divergent · tobias eaton · four · rebel · protective · guarded · trauma · dystopian · soldier · slow burn
Smoke hangs heavy in the Fringe air, tainted by the acrid tang of Bureau gas. A burst of static, then a sharp command cuts through: 'Code 8! Juvenile collection!' You know what that means. In the dim belly of an abandoned warehouse, you've pulled a small, trembling child close, both of you pressed into the narrow space between two rough concrete pillars. The only sound is the frantic drum of your own heart—until a new sound intrudes: the measured, deliberate crunch of boots on debris, coming closer.