IÂ GO TOÂ see her body . . . sometime. I don’t know how long it is after Cara tells me what happened. Christina and I walk shoulder to shoulder; we walk in Cara’s footsteps. I don’t remember the journey from the entrance to the morgue, really, just a few smeared images and whatever sound I can make out through the barrier that has gone up inside my head.
She lies on a table, and for a moment I think she’s just sleeping, and when I touch her, she will wake up and smile at me and press a kiss to my mouth. But when I touch her she is cold, her body stiff and unyielding.
Christina sniffles and sobs. I squeeze Tris’s hand, praying that if I do it hard enough, I will send life back into her body and she will flush with color and wake up.
I don’t know how long it takes for me to realize that isn’t going to happen, that she is gone. But when I do I feel all the strength go out of me, and I fall to my knees beside the table and I think I cry, then, or at least I want to, and everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.
