Fractured Loyalities

The training room was enormous, its walls blackened steel and splattered with scuffs from years of use. Above them, industrial lights hummed faintly, illuminating the space with an eerie, flickering glow. The floor was marked with faded lines dividing sparring areas, and racks of weapons gleamed ominously against one wall. James stood near the back of the crowd, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves knotting in his stomach.

The room was packed with people. Some, like him, were new transfers, their faces a blend of awe and unease. Others were Dauntless-born, practically oozing confidence as they leaned against the walls or whispered among themselves. James couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between the groups. The Dauntless-born wore their leather jackets and combat boots like armor, their movements casual yet somehow deliberate. The transfers, on the other hand, fidgeted, their postures tense, betraying how out of place they felt.

James’ gaze drifted through the crowd until it landed on Sirius. His friend stood a few feet away, arms crossed, radiating the same effortless cool that had always drawn people to him. Sirius had already made an impression—he always did—but James knew better than anyone that his friend’s calm demeanor often masked deeper turmoil.

Then there was Peter, hovering awkwardly by Sirius’ side. The boy looked even smaller in the sea of Dauntless trainees, his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to disappear. James gave him a reassuring smile when their eyes met, but Peter quickly looked away, his face pale.

The two of them stood out, even to James, though for different reasons. Sirius was all charisma and sharp edges, Peter seemed to shrink under the weight of Dauntless’ expectations, and James... well, he wasn’t sure how he came across. He hoped he looked confident, but the truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged here.

James knew he should be focusing on the task ahead, but his thoughts kept drifting to the past. To the day he’d first met Sirius Black.

He’d been thirteen, full of restless energy and a growing frustration with Amity’s peaceful monotony. That frustration had driven him to sneak out of the compound one morning, venturing farther than he ever had before. It was by the riverbank that he’d found Sirius—a boy with striking gray eyes and an angry scowl, his Erudite tie discarded in the dirt beside him.

James had approached cautiously, unsure if the boy was dangerous or just upset.

“Hey,” James had called out, his voice cracking slightly. “You alright?”

Sirius had looked up, startled, before narrowing his eyes. “Do I look alright?”

James had hesitated but then shrugged, determined not to be put off by the other boy’s sharp tone. “Not really. Want to talk about it?”

Sirius had scoffed. “You’re from Amity, aren’t you? What do you know about talking?”

“Enough to know you’re not supposed to do it like a jerk,” James had shot back, surprising himself. He’d expected Sirius to get angry, but instead, the boy had blinked at him, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.

“You’re bold for an Amity kid,” Sirius had said, his tone softening slightly.

“And you’re sulky for an Erudite,” James had retorted, sitting down beside him.

For hours, they’d talked—or rather, James had talked, and Sirius had eventually joined in. Sirius had confessed he’d run away after another fight with his parents, though he refused to go into detail. By the time the sun began to set, Sirius had admitted he had to go back—for Regulus, his younger brother.

“I can’t leave him there alone,” Sirius had said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the river.

James had nodded, understanding even then that Sirius’ brash exterior hid a fierce loyalty.

“Come on,” James had said, standing and brushing the dirt off his trousers. “I’ll walk you back.”

That day had been the start of something unshakable. They’d started meeting regularly, first in secret and then openly, until their friendship became a lifeline for both of them. James had been there for Sirius through every fight with his family, every reckless escape, every moment of doubt.

And now, here they were, standing side by side in Dauntless, about to face challenges James could barely imagine.

A sharp whistle cut through the noise, pulling James from his thoughts. He turned toward the front of the room, where two figures stood side by side. Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Gideon wore an easy grin, his red hair catching the light as he surveyed the room. Fabian, by contrast, looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression stern, and his sharp blue eyes swept over the initiates with an air of disdain. James had met them both the day before, but it hadn’t been a pleasant introduction. While Gideon seemed pleasant enough, Fabian had been cold, almost dismissive. The memory of their curt exchange still irritated James.

“Alright, listen up!” Gideon’s voice boomed, silencing the room. He stepped forward, his grin widening as his gaze swept over the group. “Welcome to Dauntless initiation. You’ve all made your choices, but let me be clear—choosing Dauntless doesn’t make you one of us. You’ll have to earn it.”

