• •

CHAPTER FIVE;

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND.

• •

"I THOUGHT I told the both of you to stop being fucking babies!"

Haven didn't get an ounce of sleep last night. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't; there was simply far too much to do. Yet, despite her tireless efforts, it felt like nothing had been accomplished at all. Chaos reigned all around her, the delinquents still riding the high from Bellamy's speech last night.

Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the dirt. Tents, mere skeletons of their intended structures, stood partially assembled, their tarps flapping lazily in the breeze. Laughter and shouting filled the air as makeshift games were played amidst the disarray. Haven swore she could hear the rhythm of a drumline somewhere in the distance, but perhaps her fatigue was triggering hallucinations.

The absolute last thing Haven wanted to do at the crack of dawn was to break up another fight between Wells and Murphy. It had become almost comically predictable at this point. The scene unfolded like a twisted dance routine; Murphy, always the instigator, was busy doing something undeniably fucking stupid. Wells, the voice of reason, never hesitated to call him out. And just as surely as night turned to day, they would find themselves in a tangle of limbs and flashing knives, caught in the same incessant cycle of conflict.

        Least surprisingly of all– Bellamy stood at the center, an almost devilish grin playing at his lips as he surveyed the chaos. His presence alone seemed to ignite the spark that led to these clashes, and it was as though he thrived on the pandemonium of it all. The delinquents around them watched with a mix of amusement and trepidation, for they too knew the script all too well.

        And then there was Haven. She blew out a long breath, a sense of annoyance festering in her blood. They had more important things to do than all of... this. Haven knew, as she had the day before, that if she didn't step in now– the boys would slit each other's throats.

        Their first mistake was their brief moment of hesitation as Haven approached the fray. Her footsteps were deliberate, her keen eyes locking on to Wells first as she quickly assessed the situation. In one hand, he clutched his blade against Murphy's throat, while the other effectively restrained him from behind. Meanwhile, Murphy held a knife of his own in his fingertips, the blade teetering dangerously close to Wells's thigh.

         Wells was no threat; that much was clear. Although Haven was impressed with the way he defended himself leading up to this point– Wells would not kill Murphy. Especially not in front of the onlookers who already harbored enough resentment toward him. Murphy, on the otherhand, would kill anything with a pulse that so much as breathed at him indecently. With his blade inching closer to Wells by the second– Haven knew who her target would be.

        "Do it, Vampira." Murphy taunted, as if he sensed Haven's assessment. His voice was muffled against the brute force of Wells's forearm. "I dare you."

        She wasted no time and lunged.

        "I am so," Haven sent a knee crashing into Murphy's groin, his eyes electrifying with surprise before his body slackened against Wells's chest, "Fucking tired," she continued by shoving him face-first to the dirt. Murphy's chest hit the ground first, and she settled atop him, her knees digging firmly into his spine, "Of listening to you talk."

        With remarkable ease, Haven snatched the knife from Murphy's hand, her swift movements leaving no room for resistance. That was one. Rising to her feet, she turned to Wells, extending her arm and defltly plucking the knife from his grip. Easily, at that. Wells, sensing the futility of any pushback, offered no opposition. The blade slipped effortlessly from his fingers and into Haven's. That was two.

        In a matter of seconds, both boys found themselves entirely disarmed. Haven's movements were efficient and precise as she sheathed the knives, their metallic click a testament to her skill. Then, with an unwavering grace, she tucked them beneath the underwire of her bra. A wry smile played on her lips as she met their bewildered eyes. "You can have them back when you behave yourselves."

        "What are you guys doing?!"

        Clarke's voice bellowed from the treeline, her tone a potent mix of exasperation and concern. It didn't take much observation for Haven to realize that Clarke was royally pissed; she descended the dirt slope in a storm, her eyes demanding answers beneath the weight of her piercing glare. Finn, appearing moments later, mirrored her urgency as he followed closely behind.

        Murphy seized the distraction as the perfect opportunity to lunge for Haven from his spot on the ground– but Bellamy's reflexes were faster. He restrained Murphy by his shoulders and shoved him aside with ease, like he was a nothing more than a ragdoll. "Enough, Murphy."

