𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒.
chapter three; The Reflection Looking Back
" Fear makes you weak. "

  THERE WERE TWENTY initiates. This hadn't seemed bad before. Marlowe was excited to know nineteen other people were going to be going through the exact same things she was. Until Eric showed the faction transfers to the room full of bunk beds they'd be calling home, and informed them that only 10 teens would be accepted into the faction.

  A girl from Erudite was vocally angry, but shut up once Eric snapped.

  And, despite knowing training began the next day and the schedule Eric had shared felt like all day every day, Marlowe couldn't get to sleep. Half of her fellow initiates would wind up dead or factionless. Lives ended before ever truly began.

  She could be one of them.

  She could be, but she wouldn't be. 

  "We take training in three levels."

  Four was intimidating. Granted, Marlowe had discovered quickly that most Dauntless in any state of power were intimidating in one way or another. But Four was a different kind.

  He was familiar. Like the man in her Aptitude Test— Marlowe thought she knew him. But she didn't. His name wasn't actually Four, that much was clear, but no replacements came to mind. Still, as he pressed a heavy gun into her palm, Marlowe couldn't help but pick apart his features.

  And Four took note of this. She wasn't looking at him like the Candor girl was, with a bit of romantic hunger. She was trying to figure him out, dig beneath the fresh layer of Dauntless. And that was worse than any lusting after him could possibly be.

  "The first is physical," Four continued, "Second is emotional, and third is mental. Your rank will be affected differently by each stage, as they are not rated the same."

  "So, basically, if we screw up this round, we can fix our rank in the next one?"

  "What's your name?"

  "Erin," The Candor girl responded.

  "Well, Erin, unwanted comments might've gotten you far in Candor, but it's not going to help you here. I suggest you all don't rely on Erin's plan—  picking up your rank will only get harder."

  Marlowe paid close attention as Four demanded their attention and shot a bullet hole in the dead-enter of a red target. Initiates quickly began repeating his actions, attempting to recreate the perfect shot.

  But Marlowe wasn't.

  She let her eyes linger on Persephone, who seemed so scared of the weapon in her hands. Peace to violence. It had to be a shock for anyone. And Marlowe hadn't valued peace in her whole life, but how easy it was to turn everything into an act of selfishness. 

  Marlowe hadn't had time to think about her family until then. Less worried about her parents, whom she knew were disappointed, but more concerned with her siblings. What would they think if they saw their big sister— the one who used to walk them home from school and sing as they completed chores— shooting a gun?

  "Are you going to just stand there or are you going to shoot the target?"

  The brunette's eyebrows raised at the quiet, yet shockingly sharp voice that lingered over her shoulder. Four wanted to intimidate her, shake her off her trail of curiosity, and the only way to do that was intimately.

  "Come on," He urged roughly, "Or you'll end up Factionless."

  Marlowe closed her eyes briefly, refusing to turn and face the boy. She lifted the gun so both of her hands were wrapped around it securely, her shaky breath not helping aim as she moved her feet shoulder-width apart. She knew there was no way she'd hit it dead on with her first bullet, so all Marlowe wanted to do was hit the target.

  She breathed deeply in and gently squeezed the trigger as she let the same breath out.

  A bullet hole protruded angrily on the third ring of the target.

  "Fear makes you weak."

  Marlowe was still swimming in her thoughts as the group departed for their lunch break. The cafeteria was bustling, Marlowe could see that before she even entered, but when she spotted Four leaning against a stone wall just beyond the archway to the meal, she mumbled some half-assed excuse to Persephone and jumped on the opportunity.

  "What's your name?"

  "Four," He responded irritably, eyeing her up and down.

  "No, what's your real name?"

  "Four is my real name."

  "Right," Marlowe noted, furrowing her brows slightly, "You look really familiar, I just want to know where I know you from, and I'm sure once I know your name—"

  "Some of us pick new names, Lowe," Four sharpened her name, using it as a weapon against her, "And then those become our real names— because it's faction before blood."

  "You know my name, don't you?"

  "Marlowe Prior."