Fabian stepped up beside him, his expression hard. “Initiation is divided into three stages,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Physical, mental, and emotional. Each stage will test your limits. Some of you will succeed. Most of you won’t.”

“And those who fail…” Gideon’s grin faded slightly. “Well, you don’t get to stay. Elimination is part of the process. If you can’t keep up, you’re out. No exceptions.”

James felt a ripple of unease move through the crowd. He glanced at Peter, who looked like he might be sick, and then at Sirius, whose expression remained impassive. 

As Fabian continued to explain the details—training schedules, ranking systems, the harsh reality of elimination—James found his attention drifting. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on a familiar flash of red hair. Lily Evans.

She stood near the edge of the group, her posture tense but composed. James had barely spoken to her since the Choosing Ceremony, and he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was here. He didn’t understand why someone like her—so poised, so… proper—would choose Dauntless.

Before he could think better of it, James edged closer to her, lowering his voice. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Lily turned her head sharply, her green eyes narrowing. “What do you want?” she whispered, her tone clipped.

“I’m just curious,” James said with a grin. “You don’t exactly scream ‘Dauntless material.’”

Lily’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t respond.

“Come on,” James pressed, leaning in slightly. “Was it some kind of rebellion thing? You don’t seem the type.”

Lily’s jaw tightened. “Do you always have to talk?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” James admitted, still grinning.

“Well, I have a new challange for you - try not to,” she hissed, her voice sharper this time.

“Ev—”

“You two!” Fabian’s voice cut through the air like a whip. The room fell silent as every head turned toward them.

James straightened, trying to look innocent, but Fabian’s glare was fixed on him.

“Do you think this is a game?” Fabian demanded, his voice cold and cutting. “If you’re not interested in paying attention, maybe you should leave now.”

Lily flushed a deep shade of red, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“Sorry,” James said, though his tone lacked any real sincerity.

Fabian’s eyes narrowed. “Distractions won’t be tolerated,” he said sharply. “Not here. Not ever. Understand?”

James nodded, though his jaw tightened in irritation.

As Fabian turned back to the group, Lily shot James a look of pure fury.

“See what you did,” she muttered under her breath. 

James shrugged, unfazed by her anger. He was more focused on the growing dislike he felt for Fabian Prewett. If the twins were going to make this miserable, James decided, he wasn’t about to make it easy for them either.

 “Now,” Fabian said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence, “pair up. Your first task is sparring. No weapons—just hand-to-hand. We want to see how you move, how you react under pressure.”

Gideon’s grin returned as he stepped forward. “Think of it as your first opportunity to prove you belong here. Or,” he added, with a pointed look at the transfers, “to prove you don’t.”

The Dauntless-born initiates scattered instantly, pairing off with the ease of familiarity. The transfers, on the other hand, hesitated, glancing around uncertainly. James took a step toward Sirius, who was already eyeing the group with a lazy confidence, but something stopped him. His eyes drifted back to Lily, standing stiffly at the edge of the room.

He didn’t know why he kept looking for her. Maybe it was because she was so unlike anyone else here—or maybe it was the fact that she seemed determined to avoid him at all costs. Either way, James found himself weaving through the crowd toward her before he could stop himself.

“Hey,” he said, his tone casual as he came to a stop beside her. “Want to pair up?”

Lily turned to him slowly, her expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Are you serious?”

James smirked. “No, that’s him,” he said, jerking a thumb toward Sirius, who was now leaning against the wall, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement.

Lily didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. Instead, she let out a sharp breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why would I pair up with you?”

“Because I’m charming?” James offered, grinning.

“More like insufferable,” Lily shot back.

James blinked, caught off guard by the venom in her tone. “Wow. Okay. Someone’s touchy.”

“Someone’s annoying,” Lily countered. “Why don’t you find someone else to bother?”

Before James could respond, Sirius appeared at his side, his gray eyes flashing. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said, his voice low but pointed. “If you’ve got a problem with him, fine. But you don’t have to be such a—”

“Sirius!” James interrupted, shooting him a warning look.