        The command was forgotten in the breeze as Bellamy's gaze abruptly shifted to his sister. Octavia, visibly distressed, hobbled forward with Monty shouldering half of her weight. Blood soaked her pantleg; Bellamy's heart was in his throat as he sprinted towards her. "Octavia. Are you all right?"

Something felt off.

The group returned from their trip to Mount Weather looking disheveled, their appearances markedly changed. Where once there had been youthful exuberance and the joy of exploration, now there were pallid faces marked by an indomitable fear. Haven's breath hitched as she noticed the most concerning detail of all— they were empty-handed.

        Bellamy's thoughts mimicked her own. "Where's the food?"

        "We didn't make it to Mount Weather." Finn was breathless as sank onto a nearby tree stump. His hair was slick with sweat, cheeks flushed pink with exertion, as if he had been running.

        Bellamy stood still, a deep crease between his furrowed eyebrows. His voice scorched with frustration as he pressed Finn further, searching for clarity. "What the hell happened out there?"

        Clarke sucked in a breath before answering. "We were attacked."

        "Attacked?" Haven's disbelief was evident as her mouth moved almost involuntarily. "By what?" She crossed her arms over her chest, visibly struggling to grasp the situation– because what the fuck could've attacked them on an inhabitable planet?

"Not what. Who." Finn's words descended like an ominous shroud over the camp, casting a bone-chilling silence that seemed to suck all the joy and oxygen from the atmosphere in mere seconds. Fear gripped everyone present, its icy fingers wrapped around their throats. "It turns out, when the last man from the ground died on the Ark, he wasn't the last Grounder."

FUCK.

"It's true." Clarke continued, despite the murmurs of unease rippling throughout the crowd. "Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong. There are people here, survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us."

"Yeah, the bad news is the Grounders will." Finn's voice dropped to a hush as he shared his grim realization only with the small circle of individuals around him. This included Bellamy, Octavia, Clarke, Wells, Monty, and...

Haven's scream pierced the air. "Where's Jasper?!"

A shadow of darkness blanketed Clarke's features as she wrestled with her emotions, making it difficult to maintain eye contact with Haven. "Jasper was hit. They... took him."

"They?" Haven's ears were ringing so loudly that her own damn voice sounded distant. Panic throttled through her at a lightning-fast speed; she inched closer to the Griffin girl with a rock forming in her throat. "Took him where, Clarke? You just left him there on his own to be kidnapped?"

Clarke shook her head, taking a cautious step backwards as Haven's emotions flared. "It wasn't like that, Haven," she insisted, her voice strained with desperation. "If I knew, we wouldn't be here. We only came back to regroup and to warn all of you." There was a tense pause as Clarke's gaze landed on Wells's wrist. "Where is your wristband?"

Wells shot a sharp glare in the direction of none other than Bellamy Blake. "Ask him."

Haven had been so consumed in her own fatigue and turmoil that she hadn't even registered the absence of Wells's wristband. The weight of worry for Jasper clung to her like a second skin; over her dead body would she let that boy go missing. However, Haven also understood the necessity of regaining her composure. With a deep breath, she steeled herself together again, the gentle touch of Monty's hand on her shoulder acting as a lifeline.

        Clarke whipped to Bellamy with disdain. "How many?"

        "Twenty-four and counting." It was Murphy who answered this time. He faced a barrage of glares from every direction surrounding him, the fresh blood on his nose and his chin serving as painful evidence from the recent brawl.

        "You idiots." Clarke seethed, her frustration palpable as she stared at the group in utter disbelief. "Life support on the Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground is survivable again, and we need their help against whoever is out there." She shifted her gaze to the onlookers nearby. "If you take off your wristbands, you're not just killing them. You're killing us!"

         The revelation answered the burning question of why the hell they'd been shipped down to Earth in the first place, or at least why now. It was a bitter truth: the Ark was running out of oxygen, and exiling the delinquents to the ground was a last-ditch effort to save their own asses. Naturally. Now, faced with the reality of other survivors, specifically ones who most likely wanted the deliquents dead– it seemed they were all on borrowed time, destined to perish regardless of their actions.

