I scream again and shove the wall with my palm. I hear something. A cracking sound. When I pull my hand away, there is a line in the glass. I slam my other hand next to the first one and drive another crack though the glass, this one spreading outward from my palm in long, crooked fingers. My chest burns like I just swallowed fire. I kick the wall. My toes ache from the impact, and I hear a long, low groan.
The pane shatters, and the force of the water against my back throws me forward. There is air again.
I gasp and sit up. I'm in the chair. I gulp and shake out my hands. Four stands to my right, but instead of helping me up, he just looks at me.
"What?" I ask.
"How did you do that?'
"Do what?"
"Crack the glass."
"I don't know." Four finally offers me his hand. I swing my legs over the side of the chair, and when I stand, I feel steady. Calm.
He sighs and grabs me by the elbow, half leading and half dragging me out of the room. We walk quickly down the hallway, and then I stop, pulling my arm back. He stares at me in silence. He won't give me information without prompting.
"What?" I demand.
"You're Divergent," he replies.
Divergent, Chapter Twenty, pgs. 254-255.