“What?” Sirius said, shrugging as he turned his gaze back to Lily. “She’s the one being rude. I’m just pointing it out.”

Lily’s green eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t need your input, thanks.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, I don’t need your attitude, but here we are.”

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. This was not how he’d imagined this going. “Okay, let’s all just—”

“Pair up!” Fabian’s voice boomed across the room, cutting off whatever James had been about to say.

Lily turned on her heel without another word, marching toward another group of transfers.

“Well, that went well,” Sirius said, smirking.

“Not helping,” James muttered, watching Lily disappear into the crowd.

Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder, his grin widening. “Don’t take it personally, mate. Some people are just born miserable.”

James shot him a look but didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he turned his attention back to the room, searching for someone else to pair up with.

“What are you looking around for?” Sirius’s voice came from directly beside James, dripping with exaggerated offense. “I’m literally right here. Best sparring partner you’ll ever find.”

James turned to see Sirius standing there, arms crossed, his usual smirk firmly in place. “Oh, is that right?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius clapped a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “Obviously. Who else are you going to pair with? Pete?”

James chuckled, glancing over to where Peter was awkwardly sizing up his partner—a girl with a sharp jawline and a distinct Dauntless swagger. “Doesn’t look like he’ll be available.”

“Well, then,” Sirius said, stepping into a fighting stance, “it’s settled. Prepare to lose, Potter.”

James mirrored his stance, grinning. “Big words for someone I’m about to flatten.”

They squared off, circling each other. Sirius threw the first punch, a quick jab aimed at James’s shoulder. James ducked to the side, countering with a low swing that Sirius blocked easily.

“Not bad,” Sirius said, his smirk widening. “For someone who’s clearly outmatched.”

“Outmatched?” James scoffed, stepping forward with a feint before landing a light tap on Sirius’s ribs.

Sirius grunted, stumbling back dramatically. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up a hand. “Maybe not completely outmatched.”

They exchanged blows with increasing intensity, their movements fluid and fast. James dodged a sharp uppercut, countering with a hook that Sirius narrowly avoided. Sirius, quick on his feet, retaliated with a swift jab that grazed James’s chin.

“So,” Sirius said, breathless but grinning, “what’s the deal with Lily?”

James dodged another punch, his smirk faltering. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been trailing after her like a lost puppy since the train. What’s the story?”

“There’s no story,” James said quickly, stepping back to catch his breath.

Sirius snorted, throwing a fake punch that made James flinch. “Right. And I’m the Queen of Erudite.”

James hesitated, lowering his fists slightly. “She’s just…different, alright? Not like the others.”

Sirius grinned knowingly. “You mean not interested in you.”

James groaned, stepping forward with renewed energy. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate.”

“Anytime,” Sirius said, dodging James’s next punch with a theatrical flourish.

They continued sparring, their banter shifting to the Prewett twins.

“They’re intense,” James said, shaking out his arms after Sirius landed a light hit on his ribs. “I get that Dauntless has a reputation, but they’re taking it to a whole new level.”

“They’re probably compensating for something,” Sirius said, blocking a jab before stepping to the side.

James laughed, aiming a punch at Sirius’s shoulder. “You think Fabian’s compensating for that haircut?”

“Definitely,” Sirius said, grinning.

Their laughter was interrupted by Gideon’s booming voice. “Change partners!”

James stepped back, glancing around the room as the trainees shuffled to find new partners. A green-haired boy with a lean, wiry build caught his eye, giving him a sharp nod.

“Guess it’s me and you,” James said, stepping toward him.

The boy didn’t respond, just raised his fists and launched into a series of rapid strikes. James barely managed to block the first few, his arms already aching from sparring with Sirius.

“Alright, alright,” James muttered, sidestepping a particularly aggressive jab. “You’re not holding back, are you?”

“No point,” the boy said flatly, his movements relentless.

James gritted his teeth, focusing on keeping up with the boy’s speed. The green-haired boy landed a sharp hit to James’s side, making him stumble slightly. Before James could recover, a sudden shout rang out from across the room.

“Say that again, you little rat!”