"We're stronger than you think." Bellamy's strong voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward, diverting the attention away from Clarke. "Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same?"

        His words struck a chord, challenging the disparity that had divided the delinquents and igniting a spark of defiance in the hearts of those who had once doubted. Haven, on the otherhand, refrained from rolling her eyes. The entire conversation was nothing more than a futile waste of time.

        "We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore!" Bellamy's confidence exuded an air of dominance as he raised his voice. "They say they'll forgive your crimes. I say you're not criminals!" Clamors of heated encouragement rumbled from the crowd, echoing high from the treetops above them. "You're fighters! Survivors! The Grounders should worry about US!"

        Haven didn't stay to hear the aftermath.

        Instead, she made a beeline towards the dropship's open doors, her anxiety guiding her like a tether. Haven's mission was clear: gather medical supplies, a map, her newly acquired knives– anything that could be of assistance to the plan whirring to life beneath her skull. Time was of the essence, and they had already wasted enough of it.

        Two figures appeared on each side of her as she marched forward; Monty to her left, Clarke to her right. It was clear that Haven wasn't the only one unwilling to entertain the spectacle known as Bellamy Blake.

        "What do we do now?" Monty questioned.

        Haven could hardly endure the way her stupid, pitiful heart twisted at the sight of Monty's face. Every centimeter of his once-vibrant features paled, fear painting a devastating masterpiece on his skin. He was the heartwrenching portrait of a boy who was afraid, and above all else–

A boy who needed his bestfriend.

        Haven clenched her jaw. "Now, we go after Jasper."

• •

        THE SUN on Haven's skin was a feeling she'd grown quite found of.

        After assembling a backpack full of supplies and a quick change of clothes, the group trekked through the forest in search of Jasper. Clarke and Finn ventured in one direction, leaving Haven, Wells, Murphy, and Bellamy to shoulder the responsibility of searching in the opposite direction. The dense wilderness stretched out before them, concealing both hope and uncertainty in its depths.

        Haven's half of the search party was far from ideal. Monty remained back at camp, diligently working on a new communication system using the wristbands in hopes of reaching the Ark. Without him, she was left with the other three men– each of whom she had engaged in at least one argument with, and one of whom she'd knocked to the forest floor with no shred of remorse. The dynamics between them weren't particularly... friendly.

        Bellamy had only joined because of Clarke's insistence; she heard rumors of the gun he kept tucked snugly in the waistband of his cargos, and thought the group could use the additional protection. It made him look like tough shit, so why the hell not? This compelled Murphy to join too, serving as Bellamy's backup– and co-conspirator.

        Then there was Wells, whose presence in the group was driven solely by his profound distrust of Bellamy and Murphy. It was clear he didn't want them within a three-foot radius of Clarke; his watchful eyes never strayed far from her, even in the midst of what appeared to be a strained disconnect between them. Haven couldn't necessarily blame him for it. She carried enough mistrust of her own.

It wasn't that Haven disagreed with Bellamy, per se. Most of what he'd articulated in his speech was nothing short of the truth, and it had undoubtedly succeeded in uniting the delinquents with a force she'd never seen before. Her struggle laid in deciphering how much of it was real, how much of it was driven by his own self-interest, and how deeply he truly believed that the camp stood a chance against the Grounders.

The notion of other survivors on the ground caused a fragile part of Haven to waver. It was a peculiar type of pain, the awareness that not only did these survivors exist– but also that they harbored no tolerance for the delinquents. They had quite literally fallen straight from the fucking sky and into their territory, after all. Yet, what cut the deepest had nothing to do with their hostility.

It was the devastating realization that Haven's mother was right all along.

"Haven?"

Wells's voice broke through the haze of her thoughts, and she blinked, suddenly returning back to her body. Casting an expectant glance at him, Haven wordlessly urged him to speak as they maintained their brisk pace through the forest.

"I just, um... I wanted to say thanks. For stepping in." The apprehension was clear in his tone as he meandered beside her. His limp from the day before had improved, but wasn't completely healed yet. "Again."

