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Nita stares at me. Dark eyes, dark hair. Her eyes are deep brown where mine are pale blue. Some say that the eyes are the window to the soul, but I never believed it. Eyes are just eyes. Until now, when Nita’s eyes burn into me, and I see a past even more scarred than my own. A past with no moments of peace, no refuge, no way to escape the designation that was forced upon her. I see grief and pain condensed into flinty, bitter anger, a cloud of rage pushing out everything else.
The one where Tris joins the Fringe.
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cherry bombs and gasoline by red__carnations
https://archiveofourown.org/works/45796399/chapters/115249372