James turned just in time to see Mulciber—a towering Dauntless-born trainee—shoving Peter to the ground.

Peter scrambled to his feet, his face pale. “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just—”

“Shut up!” Mulciber roared, his fists slamming into Peter’s chest, sending him staggering back.

“Oi!” James shouted, starting toward them, but Fabian stepped in front of him, holding up a hand.

“Stay out of it,” Fabian said sharply.

“Are you kidding me?” Sirius snapped, already moving to follow James.

Fabian blocked him as well, his expression stern. “He’s Dauntless now. He has to learn to fight back.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Sirius shot back, his voice rising. “He’s half Mulciber’s size, and it’s his first bloody week! What kind of system is this?”

“It’s the system you signed up for,” Fabian said coldly.

Sirius’s eyes blazed. “What kind of coward stands by and lets a guy twice someone’s size beat them senseless? Does that make you feel strong, Prewett? Watching a kid get pummeled?”

Fabian’s jaw tightened. “It’s about survival. If he can’t handle himself, he doesn’t belong here.”

James stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists. “It’s our first week! Mulciber’s got years of experience—how is that fair?”

Fabian’s lips thinned, but before he could respond, Gideon’s voice cut through the tension. “Enough.”

The elder twin strode over, his gaze sweeping the scene. “The kid’s got a point,” Gideon said, nodding toward James. “This isn’t a fair fight, and we’re not here to break anyone on day one.”

Fabian scowled but stepped aside, gesturing toward Mulciber. “Alright, break it up.”

Sirius didn’t wait for further permission. He and James rushed to Peter’s side, helping him to his feet. Peter was barely conscious, his face bruised and his breathing labored.

“Come on, mate,” Sirius said, slinging Peter’s arm over his shoulder.

James took Peter’s other side, glaring at Mulciber as they passed. “You alright, Pete?”

Peter groaned in response, his head lolling to the side.

As they made their way to the exit, James’s eyes caught Lily’s from across the room. She was watching them, her expression unreadable.

James held her gaze for a moment before looking away, focusing on the task at hand.

“Hospital?” Sirius asked, his tone lighter than the situation called for.

“Hospital,” James confirmed.

Together, they carried Peter out of the training room, their shoulders heavy with the weight of Dauntless.

*** 

The day's lessons had finally ended, and Remus found himself lingering outside the pristine glass lecture hall, staring out at the perfectly symmetrical lines of the Erudite compound. The sun had begun to dip behind the towering buildings, casting sharp-edged shadows across the courtyard. Everything here was so...exact, so precise. Even the light seemed to fall where it was supposed to.

He adjusted the strap of the satchel slung over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the books he’d been assigned to read. His brain buzzed with everything he’d learned today—Erudite history, logic puzzles, advanced science theories he only half understood. His muscles, however, felt restless. Sitting through hours of lectures was exhausting in an entirely different way than physical activity.

Remus took a deep breath, the cool evening air doing little to untangle the knot in his chest. The Choosing Ceremony felt like a lifetime ago, yet it had been only a few days. His head was still spinning from the sudden shift in his life: the faces of people he barely knew, the stark white halls of the dormitory, and the endless expectations Erudite placed on them.

He adjusted his pace as he walked along the polished pathway leading toward the dining pavilion. Don’t think about Lily, he told himself firmly. It didn’t matter that she’d gone to Dauntless. It didn’t matter that she was one of the last people he thought would make that choice, or that her absence in Erudite felt like a missing piece in a puzzle he hadn’t realized he was assembling.

Instead, his thoughts drifted to the people he had met here. Most were sharp and serious, quick to ask questions and quicker to point out flaws in others’ reasoning. He’d managed to get along with a few of them, keeping his answers polite and his observations concise. It was easier to blend into the background than to stand out, and for now, that suited him fine.

Remus slowed as the dining pavilion came into view. It was a sprawling space enclosed by glass walls, the kind that let in plenty of natural light during the day and reflected the flickering lanterns strung along the ceilings at night. Inside, small clusters of trainees sat around long rectangular tables, their voices a low hum of discussion.