Haven shrugged. "No need for thanks." She sent a quick glance over her shoulder to spot Bellamy and Murphy, trailing not too far behind them. Murphy was quick to shoot her a glare. "You do kinda suck at picking fights, though."

Something like a smile formed at Wells's mouth. "I guess. Where'd you learn to fight like that, anyway?"

Bellamy's cough punctuated the conversation from behind them, as if to purposefully signal his approach. His lips were curved into a knowing smirk, eyes lightening with amusement as he fell into step on Haven's other side. "Yeah, Haven. Where did you?"

Well. There was that.

Once upon a time, back aboard the Ark, a serious data breach had crippled GoSci station's security systems. This triggered a lockdown that forced everybody on board to shelter in place, including Bellamy and Haven– for twelve hours straight.

        Within the confines of Abby's office, the duo found themselves alone and growing increasingly restless. Haven was beyond cranky, conversation had dwindled, and they had exhausted every possible topic of discussion. They even resorted to counting the tiles on the wall more times than they cared to admit.

        It was after Haven had cracked her knuckles for the third time within ten minutes that Bellamy hatched a rather unconventional idea. He proposed teaching Haven self-defense skills, beyond just throwing the punches her mother had taught her as a young girl.

Haven's initial reaction was to reject the idea. She found comfort in her cocoon of chosen misery, and wasn't keen on venturing outside of it. However, it was Bellamy's outstretched hand and the earnest twinkle in his eyes that ultimately convinced her to reconsider.

"You're hitting hard, but you're not fast enough."

Bellamy stood before her with his palms raised in a fighting stance. They were about an hour into his makeshift training session, and Haven was exhausted. Her muscles cried in places she didn't even know existed, her breath grew heavier with every exhale. Yet, there was a fire in her blood and an exhilarating tingle in her fingertips that urged her to keep going.

"Yet." Bellamy reiterated, noticing the frown at her pink lips due to his last sentence. He adjusted his position in front of her and smiled at the newfound spark in her eyes. "Try again."

The memory was delicate in Haven's mind, cradled carefully in the finest of bubble-wrapped thoughts. Now, as her eyes locked with Bellamy's, the weight of his knowing gaze was far too heavy to withstand. His big brown eyes poked and prodded at each of the protective layers until she was certain she would burst at the seams.

        "HEY! OVER HERE!"

        Before Haven could even formulate a response to Bellamy, a sudden, piercing shout from Finn echoed across the wind. The group exchanged swift and mutual looks of alarm before sprinting through the forest, hurried footsteps crunching leaves and snapping twigs, all in the direction of Finn's urgent call.

        Upon their arrival, the group was met with the startled gazes of Clarke and Finn. Their wide eyes were fixed on the unsettling sight of blood staining the river rocks before them. Haven swallowed hard, her heart pounding. The liquid was a bright, vivid red—undeniably fresh.

        Jasper was closer than they thought.

        "Let's keep it moving." Finn ordered. "We stick together from now on."

        The group pressed forward on their fearful trek, their formation tight and disciplined behind Finn's determined lead. Each step was swift, driven by the gripping fear that Jasper's life teetered dangerously on the edge of a precipice. The forest loomed around them in a sea of green, its dense foliage hiding pontential dangers that only heightened their anxiety with every heartbeat that passed.

        Haven's stomach churned with discomfort as they walked. The past two days had taken their toll, leaving her physically depleted and emotionally drained. She trudged on with an empty stomach and very minimal water, each step exacerbating the chest burning sensation in her chest. The ache was familiar, yet she couldn't discern if it was due to her stenosis or the unbearable emotional hell she'd faced since their arrival.

        "Hey, how do we know this is the right way?" Murphy's query broke the silence encompassing them.

        "We don't." Bellamy grunted, his annoyance clear. He cast a frustrated glance at their surroundings, internally questioning the accuracy of their chosen path. "Spacewalker thinks he's a tracker."

        Wells faced the two boys with an expression of stone. "It's called 'cutting sign.' Fourth-year earth skills. He's good." he explained, offering a nod of acknowledgment to Finn's tracking abilities.

