Chapter Text
Prologue
14 months later…
The night was cloaked in silence, broken only by the hurried, uneven steps of a man tearing through the slums of Abnegation. He was grimy and hollow-eyed, dressed in ragged clothes, and clutching a rifle in shaking hands.
His breath came in frantic bursts as he twisted and turned down narrow alleys, the shadows swallowing him for brief moments before he moved into the light again. He knew he was being hunted, and fear was seeping into his every step.
As he turned sharply into an alley, hoping to lose his pursuers, a figure dropped from the balcony above, landing soundlessly just a few meters in front of him.
He froze. Standing before him was Éowyn Meyer, dressed in sleek black tactical gear, her handgun steady and aimed right at him. Her hair gently blew in the breeze as she stared at him, unwavering and as hard as steel.
“This is the end of the line” she said, her voice cold and resolute. “Jeremy’s not getting away with all the destruction he’s caused”.
The man’s lips twisted into a mocking grin, and he gave a short, humourless laugh. “The revolution’s coming, sweetheart. Your little games won’t stop it.”
With that, he turned on his heel, darting back the other way. Éowyn immediately gave chase, her earpiece buzzing as she signaled her team. “Perp’s on the move. Close in from the east and north”.
In response, her special ops task force, scattered through the labyrinthine alleyways, adjusted their positions, closing in like a tightening noose. Each member held their guns at the ready, eyes trained ahead as they methodically cut off every possible escape route.
Éowyn moved swiftly, her movements precise as she pursued the man through the twisting alleys.
Finally, she caught up to him, her pace unrelenting as she tackled him to the floor. But as she emerged from the narrow passageway with the perp securely cuffed, she stopped short.
They had entered a large, open square—one that was anything but empty.
Standing across the clearing were Jeremy and his allies, including Lucas, his eyes glinting with a familiar, twisted sneer.
Surrounding them was a horde of factionless fighters armed and ready. They formed a solid line behind Jeremy, dozens of faces lit with grim determination.
Éowyn’s team of 6 closed in from behind her, weapons raised, falling into a steady formation. She held her ground, her gaze steady as she met Lucas’s sneer with cold indifference. She felt no fear, only a hardened resolve.
“This is it, Jeremy” she called out, ignoring Jeremy’s lackey, Lucas. “No more running. No more hiding. And no more murderous raids on unsuspecting factions”.
Jeremy gave a low chuckle, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think you’re strong enough to beat me? You don’t know what strength is! Remember all the times I overpowered you? You’re just as weak as you were then”.
Memories of Jeremy’s constant beatings flooded her mind but she shook them away. That was in the past. She had grown stronger and more resilient.
Éowyn’s expression didn’t waver. “If you want your man back, then quietly surrender. Make this easy on yourself”.
Jeremy glanced at Lucas, who flashed him a malicious grin before pulling out his pistol and, without hesitation, shot the man Éowyn had been chasing right through the head. The man’s body slumped to the ground, lifeless, as Jeremy turned his gaze back to Éowyn.
“My men are disposable” he said, voice cold. “And so are you”.
Jeremy lifted his rifle to aim, but before he could squeeze the trigger, an echo of footsteps surrounded the square.
Reinforcements poured in—the whole of the special ops division, an army of trained operatives, outnumbering Jeremy and his factionless fighters. Weapons were raised on all sides, tension thick in the air.
Chaos erupted as both sides opened fire. Bullets sliced through the night, ricocheting off walls and finding their targets amidst the chaos. Factionless fighters and special ops operatives alike fell, caught in the brutal crossfire.
Éowyn fired steadily, taking down one after another, her movements instinctive and sure, until at last the square fell silent, littered with the fallen.
But when she looked around, Jeremy and Lucas were gone.
Éowyn cursed under her breath, the frustration flaring in her chest.
Her second-in-command, George, stepped up beside her, breathing heavily.
“We’ll get ‘em eventually, Sarge” he said to Éowyn, his voice steady.
She took a long, steadying breath, pushing down her anger. She nodded. “Yes. We will”.
Seeing her disappointment, George placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Just because you’re first pursuit as a Sergeant was a bust, doesn’t mean they’ll always be like this” he said trying to alleviate her disappointment.
