It’s almost time to head back to the Choosing Ceremony. 

Veronica Roth will publish a new story from the world of Divergent this fall. “The Sixth Faction,” out Oct. 6, is “not a prequel, not a sequel, not a spinoff, not a different POV but an alternate universe of ‘Divergent’ where Tris chooses a different faction,” Roth previously told USA TODAY. And who is Tris without Dauntless? “The Sixth Faction” follows Tris after tragedy strikes at her Choosing Ceremony, thrusting her into an underground rebellion.

Stepping back into Tris felt “like going home” for Roth, who first wrote Divergent during her senior year of college. Now 37, she’s penned several other fantasy and dystopian series, including her most recent “Seek the Traitor’s Son.”

A sneak peak of “The Sixth Faction” is also available in a new “Divergent” deluxe edition, but you can read another chapter below, revealed exclusively by USA TODAY.

Read an exclusive excerpt of ‘The Sixth Faction’ by Veronica Roth

We line up just like we did before, earliest birthdays on the left and latest birthdays on the right. At the ceremony with all the other factions, there were quite a few people behind me; today, I’m almost at the end. Only Felicity is behind me.

There’s one light in the room, shining down on the bowls. Our parents and siblings stand in the shadows, all around us.

Jeanine Matthews is holding a small box. When we’re finished lining up, she takes off the lid, revealing a collection of small knives. “We want to begin by apologizing,” Marcus says. “This community has endured a great loss, and in an ideal world, you would be permitted to grieve before having to make such a big decision. We want to especially apologize to you, Susan.”

He gives her a sad smile. She returns it.

“But we agree that if there are violent forces in this city that want to destroy our way of life, it’s even more important that we hold fast to our convictions and move forward. It’s even more important that we cleave to our communities, our true families. So we must choose.” I think of the motto I read in my Faction History textbook. Faction before blood. It means that a family can’t offer you the same things that a faction can. A family may love you, but it doesn’t necessarily understand you. It doesn’t necessarily guide you toward your best self. A family is just a temporary unit, serving its purpose until you figure out where you really belong.

“I said most of what I meant to say a few days ago, and I won’t make you sit through it again,” Marcus says, and polite laughter ripples through the room. “I will just say this: As much as a person can grow over time, the very root of who they are remains essentially the same. The aptitude test gets to that root, revealing the unchangeable inside the changeable. So we have all agreed that sixteen years is time enough to know the core of yourself—and to choose in what direction you wish to grow. And so.” Marcus steps back and gestures to the metal bowls in front of him. “And so, we’ll let you choose.”

Panic seizes my chest. What’s at the heart of me? What’s at the root of me? I feel like a dandelion seed adrift on the wind. I feel temporary and changeable.

“Mary Latham,” Marcus says, and Mary steps forward. She’s the tallest girl in our year. She takes the knife from Jeanine Matthews and cuts into her thumb. Blood bubbles up from the wound, and she lets it fall in the bowl right in the center, the pile of stones that symbolizes Abnegation.

“Eustace Cooke.” Red-cheeked Eustace takes a new knife from Jeanine Matthews. He pricks his finger. He chooses Abnegation.

There’s a moment of silence. Marcus is staring at the clipboard in his hands.

“This would have been Robert’s turn,” Marcus says. “So let’s consider the young man we lost.”

I feel like I swallowed something without chewing it. Like there’s a pill lodged in my throat.

Then: “Susan Black.”

Her cheeks shine with tears as she chooses Abnegation.

I’m inching closer and closer. One name at a time; one step at a time. Everyone is choosing Abnegation, and I’m imagining my blood on the stones, my blood on the coals, my blood – improbably – in the water. Worse than that, what if I can’t choose? What if I just stand there, unable to cut myself? What if they cast me out, or they see in my hesitation something suspicious, something Divergent –

“Caleb Prior.”

I realize that I’ve been holding Caleb’s hand this whole time only when he uncurls his fingers, and blood flows back into my fingertips, prickling. He doesn’t look back at me. He steps up to the bowls, accepts the small knife from Jeanine Matthews, and then takes a deep breath that makes his shoulders shift and shudder.

He cuts his finger, and I wait for him to stick his hand out and add his blood to the Abnegation stones.

I stare, uncomprehending, as his blood falls into the water instead.

Caleb just chose Erudite.

The room is so silent I swear they can hear my heart racing.

Pounding in my throat.

Erudite.

I think of his ink-smudged fingers. We also have to think of ourselves, he said to me, and I thought he was saying it to reassure me, but maybe he was saying it to reassure himself. We’re the ones who have to live with our choices, . . . so make a choice you can live with. I can’t imagine this being the choice he can live with. Erudite, the faction that hates us, the faction that lies about us, the faction that defames our father and our friends and everyone we care about.

“Beatrice Prior.”

Caleb is standing in the shadows, behind Jeanine Matthews, his head bowed. Like he didn’t just betray us all.

Faction before blood, I think, and then I think, no.

I thought I believed it. I thought I believed all of it. But there’s an empty seat at our table where Robert used to sit. There’s an empty room that used to be his. There’s an empty space in me.

Right now, faction before blood sounds like nonsense. My complaints about my hair, my clothes, my frustrations with not owning anything that’s just mine, my grievances about the restricted book selection for Abnegation in the library – all of it sounds like nonsense. Unimportant.

I no longer want to be the person who cares about those things. “Beatrice?”

I step forward. Jeanine Matthews offers me a knife, handle first, her fingers pinching the blade. Like it’s a scalpel and she’s a nurse assisting a surgeon. I blink at her for a second before I take it. My brother’s new leader.

I press the blade to the meaty part of my thumb, and it’s easier than I thought it would be, maybe because I’m so angry I can barely see, maybe because the pain focuses me. I watch bright red blood pool in my palm for a moment.

I don’t know what I want to become anymore. All I know is what I can bear . . . and what I can’t.

I thrust my hand out, and my blood falls on the stones.

And in that moment I know, I know, I know it’s the wrong choice. But it’s too late.