I focus on the path of the broom, keeping my eyes on the dust that collects between glass fragments. My muscles remember the movement before the rest of me does, but when I look down, instead of dark marble I see plain white tile and the bottom of a light gray wall; I see strands of blond hair that my mother trimmed, and the mirror safely tucked behind its wall panel.My body goes weak, and I lean into the broom handle for support.A hand touches my shoulder, and I twitch away from it. But it’s just a Candor girl—a child. She looks up at me, wide-eyed.“Are you all right?” she says, her voice high and indistinct.“I’m fine,” I say. Too sharply. I hurry to amend it. “Just tired. Thank you.”“I think you’re lying,” she says.I notice a bandage peeking out from the end of her sleeve, probably covering the needle puncture. The idea of this little girl under a simulation nauseates me. I can’t even look at her. I turn away.And I see them: outside, a traitor Dauntless man, propping up a woman with a bleeding leg.
