❝until such time as the world ends, we will act as though it intends to spin on.❞

-nick fury, the avengers

♛

I PICK BOREDLY AT my nails with my back against the metal wall of the cell. I find it almost ironic that I'm a prisoner once again, even though I've been given the illusion of freedom while on the ground. The truth is, I've always been a prisoner and I always will be. Nothing will change that.

Letting my mind wander is dangerous, so I've taken to counting the open wires hanging from the ceiling and trying to calculate if I could make a weapon out of them and escape. I wonder how Raven is doing, where Finn and Bellamy are, and why I've been locked in this tiny room when the person who threatened to murder me is still roaming free.

My mom is dead.

The realization of that sends another stab of pain at my heart that strikes right through it. I wince at the stinging sensation that comes about every time I stop thinking about something other than the fact that my mom really isn't coming back this time, that I'm an orphan, and I have no clue if my best friend is still alive.

I think about Clarke and the others more often than not. I think about Monty and Jasper and Harper and Miller, and where they are and why. I think about Octavia; I hope she's safe with Lincoln. If she isn't, I'll never be able to forgive myself. The crestfallen expression on her face as he carried her away is still fresh in my mind. 

I look up from my hands when the sound of the double door sliding open catches my attention. Kane saunters in, making me roll my eyes and look down again. He stops near the center of the room.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

My eyes squeeze shut and I tense up at the mention of her. Hearing it out loud causes a stronger sense of hurt than just thinking about it. Other people talking about her demise makes it too real for my mind to currently comprehend.

"You're not sorry."

The words are flat and harsh, but they're true. I do not open my eyes and I do not make any move to stand up to see what he wants.

"Yes I am," Kane replies somberly. Maybe, just maybe, there is an ounce of sympathy in his voice, but instead of comforting me, it ignites a fire of anger inside of me like his words are a lighter to the gasoline in my veins. I burn with rage and fury so intense that I'm worried it'll consume me and I'll be nothing but a charred memory.

"You're not."

"I saw it with my own eyes. Of course I am."

I will not cry in front of you, my mind chants. I will not cry in front of you. I will not. I will not. I will--

A tear rolls down my face before I know it. A glistening pool of water fills up behind my eyelids and I suddenly feel the urge to sob again, to douse out the fire in my bones. I hate him for making me remember when I've been trying this whole time to forget.

"Please," I whisper, opening my eyes and clenching my fists so hard that my nails dig into my skin. I meet his eyes; my gaze is filled with vulnerability so I can get him to cut it out. "Just stop."

Kane nods in understanding, seeming slightly taken aback at my raw emotions. He gestures to two chairs that sit facing each other in the middle of the room. It's obvious he has some questions, but I don't feel like answering. However, I know that the possibility of my release lies in my decision to respond or not, so I may as well give him what he wants.

"You said there were hundreds of Grounders attacking," Kane begins as he sits in the chair facing me. I don't get up from my spot against the wall, thinking that if I do, I'll crumble. "Two, three hundred?"

"Three hundred," I reply thickly. "The Grounder you killed said he lost three hundred."

"Why do you think they attacked?" he asks. "What happened?"

I shake my head, wondering how I can possibly explain the Sky People-Grounder Conflict in such simple terms.

"We invaded their land unknowingly, but it's more than that and I can't explain by myself." I change my expression into one of hardened steel. "I need Bellamy."

"You do not 'need Bellamy,'" Kane responds icily as he unzips his guard jacket. "You seem perfectly capable of answering yourself."

"Look," I say, forcing my aching, sore legs to a standing position. My hand rests against the wall for support as I glare at him. "Bellamy, Clarke, and I were all in charge. I am not above either of them, and they are not above me. I need Bellamy to explain his side of things because I did not spend every waking second with him, and we both have different interpretations of what happened to us. I'm only trying to help you, Marcus."

The tension has become so thick that I can feel it crawling under my skin. The fire is burning brighter, higher, and I can hardly contain myself anymore. I wonder how many seconds I have until the bomb explodes and I knock over the chair I'm supposed to be sitting in.

My eyes snap to the door as it hisses open. Two more guards usher a handcuffed Murphy into the room, presenting him in front of Kane roughly. I wonder if it's bad to say I find relief in seeing him in the same position as me.

"Excuse me, sir," the female guard begins. Her blonde hair is held out of her face in a bun behind her head, and her hard features are stern. "Dr. Griffin cleared Mr. Murphy out of medical."