“I know” she nodded. She turns to look at her squad. “Let’s get back to the precinct and write up the report. I expect Jeremy’s next move will be to recruit more factionless. Especially since we just took out a good portion of his soldiers”.
There was a chorus of ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘Aye Sarge’ as her team dispersed.
In that quiet moment, surrounded by the remnants of the fight, Éowyn felt the weight of the journey ahead.
***
When Éowyn stepped into her barracks on the outskirts of Dauntless, the weight of exhaustion settled over her like a heavy blanket.
She closed the door with a quiet click, tossing her keys into the bowl by the entrance. The metallic clink was oddly satisfying, a small release of tension she hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying.
Éowyn’s gaze drifted to the small mirror hanging on the hallway wall. She forced herself to look, though the reflection staring back seemed almost like a stranger.
Her skin looked pale under the dim lights, and there was a hollowness around her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Dark circles clung beneath them, souvenirs of sleepless nights spent chasing criminals through factions and hiding from her own thoughts.
Slowly, she reached up, pulling the elastic from her hair. It spilled down over her shoulders in loose waves, strands catching the light from the lamp and glinting with a dull sheen.
She ran her fingers through it absently, remembering the day she’d cut it short, letting it fall just above her shoulders.
She’d chopped it off days after she left the Dauntless main compound to start her special ops training, standing in front of the same mirror, scissors in hand, determined to start fresh.
New life, new me, she’d thought, each snip of the scissors punctuating her resolve.
But that felt so long ago now, almost like it had happened to someone else.
Her hair had grown fast, creeping down her back like ivy reclaiming a wall. It was nearly down to her elbows now, thick and unruly, as if mocking her attempt to reinvent herself.
She made her way to her bedroom, peeling off her jacket and letting it fall carelessly on the floor. With a long sigh, she sank onto her bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath her.
It had been over thirty-two hours since she’d last rested; she’d been so focused on her lead about Jeremy’s crime ring, the adrenaline had kept her going.
Every new clue, every chase from one faction to another—it was a relentless pursuit, and it consumed every part of her.
Eight months of this. Ever since she’d passed her 6 months training, Jeremy had become the shadow she couldn’t shake, the figure haunting her as she pushed deeper into the work. She was driven, not just by duty but by an unspoken resolve to leave the past behind.
And, in many ways, she had.
The raw physical and emotional wounds of Lucas’s attack, under Jeremy’s orders, had long since healed, the torment dulled by time and the focus of her work.
Even the heartache Eric had caused had become a distant ache rather than a consuming pain. Yet, in the quiet moments, his face sometimes still came to her unbidden, a ghost slipping through the cracks of her hardened resolve. As much as she tried to push his image away, it never disappeared.
She could never truly forget him. Not only had he stolen and then broken her heart in the most callous way, she still carried his mark on her spine. The beautiful stars and galaxies tattoo that he had expertly inked onto her skin. And along with it, came the tiara in the little heart, branding her as his Princess forever.
She hadn’t looked at the tattoo properly since leaving the main Dauntless compound those 14 months ago. Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of it when she passed by the mirror in the bathroom.
But she would never look twice. The memory was too painful.
She let out a frustrated breath, feeling the familiar pull to escape the restless memories.
Reaching into the bedside table, she withdrew a small syringe filled with a crimson liquid. The bliss serum, her quiet reprieve in the dead of night.
She wrapped the tourniquet around her arm, tightening it until her vein stood out, ready. Without hesitation, she injected the red liquid, watching it disappear beneath her skin.
The tourniquet was tossed aside, the syringe hidden once again in the drawer as she lay back, waiting.
The effects came quickly, a slow warmth spreading through her, relaxing her muscles, softening the edges of her mind.
The familiar flashes of Eric’s face tried to surface again, but this time they were softer, gentler, blurred by the haze of bliss washing over her. They drifted further and further from reach until, at last, they vanished altogether.
And then, the hallucinations began—her mind drifting into colours, lights, and impossible visions. Her body felt light, almost weightless, as if she were floating, every sensation heightened yet comforting. It was like slipping into a dream where the harsh lines of reality softened, and she could simply exist in a cocoon of warmth and relief.
She let herself sink into it, that all-consuming sensation of escape that the serum had offered her night after night, a balm to ease the ache she could never entirely outrun. Here, she could let go of everything, even if just for a moment, and forget the world waiting for her outside the barracks door.