DEDICATIONTo Jo,who guides and steadies me EPIGRAPHEvery question that can be answeredmust beanswered or at least engaged.Illogical thought processes must bechallenged when they arise.Wrong answers must be corrected.Correct answers must be affirmed.—From the Erudite faction manifesto CONTENTSDedicationEpigraphChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter Eleven Chapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixChapter Twenty-SevenChapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-OneChapter Thirty-TwoChapter Thirty-ThreeChapter Thirty-FourChapter Thirty-FiveChapter Thirty-SixChapter Thirty-SevenChapter Thirty-EightChapter Thirty-NineChapter FortyChapter Forty-OneChapter Forty-TwoChapter Forty-ThreeChapter Forty-FourChapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-SixChapter Forty-SevenChapter Forty-EightChapter Forty-NineChapter FiftyChapter Fifty-OneChapter Fifty-TwoChapter Fifty-ThreeChapter Fifty-FourChapter Fifty-FiveChapter Fifty-SixEpilogueAcknowledgmentsSpecial ThanksAbout the AuthorBack AdPraise Books by Veronica RothCreditsCopyrightAbout the Publisher CHAPTERONETRISI PACE IN our cell in Eruditeheadquarters, her words echoing in mymind: My name will be Edith Prior, andthere is much I am happy to forget.“So you’ve never seen her before?Not even in pictures?” Christina says,her wounded leg propped up on apillow. She was shot during ourdesperate attempt to reveal the Edith Prior video to our city. At the time wehad no idea what it would say, or that itwould shatter the foundation we standon, the factions, our identities. “Is she agrandmother or an aunt or something?”“I told you, no,” I say, turning when Ireach the wall. “Prior is—was—myfather’s name, so it would have to be onhis side of the family. But Edith is anAbnegation name, and my father’srelatives must have been Erudite, so. . .”“So she must be older,” Cara says,leaning her head against the wall. Fromthis angle she looks just like her brother,Will, my friend, the one I shot. Then shestraightens, and the ghost of him is gone.“A few generations back. An ancestor.” “Ancestor.” The word feels oldinside me, like crumbling brick. I touchone wall of the cell as I turn around. Thepanel is cold and white.My ancestor, and this is theinheritance she passed to me: freedomfrom the factions, and the knowledge thatmy Divergent identity is more importantthan I could have known. My existenceis a signal that we need to leave this cityand offer our help to whoever is outsideit.“I want to know,” Cara says, runningher hand over her face. “I need to knowhow long we’ve been here. Would youstop pacing for one minute?”I stop in the middle of the cell and raise my eyebrows at her.“Sorry,” she mumbles.“It’s okay,” Christina says. “We’vebeen in here way too long.”It’s been days since Evelyn masteredthe chaos in the lobby of Eruditeheadquarters with a few short commandsand had all the prisoners hustled away tocells on the third floor. A factionlesswoman came to doctor our wounds anddistribute painkillers, and we’ve eatenand showered several times, but no onehas told us what’s going on outside. Nomatter how forcefully I’ve asked them.“I thought Tobias would come bynow,” I say, dropping to the edge of mycot. “Where is he?”“Maybe he’s still angry that you lied to him and went behind his back to workwith his father,” Cara says.I glare at her.“Four wouldn’t be that petty,”Christina says, either to chastise Cara orto reassure me, I’m not sure.“Something’s probably going on that’skeeping him away. He told you to trusthim.”In the chaos, when everyone wasshouting and the factionless were tryingto push us toward the staircase, I curledmy fingers in the hem of his shirt so Iwouldn’t lose him. He took my wrists inhis hands and pushed me away, andthose were the words he said. Trust me.Go where they tell you. “I’m trying,” I say, and it’s true. I’mtrying to trust him. But every part of me,every fiber and every nerve, is strainingtoward freedom, not just from this cellbut from the prison of the city beyond it.I need to see what’s outside thefence. CHAPTERTWOTOBIASI CAN’T WALK these hallways withoutremembering the days I spent as aprisoner here, barefoot, pain pulsinginside me every time I moved. And withthat memory is another one, one ofwaiting for Beatrice Prior to go to herdeath, of my fists against the door, of herlegs slung across Peter’s arms when hetold me she was just drugged.