        "Yeah. Don't be mad that some of us actually know our left from our right." Haven added, monotone. She was so lost in her own head that she hadn't even realized she spoke the thought aloud; Bellamy's quiet snicker from beside her was the only confirmation that she had.

        "You want to keep it down?" Finn's voice was stern as whipped his head in the direction of the others, eyes flaring with warning. "Or should I paint a target on your backs?"

         As if scripted by fate, the group's conversation was shattered by a haunting moan. The eerie sound reverberated through the expanse of greenery and hilltops, delivering a shiver down their spines with a sickly chill.

        Murphy's eyes darted towards the forest in search of the sound's origin. "What the hell was that?"

        Haven's voice quivered with dread as she provided an unsettling answer, her words barely audible. "That's Jasper's voice." The profound exhaustion that had plagued her just moments ago seemed to vanish entirely, replaced by an all-consuming inferno of worry. Every cell in her damn body was ablaze with an unprecedented fear.

        "Now would be a good time to take out that gun." Clarke urged, her briefly gaze locked onto Bellamy. Without waiting for a response, she darted towards the source of Jasper's anguished cries.

The group rallied behind Clarke on pure instinct. Guided by a combination of adrenaline and mounting anxiety, their synchronized footsteps pounded the ground with an urgency that mirrored the racing beat of their hearts. The very earth beneath them seemed to quiver in shared apprehension, as if it, too, sensed the looming danger. Together, they sprinted away from the serene riverside path, crashing through the underbrush, and surged toward the foreboding treeline.

And then there was quiet.

They halted, frozen in time. It was as though the sun itself had creased to spin on it's axis– solely to absorb the harrowing sight that stretched out before the group's wide, unbelieving eyes.

        Jasper, shirtless and bloodied, appeared as a wretched spectacle to the group. His torso was marred, a gruesome tapestry of sweat and wounds and blood, so much blood. He was tightly bound to the trunk of a massive tree, his arms contorted and ensnared in rope above his head, suspended as if condemned to hang in torment. The ropes seemed to clutch him like the cruel hands of fate, leaving him at the mercy of his own impending demise.

        Amidst the agony, Jasper's groans of pain resonated through the forest, each sound a haunting reminder of his suffering. His head, too weary to support itself, leaned heavily against the rough bark of the tree, an image of despair etched into the very fibers of the ancient wood.

        "Jasper." Haven breathed his name like a prayer. Her lips parted in fathomless shock at the sight of her friend's near-death state, her brain simply unwilling to comprehend, to accept the grotesque horror before her. The sound of heart thundered so loudly in her chest that it felt as though a goddamn earthquake erupted within her eardrums, and still, she willed herself to move towards him.

        "Oh my God!"

        Clarke's exclamation sliced through the air as she surged forward, swiftly outpacing Haven on her dash toward the tree that imprisoned Jasper. Dismay seemed to have etched a permanent resolve onto her once soft features.

         "Clarke, be careful." Finn warned.

        "Jasper?"

        "What the hell is this?" Bellamy's question hung thickly amongst the earthy scent of moss and leaves. With utmost fluidity, he tucked his gun back into the gap in his waistband. He followed seamlessly behind Clarke and Haven; their footsteps were hurried, their proximity tight. His knee nearly bumped into the back of Haven's thigh due to the closeness and speed at which he followed, but not for a moment did their collective gaze waver from the battered boy in front of them.

Suddenly, the ground beneath Clarke's feet crumbled away. The griffin girl shrieked with pure, unadulterated horror as she plummeted through the depths of the newly found manhole. Panic clawed at her chest, and her heart raced with a primal fear as she desperately tried to grasp anything to halt her descent. But then, Clarke's gaze dropped involuntarily, and what she saw was enough to make her plead for an immediate death.

        Wooden spikes, like sinister teeth of some nightmarish beast, sprang forth from the earth below. They glistened with an eerie, malevolent sheen, their tips poised to impale her helpless form. Every detail of their cruel design seared itself into her mind– the jagged edges, the gnarled knots, the wicked points that seemed to reach out with an insatiable hunger.