Kane slowly stands and turns to face the bound boy. Murphy still has the light red remains of blood on his face from previous injuries, which I find interesting considering he had just been to medical and yet his face still looks like he just bathed in Satan's waterfall.

"Put him over there, Major Byrne," Kane instructs, pointing to the wall to the right of the chairs. My heart drops as Murphy's eyes lock with mine while he's led to the spot against the wall across from me. 

The other guard, a  dark-skinned man with arm muscles the size of his head, starts to come toward me. I instinctively begin to raise my hands in surrender, but Kane interrupts.

"No, no," he protests and looks over his shoulder at me. "She's cleared of her charges. Let her go."

My jaw almost drops in surprise that he's letting me go this easily. I had expected for him to force me to stay in here with Murphy as punishment for being smart-mouthed, but instead I'm being let go. It all seems too easy. It doesn't seem right.

Kane nods at me. I take my hand off of the wall and clench my teeth as I more or less hobble toward the exit from how badly my legs hurt. I can feel Murphy's eyes following me, but I ignore his burning stare and exit without a single word.

My muscles are as tight as a coiled spring, hurting every time I so much as take a step. My time in the woods with Finn and Bellamy has really taken its toll on my body, particularly my legs, which still aren't accustomed to so much physical exercise and the pull of gravity. It doesn't help that my stomach still stings and I can see dried blood beneath the bandages Bellamy had applied.

Suddenly, the sound of a female's scream makes my heart stop cold. It's definitely Raven, and her cries sounds so pained that I can feel my heart clench. Before I can realize it, I'm running toward the source, gritting my teeth to ignore the discomfort shooting up my thighs and calves. I run past people and carts blocking the halls, frantically searching for what room she's in as the screams get louder.

Finally, I burst into the right room and nearly scare the wits out of Abby, who would have sliced more of Raven's skin than she needed had her hands not been so steady. My eyes widen at the sight of what's going on. Raven lays on her stomach on a table as Abby and Jackson cut into her lower back, where a large and ugly purple bruise about the size of my hand is. That, I know, is where the bullet is stuck in her spine.

Finn is tightly gripping her hand, seeming to be in almost as much pain as she is to see her like this. Raven's face is deathly pale and waxy-looking as if she's a figure in an old oil painting. Tears run out of her eyes and across her nose with every ear-piercing yell.

"Fallon, you shouldn't be in here!" Abby exclaims without taking her eyes off of the scalpel in Raven's back. The sight of her slicing open skin makes me slightly sick knowing that it's my friend that she's cutting open.

"I had to come," I reply shakily, wondering how in the world Raven is going to survive this without anesthesia. I swallow the sick feeling brewing in my stomach and move quickly to Raven's side, crouching beside Finn. We share a brief nervous look with each other.

"She said Raven could die if she did this," Finn whispers so lowly that I'm barely able to hear him over Raven's voice. I can see the sadness in his brown eyes, the grief painted so clearly on his face. I've never felt such a connection to Finn before-- maybe because now I know what it feels like to not know if someone you love is done for.

"She won't," I assert firmly, positive that Raven won't die. She won't because she can't. She can't die. I won't let her. "She won't."

--

There is a concept called face blindness, which is when you forget what you look like for a variety of reasons. I haven't looked in a mirror in so long that I almost scare myself upon seeing my own reflection in a mirror.

The last time I saw myself was in Octavia's shard of glass when I had seen the tiny flecks in my eyes (which are still a prominent feature), and even then, I hadn't cared much to see the rest of my face. The last time before then was when I was fifteen and hadn't been arrested yet. Now, at just two months shy of eighteen, I'm seeing myself again for the first time.

My eyes are the only thing I can see clearly due to my face being so unclean. They're not as squinted as they used to be, but I can still see definite traces of my Asian heritage in them. The skin on my arms is golden and darkly tanned from spending every almost waking hour in the sun, though I'm almost embarrassed in noticing that said tan is terribly uneven.

Slowly, I approach the sink and dampen a paper towel from the dispenser, all the while not taking my eyes off of those that are staring back at me in the mirror. I shudder and turn off the warm water. With the paper towel, I scrub my face to get the dirt and blood off. It's stubborn and clings to my skin like a second layer, but fifteen minutes and twenty towels later, I can actually make out the rest of my features. A few spare cuts across my cheeks, the bridge of my nose, and forehead look like they are in need of bandages.

