Page 81 of The Sixth Fraction

I scowl at her. “Do you really think I would do that?”

“As you’re so quick to remind me, I don’t actually know you. And I’ve been let down before.”

She tosses that comment out like it’s casual, but it doesn’t work—it falls between us like an anchor, instead.

“I may not trust Evelyn, but I don’t want to hurt her, either,” I say. “I didn’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Tris looks at me. Behind me, the others are still arguing about something, their voices carried toward me on the wind. The same wind blows loose strands of her hair across her face, and she pushes them away.

“I believe you,” she says finally. And then she points up, into the wheel. “I’m here to get that banner.”

I look up, trying to see what she’s pointing to. My gaze travels higher and higher, past the center of the wheel and into the structure above it. There, dangling from one of the struts, is something small and dark. A banner, I guess.

“Christina was going to help me,” she says. “But your initiate, the horrible one—”

“Peter.”

“Yeah, that one. She didn’t want to risk running into him. Which is fine.”

“Right. You seem fine with it.”

She glares at me.

I say, “What do you need help with?”

“I’m fine with the climbing. But it’s not smart to climb alone in the dark. Better to have a spotter.”

“You’re going to climb it?”

“That’s the plan.”

I point at the Ferris wheel above us. “That wheel.”

“Yes.” She sounds terse now.

“Do you know how high that is?”

“At the top? Two hundred feet. I’d say the banner is only one hundred and fifty feet up, though.”

I stare at her.

Her eyes are bright blue and keen as a blade. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

“Can is not the issue,” I say. “Should, however . . .”

Tris just raises both eyebrows and moves toward the center of the wheel. There, on one of the thicker supports, is a ladder. Before I can fully wrap my mind around what’s happening, she’s climbing up the ladder, her hands quick on the rungs.

I move closer, so I don’t have to shout. “Tris!”

“I’ll be fine.” She’s above my head already.

“I thought you needed a spotter?”

She stops, and peers over the edge of the ladder at me. “Either make yourself useful or go back to your game.”

I look over my shoulder at the carousel, with its striped roof and its lonely, broken horses. I can’t hear the others, so they must have decided on a plan.

I think of my fear simulation, standing at the edge of the Hub, the wind rushing up to meet me. It’s not real, but the fear is. It has been since my mother first brought me up there to show me the city.