  "You were in Abnegation—"

  "Or I was at the choosing ceremony," He threatened, suddenly standing at full attention, "You need to focus on earning your spot here, and not rubbing your nose where it doesn't belong."

  Marlowe stumbled as the boy shoulder-checked her, entering the Cafeteria in a valiant attempt to escape her. She stared after him—she did know him. Because he'd been in her Faction.

  There was no way Four had been in attendance at the choosing ceremony; no way he could've made it back to the Dauntless compound before she and the rest of the initiates prepared to watch each one leap into the unknown.

  No, Four knew her name, because they had been Abnegation together.

  She couldn't remember who'd transferred— Marlowe hated watching the ceremony until the year it was her turn to choose, but now she was wishing she'd paid closer attention to the names and where they'd gone.

  "Thought I was the only one who could get Four mad like that."

  Marlowe turned to find Eric, of all people. He was different from Four, in every way. Four was tan and built, towering over her with a glare at all times. Eric, on the other hand, was paler, with dark hair with numerous piercings and tattoos— and he wore a crooked smile.

  "Guess I'm good at something," She noted, attempting to bury her confusion.

  "You're the only Abnegation I know to hit the target at all on their first try."

  "How'd you know that?"

  "You can't hide anything from me," He shrugged, his smile feeling more sinister to Marlowe. "Hungry?"

  "I don't really have an appetite right now."

  "Good."

  Eric nodded his head to the side, before turning on his heel and walking quickly. Marlowe cast a last look to the Cafeteria, before following the boy without a second doubt.

  "So," She breathed out, catching up to him, "How old are you, anyway?"

  "17," He answered easily, unlike Four who held onto information about himself.

  "Oh, wow," Marlowe mumbled, "So, you were an initiate last year?"

  "Yeah. Your ranks determine what you do— first place gets first pick."

  "And let me guess; you got first rank and shot right to the top spot," She assumed with a crooked grin of her own, making Eric smile at her as he held a door open and ushered her in.

  It looked almost like an apartment. Industrial furniture littered the copious amounts of space, pipes on the wall only adding to the aura of it.

  "Is this where you live?"

  Eric nodded, "But that's not what I wanted you to see."

  Marlowe let the boy lead her into a room, closing her eyes as he asked and allowing his hands on her shoulders to guide her. And when he told her to open her eyes, she obeyed.

  It was her. No wonky, dirty mirror, half the size of her face. No mother incessantly chatting in her ear. It was Marlowe in all her glory.

  And she wasn't just pretty— she was gorgeous. 

  Her ebony hair cascaded dangerously down, pooling right at her protruding collarbones. Her skin was porcelain, flawless and perfect. Thick brows brought her attention to sprawling lashes, which housed clear blue eyes. Blue eyes. Like two orbs capturing the color of a cloudless sky— they were piercing and perfect. Her lips were smooth and pink, a natural pout she'd never noticed.

  Marlowe Prior didn't just like how she looked. She was obsessed with herself. It took one glance to realize this.

  The black Dauntless clothing accentuated her figure— she'd always been frail and small, but now she could see the outline of her waist and hips, her bust and thighs. Marlowe could see it all.

  And she could see Eric, too.

  He was admiring her just as she was admiring herself— and it was the first time anyone had looked at her like that. With a dark lust in their eyes, not a grateful soft expression, or a sorrow-filled one.

  Marlowe half-expected him to take her right then and there. For his emotions to explode into wandering hands and kisses she'd only dreamt of— but Eric rested a hand on the dip in her waist just above her hip and met her eyes in the mirror.

  Though Marlowe hadn't seen it because she was never quite good at picking apart emotions, behind this lust, hid a bigger monster. One she shouldn't tangle with. One that wanted her in all the wrong ways.

  But she was vulnerable— from leaving her family to realizing she may very well become factionless, Marlowe Prior was left exposed, and Eric wasn't going to waste this chance.

  And by the look twinkling in her opal-colored eyes, Eric could tell this was a good start.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
oH. oh NO. ERIC is
one of Marlowe's
romantic interests??
OR IS HE???
yeah, anyways, how
do we feel about all
the dynamics (and OC's
other than Lowe) so far?