a swift motion, he cut the ropes binding her, tossing the other knife aside. He freed her quickly, while in the distance, Max crawled across the floor, leaving a trail of blood from his back, his face a disturbing mask of pain and dripping red.

"Get up," Eric murmured, grabbing her under the arms and lifting her in one motion. "Hey, hey, Grace, look at me."

Grace raised her gaze, and at last, it felt like a dream come true. Those beautiful blue eyes looked at her with concern, his hands gently touching her cheeks, making sure she was physically okay.

Grace couldn't speak, she waited for Eric to dry her tears. She felt a knot in her throat, filled with helplessness, hatred, and sadness. She felt dirty and wanted to keep crying, but she knew it wasn't the time yet. 

"Here." Eric handed her the knife with a murmur, understanding her situation.

Grace took the knife and looked at him, waiting for his full approval. After all, Eric and Max had their history. But the blonde couldn't deny her anything, there was no past worth preserving with Max after everything he had done to her.

She gripped the weapon tightly and walked toward Max, her jaw clenched and her limbs still trembling. She could still feel the hands of the dark-haired man touching her.

She turned him over completely, and Max let out a gasp of pain, he was weak. An uncontrollable urge to kill him grew within Grace as she positioned herself over him and released a moan of pain from deep in her throat while driving the knife into his stomach, near his ribs.

She started to cry, pulled the knife out again, and buried it in another spot, near his lung. Soon after, a trickle of blood flowed from Max's mouth.

It was her way of attacking her abuser, the man who killed her mother, who ruined her parents' relationship, who drove her father from Dauntless, the one who had tried to kill her many times. Just a man with a soul so rotten and despicable.

But nothing took away her pain or nausea. With every stab she delivered with the knife, with the blood on her hands and face, or with Max's whispered plea of "mercy," she found no peace. Nothing could ease her suffering, not even Max's last breath was enough to restore her dignity.

She stopped stabbing him when she saw the vacant look in his eyes, stifling her sobs with all her strength as she got up from the corpse.

I hope you rot in hell, Grace thought. 

She stepped back and turned to face Eric, who was merely watching the scene with a furrowed brow.

Eric didn't know what to do, he saw her so vulnerable. He never knew how to react to the rapes, nor when he learned about the guards who abused the prisoners that the blond man later had to torture and kill.
He hated it, despised his male community for being so poorly educated.

How messed up in the head do you have to be to force a woman to have sex?
That's what Eric always thought. He had women begging him for just one night. He never understood someone rejecting him, but he was completely sure that if that were to happen, he would never touch a woman against her will.

"Sorry," Grace whispered, catching Eric's attention. "He... he was... he was important to you," the brunette explained.

The blond man approached her, gently holding her face. "Not more than you, and if you hadn't done it, I would have. I should've done it a long time ago." He brought his face closer to hers and gave her a quick kiss on her lips. Despite being dry, and the signs of lack of food and water evident, to him, this woman was perfect.

"I'm sorry for not killing him sooner," Eric apologized.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Grace whispered, frowning and looking around as everything started spinning.

"Are you okay?" Eric asked with concern.

"I feel... bad," Grace murmured, and within seconds, she collapsed onto the floor. 

Eric caught her in time, holding her firmly in his arms with a certain possessive feeling. She was his, and now he finally had her in his control; he wouldn't let her go again. 

He walked out of the room, his gaze fixed on the brunette's face, lost in her beauty. 

"Find Steve, tell him to clean the room," Eric murmured, without taking his eyes off her. 

The only reason Eric was able to find Grace... 

She nodded as she watched the scene, a happy ending for them. And even though it hurt her to see him happy with another woman, she knew she had to understand—she would never have made him feel the way Grace did.

                            ——————-

Max had died, and as a result, Eric became the new leader of the warrior faction. 
He informed the right people about Max's mysterious and untimely death. Though no one believed him, that's how it worked in Dauntless; they would respect Eric, grant him the superior leader position, and assign him Max's office. 

But that wasn't all. 

Eric took the liberty of cleaning up an unconscious Grace, wiping away every trace of blood. With complete shamelessness, he carried her to his room, not caring that everyone saw. He laid her on his bed and left a plate of food on the table. Grace was finally in his control, and now he had everything. He wouldn't let anyone harm her; she was his, and nothing would get into Dauntless to even touch her. 

The first thing he did was erase her photo from Chicago's most-wanted list. She was no longer a threat, and he would make sure neither Jeanine nor any other Erudite ever set foot near her. He was the superior now, and he decided. Max's former followers bowed to Eric, showing him the respect due to a leader. 

Making Dauntless understand that Grace was untouchable wouldn't be too hard, but getting her to trust him? That would be the real challenge. 

What Eric couldn't comprehend—and had no way of knowing—was the growing distrust he was causing among the Dauntless who had sought refuge in Candor. The only photos that remained up were of Four and Tris. 

*Did Grace really betray us?* Raphael thought, as he was the first to notice that Grace's photo had disappeared from nearly every part of the city. 

But Uriah was different. Despite the pain it caused him, he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. He hoped she would explain herself. 

Meanwhile, Grace was just waking up, unaware of everything Eric had done in her absence. Her throat was dry, her need for water increasing, and it brought on a slight headache.

It took her a while to digest where she was, and once she realized it, she got out of bed with a frown. The clothes she had worn were replaced by Eric's, and the sheets covering her legs only made her feel worse. Nausea hit her immediately, and she walked toward the closet that had once been hers. And there it was—her clothes, all intact, carrying the scent Eric gave off naturally. She wanted to smile, but she couldn't, not when her mind conjured images of all the women who had likely passed through this bed, probably under the same sheets that had just covered her. 