It was a trap.

Haven, trailing just a step behind Clarke, abruptly flung herself backward. Her body crashed down to the grass and landed with a painful thud from the impact. The shock of the fall was swift, but her instinct to act was swifter. In a matter of mere moments, she scrambled forward, her fingers clawing at the edge of the hole in attempt to reach Clarke.

Bellamy had already dropped to his knees by the time Haven arrived, his strong arm outstretched into the hole, and his hand clenched firmly around Clarke's left forearm. With a fast and determined motion, Haven seized Clarke's right forearm and tugged along with him.

        At least, she thought she was.

The Smith girl pulled with a force so intense, so powerful that she nearly saw stars from the sheer exertion of it. Yet, as Haven strained against the weight of Clarke's body, she quickly realized that she was bearing the brunt of the burden alone.

        Bellamy's assistance was conspicuously lacking.

        In a fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of his eyes; within their depths she saw a flicker of hesitation, a relentless internal conflict that waged on him. Bellamy's gaze was fixed, not on Clarke's face or her impassioned pleas, but on the fucking wristband encircling her wrist. It was as if he were locked in an agonizing debate– torn between the value of the piece of machinery and the life it was attached to.

"CLARKE!" Finn shouted. "Get her up! Pull her up! PULL HER UP!"

Haven watched as Bellamy's hesitation receded into the earth below, vanishing like a shadow swallowed by the light of daybreak. As if a switch had flipped; he pulled with every ounce of might he had. The rest of the group quickly rallied behind the pair on the ground to form a determined chain. Their arms extended as a collective lifeline, their combined strength and adrenaline working in unison to drag Clarke up from the perilous hole.

        "Get her! Pull her up!" Finn's fear softened in the slightest once Clarke was fully out of the hole, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. "You okay?"

        "Yeah," Clarke panted, her skin slick with sweat as she quickly rose to her feet. Her eyes were wild as she surveyed the tree that bound Jasper. "We need to get him down."

Finn had already started towards the trunk, his expression focused as he quietly assessed the best method of freeing Jasper. "I'll climb up there and cut the vines."

Wells sent a knowing glance to Haven, an unexpected charge of understanding passing between the two. Together, they nodded in unison as Wells affirmed, "Yeah, yeah. We're with you."

Spinning on his heels, Finn furrowed his brows incredulously. "No. Stay with Clarke, and watch him." He ordered, his tone hardening with distrust as his eyes locked onto Bellamy. Then, he gestured to Murphy. "You. Let's go."

As Finn resumed his stride towards the tree with a fierce determination, Haven observed Murphy begrudgingly trailing behind him. His reluctance was as palpable as a dog being dragged on a leash. A rabid dog, at that.

       And then her eyes flickered back to Jasper once more. As if she had a choice to look anywhere else; the sight of her friend in agonizing pain and the metallic smell of his blood was inescapable and all-encompassing. She had to swallow back the bile threatening to rise in her throat and vainly tried to shove aside her dread.

He'll be okay. He has to be.

        "There's a poultice on his wound." Clarke's voice held a note of discovery as she stared at the leaf adorning Jasper's bare chest, precisely in the spot where the poor kid had been speared.

         "Medicine?" Wells questioned from beside the blonde girl, edging closer to her as inconspicuously as possible. "Why would they save his life just to string him up as live bait?"

        Bellamy shifted uncomfortably on his feet next to Haven, his words caustic and cynical. "Maybe what they're trying to catch likes it's dinner to be breathing."

"Maybe what they're trying to catch is us."

Finn's words struck a chord in Haven's brain, sending a ripple of unease coursing through her body. The Grounders had clearly lured them out here with Jasper as their pawn, given the fact he was still alive– but for what purpose? Were they intending to rip their throats out all at once? Haven's mind soared as she frantically tried to recall any knowledge of Earth's geography, the creatures that inhabited these sinister forests– something, anything to be of use. But, alas, her mental search yielded absolutely useless.

        Haven blew out a long breath. "We are so fucking screwed."

