"We're fine," Tris says stiffly, not looking at you. Her fingers drum along her pant leg.

You can't say you blame her for being so paranoid after last night... but still. Rude.

"Okay," you say, walking on ahead. 

The glass ceiling moves closer and closer, daylight shimmering through the dance on your face and dazzle your eyes. Four stomps onto a set of metal stairs, and Tris scrambles up after him.

Advance to 121.