SUMMARY

Revenge is a flaming coal, sparked by wronging and hatred. And it burns fiercely in Tris Prior's heart.

In the final installment of the Chasm series, the Dauntless and factionless clash in a life-altering battle that will determine the future of Chicago.

(This story takes place after "Chasm" and "Pit", so make sure to read those first if you haven't!)

TRIS POV

The funeral is today.

Somewhere in the depths of the Dauntless compound, people in black are tipping back bottles of alcohol in response to yet another loss in the faction. They are sharing disconnected memories of the unapproachable instructor, fearless prodigy, and Dauntless leader by the name of Four. They knew that he held the record number of fears in Dauntless history; they knew that his aim was fatally accurate. That is all they knew him as, and when they have their inevitable hangovers tomorrow, they will forget all about him.

A few select people knew Tobias for who he really was. Uriah and Zeke were the closest thing he had to brothers; Shauna could have just as easily been a sister. They are downstairs in the dining hall now, truly mourning while everyone else around them pretends.

And then there is me, sitting on the edge of the roof across from the train tracks.

It is bitterly cold out here. Each gust of wind brings more ice pellets to sting my face, and my thin jacket does not do much to keep it out. But I would much rather be up here, seven stories up, where I do not have to listen to false generalizations and exaggerated claims about the man I loved.

I knew him better than anyone else. That is why I know that he was not nearly perfect, like they will try to chalk him up to be. He was flawed, and he had childhood problems that manifested themselves in adulthood, but those people will never know of it. They may have had a glimpse at his temper, but they will never know of his gentle side.

I am the only one to carry those memories now; I am the only one who loved him because of these things, not in spite of them.

A sigh leaves my mouth at the thought of what they are saying down there. It comes out as a wispy cloud that is swept away.

People have a strange obsession with the dead. Attending funerals from a young age has taught me this. They gather around people who they barely know because they have a fascination with the fact that their family member is dead. They intrude on their private affairs, offering insincere condolences that do nothing to aid the mourning.

That is how my uncle's funeral was. Most of the Abnegation faction gathered that day in support of my father, though he had only met half of those people. As I held my brother's hand and watched my father cry, I wondered why so many people were at this family event, why some of them even attended the viewing.

Maybe these hidden feelings are why I did not attend Tobias's funeral today. Instead of sobbing where nobody could hear, I would be displaying my private heartbreak in public. Faction members that I have never met would pat my shoulder and say their typical I'm sorry for your loss that would fracture me further instead of patch me up. It is bizarre that people would try to act as if they were there all along.

At least one good thing came from the awful way he died: there is no body for their eyes to pry at.

I shudder at the thought.

My gaze shifts downwards to where the snow piles on the ground, hundreds of snowflakes at a time. The drop used to be unnerving to me, especially after watching that girl—Rita—scream over the edge of the building at her sister's body. It was the first death I had seen at Dauntless, maybe ever.

It would be too easy to shift forward and let my dangling legs pull me down to the pavement. I can picture myself looking similar to Rita's sister, to Marlene, my blonde hair fanning out from my cracked head and my limbs twisted at odd angles.

Unfortunately, there are things that have to be done before I can consider that. Because if I am going to hurtle toward my death eventually, then I am taking several people with me.

Today, as everyone else is buried in sorrow, I find myself wallowing in resentment. My emotions have gone haywire since Tobias was killed, sometimes not even making sense considering the situation.

He will never come back, and it is out of my power. However, the perpetrators are still out there, claiming lives one at a time in cruel ways. That is something I can control. Something I plan to control.

The gun in my waistband digs uncomfortably into my thigh after sitting for this long, so I remove it. I turn it over in my palms to see the number four etched into the handle. With a longing frown, I trace it with my numb fingertip.

In this state, I cannot make sense of why I was ever afraid to use a gun. I actually regard the pistol in my hands with reverence, since this is technically the only belonging of Tobias that I have. This came back into my possession so that I could protect myself because he will not be here to do it for me anymore. But it is also a symbol of retribution...

A symbol I plan to use on Evelyn Eaton.

One of the guards on the adjacent rooftop watches me warily for a moment before turning away. He is one of many; they are stationed up here every day to patrol the surrounding streets. They made an exception for me to get fresh air today, but nobody ever really ventures outside of the compound anymore. There is a strictness to that rule that came with time, as the factionless have grown more and more bold.

So have I, though. As days pass, as the wrath piles on, I find myself dreaming of new ways in which I will exact my revenge. They strike in between bouts of depression and make me impatient with how long I will have to wait.

I forgot how much waiting there was in between the war's action. It is grueling, especially when I have no purpose without the impending havoc I plan to create. Each day is so long, so miserable. If I did not have anger to fuel me, then I might as well just lie down and never move again.

Simple tasks are burdensome; in the middle of doing laundry or showering or eating dinner, sometimes I have to stop and collect myself. Walking anywhere in the compound reminds me of him, and I have to duck into a bathroom before I lose it again. I am stifled in Dauntless, where I have all the time in the world to reflect on my grief. I will need to be unleashed soon or else I may tear myself apart instead of the enemy, though I doubt anybody would mind.

Maybe at this point it would be freeing.

"Tris?"

I squint up into the snow, making out the unfamiliar face of a Dauntless soldier. It is still unsettling to me that everyone seems to know my name after hearing it in the news so often.

"Yes?" I say.

"I think it would be best if you went back inside now."

I nod, knowing I have stayed up here too long. They could get in trouble if one of the leaders decided they did not want anyone even seeing daylight for security reasons.

So I tuck my gun away and push myself up with frostbitten hands on the ledge. Then I step off onto the flat rooftop.

"Back to hell," I mumble as I pass him.

Welcome to the last Chasm book! Before anyone says anything, yes, I intentionally spelled Pyre differently from "Pire", the place in Dauntless. Pire isn't an actual word, so.

I must be torturing you with the shorter chapters as of late haha. Don't worry, chapters will be normal length from now on!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Divergent series or any of the characters.