CHAPTER
FOURTEEN TOBIASI STAND ON the edge of the truck bed, holding the structure that supports the cloth cover. I want this new reality to be a simulation that I could manipulate if I could only make sense of it. But it’s not, and I can’t make sense of it.
Amar is alive.
“Adapt!” was one of his favorite commands during my initiation. Sometimes he yelled it so often that I would dream it; it woke me like an alarm clock, requiring more of me than I could provide. Adapt. Adapt faster, adapt better, adapt to things that no man should have to.
Like this: leaving a wholly formed world and discovering another one.
Or this: discovering that your dead friend is actually alive and driving the truck you’re riding in.
Tris sits behind me, on the bench that wraps around the truck bed, the creas