And there she was—Mary Macdonald—sitting near the middle of the room with a group of trainees. Her dark curls bobbed as she gestured animatedly, her voice carrying above the others. Even though Remus couldn’t make out what she was saying, he could see the reactions of her companions: some laughed, others rolled their eyes, but all of them were paying attention.

He stopped in his tracks, his stomach twisting.

He’d been avoiding her since their tour.

And yet, looking at her now, it was hard to believe she’d taken his words to heart. She didn’t look offended or hurt. In fact, she looked completely at ease, like she belonged here more than he ever would.

The pang of guilt was sharp and unexpected. He wanted to apologize, to say something—anything—that might make up for his impatience. But the thought of walking up to her, in front of all those people, made his face flush with shame.

Instead, he stood frozen in the shadows of the doorway, watching her.

One of the trainees at her table—a boy with glasses perched on the edge of his nose—said something that made Mary throw her head back and laugh. The sound was loud and unapologetic, drawing curious glances from the nearby tables. Remus caught himself smiling faintly before he turned away, shaking his head.

Coward,  he thought bitterly.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder again and took a step back, retreating toward the quieter side of the pavilion. The knot in his chest tightened as he walked, his guilt trailing after him like a shadow.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure he believed it

Remus stood at the edge of the hall, scanning the sea of faces. Most were unfamiliar, absorbed in their own cliques and conversations. A part of him wanted to join them, to feel like he belonged among the sharp minds and intellectual elites of Erudite. But the knot of unease in his chest tightened with every step he took.

He chose a table near the back corner, isolated from the main clusters, and sank into the seat. The cold metal of the chair pressed against his back, grounding him in the present. His meal—a neatly portioned array of roasted vegetables and protein—sat untouched as he stared at it, his appetite dulled by the quiet churn of his thoughts.

He had transferred to Erudite with such high hopes. In Abnegation, he had always felt out of place, his questioning nature a mismatch for a faction that prized selflessness above all else. When he’d chosen Erudite at the Choosing Ceremony, it had felt like liberation. Finally, a place where knowledge was celebrated, where curiosity wasn’t a flaw but a virtue.

But reality was more complicated.

He picked up his fork and took a mechanical bite of his food, his gaze drifting across the room. Conversations swirled around him, words like “strategy” and “innovation” catching his ear. The topics were intriguing, but there was a sharpness to the voices, a sense of competition underlying even the most casual exchanges. Erudite was not the utopia of intellect he’d envisioned. It was a place of ambition, yes, but also of pride and manipulation.

He’d overheard whispers about corruption—leaders prioritizing their own agendas over the faction’s pursuit of truth, researchers bending data to suit their theories. It wasn’t as overt as the oppression he’d heard about in Dauntless or the rigid conformity of his old faction, but it was there, lurking beneath the polished surface. He’d wanted to believe Erudite was better than that, that it was a beacon of knowledge and progress. Instead, it seemed to be something in between—a place filled with potential but also deeply flawed.

Remus sighed and pushed his tray away, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t regret transferring; he couldn’t go back to a life of suppressing his questions and denying his own nature. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still searching for something he hadn’t yet found.

Maybe he never would.

***

A few hours later, the corridors of the Erudite compound were nearly silent, the din of the dining hall replaced by the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Remus walked aimlessly, his steps echoing faintly against the pristine tiles. The halls were as cold and immaculate as the rest of the building, their sterility only serving to amplify his thoughts. He ran a hand along the smooth wall, tracing its precise lines as though trying to feel something real beneath the surface.

He turned a corner and stopped abruptly. Standing before him was Severus Snape, one of the faction’s leaders. Snape’s dark robes and severe expression were a stark contrast to the crisp blue uniforms, an almost deliberate statement of his disdain for conformity. His black eyes flicked over Remus with a mix of curiosity and contempt.

“You,” Snape drawled, his voice low and cutting. “Wandering the halls alone, are we? How… fitting.”

Remus straightened, a flicker of irritation rising in his chest. “I’m just getting some air,” he replied evenly.