       The sound of dry laughter was the only indication of Bellamy's presence beside Haven. She tilted her head to face the Blake boy, only to find him staring off into the dense thicket of trees. He slowly shook his head, obsidian curls nearly covering the brown irises that suddenly appeared clouded. The rapid descent of their circumstances into chaos was a hard pill to swallow, even for the King himself.

"Hurry up, Murphy." Finn grunted to the boy alongside him. Both of them had already scaled the massive tree, now cutting diligently through the ropes that held Jasper captive against the trunk.

        Clarke, now positioned near Wells on the opposite edge of the clearing, was a bundle of nerves. She eyed the boys with a gnawing apprehension. "Be careful!"

        A bone-chilling growl rumbled forth from the forest. Like some malevolent entity had awakened. Everybody halted at once; their swift movements suddenly paralyzed. Even the breeze seemed to hush in unnerving silence, as if nature itself held it's breath in anticipation.

        "What the hell was that?" Murphy repeated, asking the same damn question for the second time within a matter of minutes.

        Bellamy stepped forward to scan the area with remarkable skill and precision, the perfect portrait of a guard in action– but the dread in his tone was unmistakable. "Grounders?"

Haven dared not to move, not even to breathe. Her pupils locked onto the sky, rapidly spotting the birds fleeing the safety of their nests among the clouds. Then, she lowered her gaze to the bushes, her keen vision detecting a shadow stalking forward through the dense greenery. She blinked, desperately trying to see more clearly, only to realize the shadow was no longer just that– it was a panther. A formidable beast of pure muscle, sharp teeth, and savage grace.

And it was heading straight toward them.

"Bell." Haven breathed his nickname as if her mouth had a mind of it's own. Maybe it did, in a moment like this. Her words were barely more than a breath, a fragile thread of sound woven with fear and urgency. She was so worried Bellamy that wouldn't have heard her in time, she failed to register that he already had; his head snapped around to meet her eyes with breakneck-speed.

        Clarke shrieked in terror as the panther fully materialized into the clearing. It's sleek, black coat shimmered with spots of sunlight filtering through the leaves above. "Bellamy, GUN!"

Bellamy's eyes widened in shock as he tore his gaze away from Haven. He frantically moved his arms to retrieve the gun from his waistband, only to come up empty-handed. Panic surged through him as he patted his pants, his pockets, desperately searching for wherever the hell he could've placed it. His eyes found Haven's again, skin paled with a lethal realization– the gun was gone.

"GET DOWN!"

The panther exploded into a full-fledged sprint, it's massive, ebony form bounding menacingly toward Haven and Bellamy. The echo of bullets and Clarke's blood-curdling cry reverberated in Haven's ears, her body reacting on pure instinct as she dropped to the forest floor and clamped her hands over her ears. Bellamy was quick to fall beside her in unison, his arm mindlessly extending over torso. As if he too, were acting on instinct. Together, they watched the monstrous beast as it vaulted over their prone forms, a shadow of death itself.

Haven shifted from her back to lie flat on her stomach, her gaze fixed on the spot where the panther had vanished among the bushes behind them. Then, her attention turned to Wells. He clutched Bellamy's missing gun tightly in his fingers, a wisp of smoke still lingering from the chamber.

"You hit it, right?" Bellamy was already back on his feet, pivoted towards Wells by the time Haven turned to look at him. His breaths were ragged, a fresh sheen of sweat glistening alongside his freckles. Wells shakily nodded before Bellamy continued. "So where the hell did it go?"

        Haven rose from the ground, her brown eyes frantically scanning the perimeter surrounding them. There was no possible way the panther had retreated for good, especially not with the scent of Jasper's carnage filling the air so heavily. If she was smart, she'd quiver behind Wells and await her inevitable death. On the otherhand, if she was fast enough– maybe she could find it before it struck next.

Smart ideas were never her strongsuit.

A twig snapped, followed by a quick rustle of leaves. Immediately, Haven located the source, just in time to spot a sliver of black fur shielded behind a bush across the field. Her heart thumped as she moved, sidestepping far away from where the rest of the group stood. She inched closer to the panther's hiding spot until there were mere yards seperating them, a perilous gap between predator and prey.