Abby is confident enough in my medical knowledge that she's allowing me to stitch myself up. I start with my wrists, cutting through the now dirty bandages with a knife made of metal from the dropship. The skin around the cuts has shown no signs of healing yet, though that's probably because it's only been one or two days since the seatbelts sliced through my skin. My shaking hands let antiseptic trickle over the wounds while I bite my lip to keep myself from whimpering. It still burns just as much as the first time, but by now I've grown so accustomed to constant pain that I hardly tear up.

Once I wrap new, clean bandages and medical tape around my wrists, I move on to the cuts on my face. One of them looks like it might need stitches, but the others I simply rub with the disinfectant and let them be. Face cuts don't need to be covered unless they're major. Luckily, most of mine aren't.

I clench my fists and look at myself in the mirror one last time before stepping out of the bathroom. As soon as I open the door, someone whizzes past me and nearly knocks me clean off my feet. A yell of surprise falls from my lips as I grasp onto the door handle for support. The person skids to a stop and turns around.

It's Finn. His longish hair is wild, a backpack in his hand and a crazed look in his eyes. His chest heaves in time with his ragged breaths. Once he notices it's me, he gasps, "You wanna save them?"

I know who he's talking about instantly- Clarke and the others. "Of course."

Finn nods and jerks his head in the direction he had been running. "Come on."

He takes off again, feet pounding on the metal floor of the Ark. I follow soundlessly beside him and quickly match his pace. My legs still ache from how much movement I've been doing for the past few days, but I hardly feel it with the excitement that's coursing through my veins.

"Where are we going?" I ask quietly, keeping my voice low as to not let anyone else hear.

"The makeshift jail," Finn replies in a whisper. "Guess you didn't hear that Bellamy got himself arrested thinking you were still in there with Murphy- I heard Kane and Abby talking about it."

Idiot.

The run to the prison takes only about two minutes. Once we reach it, I press the button that opens the doors and watch as Bellamy turns over to look at us from his fetal position on the floor. His eyes slightly widen when they see me.

"There you are," he muses with a slightly relieved undertone in his raspy voice. I shake my head as Finn hands me a knife. With one quick motion, I wedge it between the chains on Bellamy's handcuffs and break the metal. He grunts at the force.

Monroe enters the jail, mostly keeping a lookout in case anyone happens to come around. Along the way here, Finn had explained that she was left in charge of creating a distraction for the guards that are supposed to be stationed here. Hopefully it'll be a big enough distraction that we'll be long gone before they come back.

Sliding the knife in my back pocket, I firmly put both of my hands on Bellamy's cheeks and plant a chaste kiss on his chapped lips. I ignore the grime coating his face this time. "You're so stupid."

"Get up," Finn orders quietly. "We're going after them."

"It's about time," Bellamy replies as we both stand up. My eyes fall on Murphy, who's still huddled in his little corner. His ears seem to have perked up at the mention of our mission. I tear my gaze away and turn on my heel to walk out, heading for Monroe by the doors, when his voice stops me.

"Hey, woah, wait," he protests, making us all turn around to look at him. "What about me?"

Bellamy, Finn, and I share glances. Finn shakes his head subtly, but Bellamy takes the knife out of my back pocket and heads forward to break his handcuffs.

"Wait, no." Finn practically dives forward to stop Bellamy by sticking his arm out in front of him. "What are you doing?"

Even I send him a confused glance, wondering if their short time together in prison had somehow mended their weird frenemy-ship. I'm in no mood to have him come with us.

Bellamy moves forward and breaks the cuffs off of Murphy's wrists, letting them clatter to the ground. "He's coming with us."

"No way," Finn snaps.

"He's been to the Grounder prison camp," Bellamy argues as he hoists Murphy to his feet by grabbing him beneath his arms.

"He's right, okay?" Murphy agrees. His hair is a complete mess, half slicked back by the amount of grease in it and half a disheveled disaster on top of his head. He barely seems able to stand on his own. "I can take you there."

"Hey, Sterling just signaled," Monroe announces. "Someone's coming."

Sterling. He must be the boy who was with Monroe before. I'm glad I finally know his name and can stop calling him "the boy."

Bellamy's eyes shift to me and then to Finn. I shrug, figuring there's no point in leaving Murphy here now that his restraints are off and he can follow us even if we decide to leave him here. Finn reluctantly nods as well and motions toward the door. He follows Monroe out and down the hallway, Bellamy sliding the knife back into my pocket as he walks by.

Sighing, I trail behind each of them and wonder if I'll get thrown back in prison if we get caught.

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get ready for fairly speedy updates! i spent most of today writing this story and i'm so happy with the chapters!!

also, thanks so much for 90k! i love you cuties so much

-kristyn