Snape stepped closer, his gaze narrowing. “Interesting. One might think you’d be using your time more… productively. But then, I suppose Erudite was never the right place for someone like you.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Snape’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Only that some people—no matter how desperate their aspirations—are simply ill-suited for certain environments. Knowledge demands more than questions. It demands resolve. Conviction. Qualities I’ve yet to see in you.”

The words struck deeper than Remus cared to admit, but he refused to let it show. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said coldly, stepping past Snape without waiting for a response.

As he walked away, he felt Snape’s gaze lingering on him, heavy with unspoken judgment. The encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it also fueled a quiet determination. Whatever Snape thought of him, Remus wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being right.

As Remus turned another corner, he nearly collided with Mary. She stopped abruptly, placing a hand on his arm to steady herself. Her sharp gaze softened as she took in his expression.

“You can stop acting like a kicked puppy,” she said, her tone blunt but not unkind. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

Remus blinked, startled. “You’re not?”

Mary shook her head, crossing her arms. “I was hurt at first. I mean, no one likes being snapped at. But then I realized…” She glanced around the corridor, as if ensuring they were alone. “I’m not in Candor anymore. People here aren’t used to bluntness, and I suppose it can be… irritating. So, yeah, maybe I came on a little strong.”

Remus looked down, guilt twisting in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I was overwhelmed. Everything here is so different. In Abnegation, no one ever says what they really think. It’s all about restraint and selflessness. Hearing someone speak so directly… it caught me off guard.”

Mary studied him for a moment, then let out a small laugh. “Well, I guess we’re both learning to adapt. Besides,” she added with a smirk, “I saw you just now, storming away from Snape. I figured you could use a friend.”

Remus groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Snape’s a nightmare. The way he looks at people, it’s like he’s dissecting them in his head.”

“Tell me about it,” Mary said with a shudder. “He gives me the creeps. Always lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on someone’s insecurities.”

For the first time that day, Remus smiled—a small, tentative thing, but genuine. “Maybe surviving Erudite means surviving Snape.”

Mary grinned back. “If that’s the case, we’d better stick together.”

They began walking side by side, the tension between them easing as they shared quiet laughter and swapped stories of Snape’s many peculiarities. For the first time since transferring, Remus felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to face this new world alone.

***

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the faint blue glow of the Dauntless insignia projected on the wall. Peter Pettigrew lay on his bed, his body aching from the day’s horrible training session. Every movement sent a sharp sting radiating through his ribs, a painful reminder of Mulciber’s fists during the sparring session. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind swirling with shame and doubt.

He turned his head slightly, wincing at the motion, and looked toward James. Even in sleep, James Potter looked confident, his arm draped casually over his head as if he belonged here. Peter’s chest tightened. How could James make it seem so easy? The sparring, the jumping of trains, the fearlessness—James seemed to thrive on it. Peter, on the other hand, felt like he was barely holding on.

Closing his eyes, Peter tried to push the memories of the day away, but they came rushing back unbidden. The insults from Fabian as Mulciber knocked him down. The sharp pain of the mat against his back. The way his hands had trembled when he tried to stand again, only to collapse under the weight of his own exhaustion.

What had he been thinking? Choosing Dauntless had been a momentary rush of adrenaline, a fleeting surge of rebellion against everything predictable and safe. He’d wanted to prove he could be brave, that he could stand in the face of danger. But now, lying bruised and battered in the silence of the room, he wasn’t so sure.

Peter shifted uncomfortably, his mind racing. How much longer could he last in Dauntless? The faction was ruthless, demanding strength and fearlessness at every turn. He felt like an imposter, clinging to the edges of an identity that wasn’t his. Was it bravery, he wondered, or just stupidity that had brought him here?

He opened his eyes again and stared at James, the steady rhythm of his friend’s breathing both comforting and mocking. In the bunk beside him, Sirius lay sprawled on his back, his posture loose and unbothered, as though even the harshness of Dauntless couldn’t touch him. It was maddening how effortless they both made it look. Peter swallowed hard, a lump of bitterness and envy lodging in his throat. For all his doubts, one thought lingered stubbornly in his mind: he couldn’t give up. Not yet. To leave would be to admit he wasn’t enough, that he didn’t belong. And as much as he hurt, as much as he doubted, the thought of failure hurt worse.