       "Here, kitty kitty." Haven lulled, earning a low snarl in response. Her movements were slow as she stealthily unsheathed one of the blades hidden beneath her shirt. With a considerable distance between her and the others, she was certain she could pull this off. Probably. The brunette was many things, but she not brave– she was shaking. She could see the sinister glint in the beast's eyes even from afar.

"HAVEN!"

Just as Haven suspected, the wild animal launched itself forth again, barreling toward her with jaws hanging wide. It's growls echoed throughout the forest in a menacing chorus of primal fury. With a trembling hand, yet utmost precision, Haven sent her knife soaring across the wind. The blade whistled as it sliced through the air, but her aim fell short as a body propelled into her.

There was no time to react, no time to blink as Bellamy's arms wrapped around her, his strength an impenetrable fortress that shielded her from the beast. Intertwined, the pair tumbled to the ground, rolling not once, but twice– the world around them a dizzying blur of motion and kaleidoscopic colors.

       Haven's breath came in shallow gasps as their tumultuous journey finally reached it's end. Bellamy's body remained an unyielding presence, pressed tightly against her own, relying on the muscles in his forearms to hover and avoid overwhelming her completely. His eyes, once filled with wild determination, now held a desperate, anguished depth as they frantically scanned her face.

Neither of them heard the final gunshot that claimed the panther's life.

"What..." Bellamy's voice was raw as he dared to speak. Their chests rose and fell together in a tortured rhythm, eyes meshing for a heartbeat too long. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Haven blinked, as if forcibly tugged back to the present by his words. Reeling from disorientation, she became painfully aware of her fingers tightly clutching his jacket, white-knuckled from fear. She quickly released her hold on him and shoved aside her embarrassment. "I'm thinking you should get off of me."

Bellamy obliged, his movements slow as he shifted from above her to lying beside her instead. The exhaustion from their ordeal left them both immobilized. For the time being, they remained still like that; two forsaken souls, collapsed in the dirt, seeking respite among the chaos and foilage.

As they caught their breath, Haven's eyes wandered to the motionless panther. It laid just a mere five steps away, her knife conspicuously absent from it's body. Frustration welled up within her as she turned to the boy beside her. "You made me miss my shot."

Bellamy tore his gaze away from her and instead settled upon the tree strump situated behind the lifeless beast. There, with a sense of revelation, he pointed to Haven's knife, buried deeply within the stump's core. "Why does it matter?" He breathed. "It's dead now anyway."

In a seemingly choreographed entrance, Murphy sauntered forward, his appearance shrouded in the fog of their exhaustion. It was unclear exactly when he had climbed down from the tree amidst the chaos. However, his intentions were all too evident as he snatched the knife from the stump, a malevolent gleam in his eye.

He walked away without a word.

"That's why." Haven groaned. lgnoring her body's vehement protests, she summoned the strength to rise to her feet. Jasper's situation was far too dire to waste any more time. "You're not getting yours back, by the way."

Bellamy quickly understood she was referring to his knife– the same one he had given Wells earlier in the day, just before his brawl with Murphy; the same one that now lay snugly against the skin beneath her tanktop. He remained seated on the ground, gazing up at her with the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. "How'd you know it was mine?"

Haven simply shrugged. The Blake boy spoke as if she didn't know him in the same way that the moon knew the stars. "You wouldn't have let them fight unless you gave Wells a fair chance."

There was a crumble in Bellamy's facade at the weight of her words, his mask of stoicism slipping for half a millisecond. It was a fleeting vulnerability, too evanescent for anyone else to notice it, but not Haven. Never Haven.

"Don't worry." Her words were a distant echo in the vastness of Bellamy's thoughts, a whispered promise that resonated in the silence.

"I won't tell them their King has a heart."

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AAHHHHHHHHHHHH 6.3K WORDS HELLO

there was so much action in this chapter.. technically this is enough to split into 2 chapters but lucky u, u get it all at once!

liking and commenting is so sexy so if u enjoyed pls share <3 love u!

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