She grabbed a set of black clothes and rushed to the bathroom, but not before stopping at the toilet to vomit bile out of pure anger. 

She showered, sitting on the floor while she scrubbed her body continuously with a sponge. She was detached from reality, processing Max's death and the sexual abuse she had suffered at his hands. It was history now, or at least, Grace tried to leave it in the past. She wanted to come out of the shower feeling clean, even though when she woke, there was no blood on her body. 

She left the bedroom with her hair still wet, wearing the clothes she used to wear when she was Dauntless. She noticed the night sky lingering over the city and couldn't help but wonder how long she had slept. 

But none of that mattered when she saw a plate of food on the table. Starving, she devoured it without a second thought. Once finished, she cleaned her plate and, now satisfied, took in the reality of the room. The fridge was packed with alcohol, and the kitchen island was littered with empty beer cans. The room felt cold, gloomy, and sad—nothing like how she used to keep her space. She frowned, concluding that this room no longer belonged to her. 

She should leave. Find Four and Tris, or go back to Amity to look for Hall. She needed to make sure Norman was still alive. 

Or maybe the smartest move would be to stay and figure out the next plan. She could find a way to kill Jeanine, the last name on her list. 

She sank into the couch, unable to understand Eric. Grace was convinced that he was responsible for her being here. 

Could this be a trap?
Impossible. He wouldn't do that.

But it was incredibly stupid of him to keep her in the faction that wanted her dead.

A presence made her forget everything, slipping through the small door, and the brunette's eyes welled up with tears.

"Horus," she whispered, her voice timid.

The cat responded to his name but didn't have the confidence to approach her. Horus had lived with Eric, making him a witness to every woman who had come through the room. To the cat, Grace was just another visitor.

Grace sank to the floor, trying to get his attention, hoping he'd drink some water. Slowly, he approached her, confused by someone other than Eric speaking to him. Her heart broke as the cat regarded her as a stranger.

But all it took was for him to get close enough to sniff her hand. He rubbed his face against her fingers, allowing her to pet him. He sniffed her again, and that's when he remembered. Horus made sure to show how upset he was with a long, loud meow that lasted more than five seconds while brushing his body against her legs, marking his territory.

Grace didn't care; she picked him up and hugged him tightly, though gently, as she let out her traitorous tears.

"Forgive me, please forgive me," she whispered.

It hurt to know she had betrayed Eric before the attack on Erudite, but it shattered her soul even more that she had abandoned Horus for nearly seven months.

She set the cat back on the floor, knowing he was usually unsociable, even with those he knew. He went to eat, and Grace sat on the couch, watching him. His bowl was full, his water clean, and his belly showed signs of overeating.

The door opened, and Eric walked in. Seeing her awake, he smiled, approached her, and sat by her side.

"How do you feel?" Eric murmured.

"Better. I hadn't eaten all day; it helped," the brunette admitted. "Thank you for taking care of him," she said, referring to Horus.

The blond man smiled, glancing at the cat. "We missed you," he admitted.

"Why am I here, Eric?" Grace asked.

"You're safe, that's all that matters."

"They'll want to kill me the moment I step outside. I'm a pariah, remember?"

Eric wrapped his arm around Grace's shoulders, pulling her into his chest. She rested against him, and in that moment, he couldn't be happier. The Dauntless leader finally had her in his faction, where she belonged. Where she was meant to be. He breathed in her scent, kissed the top of her head, and pulled her as close as possible, gently stroking her arm.

"Not anymore," he revealed. "I'm the new leader of the faction, remember? Now, I decide."

"What are you talking about?" Grace asked, sitting up.

Eric grabbed his tablet, turned it on, and accessed the security system, showing her how only Four and Tris's photos remained.

"I can't do much with the Erudite system, but at least Dauntless won't harm you anymore," Eric explained.

Eric still didn't understand. He couldn't comprehend what Grace was feeling, and he didn't bother asking her what her next move was. He wanted her by his side and was going step by step. Dauntless was safe for her now. The only obstacle left was Chicago.

"Jeanine will find out. She'll come for me," Grace said quietly.

"She already has. She hasn't stopped calling me," Eric said, dismissing it. "But I don't care. I dare her to try and come here." He showed no concern for what Jeanine was capable of. He was the new leader now, and he didn't want to work for the head of Erudite; rather, he wanted to work alongside her.

"I'm going to kill Jeanine," Grace whispered firmly. "That's my plan. What's yours?"

Eric sighed, rolling his eyes. He put the tablet away and placed it out of reach, searching for the right words.

"My plan is to open the box, keep you safe in the city, and strike a deal with Jeanine," he murmured.

"I'll never be safe while Jeanine is alive," Grace replied bitterly.

"You should sleep. Let's go to bed," Eric suggested, changing the subject.

In that moment, Grace could see the frustration in Eric's eyes. He was the one without a plan, nothing solid, and to be honest, ever since Grace had been kidnapped by Max, he'd been acting on impulse, reacting to each situation as it came.

"I'm not sleeping in that bed," she declared firmly.

Eric sighed, clearly irritated and tired of Grace's demands and her different way of thinking.

"Why not?"

"Because of all the sluts you brought in here," she shot back.

"The sheets are clean, and since I found you again, no other woman has stepped through that door."

"I'll sleep on the couch," Grace stated, unbudging.

"I'll change the sheets, alright?" Eric tried to be reasonable.

"The whole mattress and the frame," Grace grumbled.

"Are you serious, Grace?"

"Completely serious."

Only Grace could make Eric wake up three of his guards at three in the morning to change the mattress, the frame, and bring in new sheets. And only Eric could be angry with the woman he loved while holding her tightly through the night, afraid she would disappear.

But that's love, and Grace accepted his embrace as she drifted into a deep sleep, feeling like she was on cloud nine.