• •

CHAPTER TWELVE;

PUNISHER.

[ content warning: suicide ]

• •

BELLAMY EXPLODED INTO A FULL FLEDGED SPRINT, WITH HAVEN SOARING CLOSE BEHIND HIM. There was no time for subtlety, all sense of caution abandoned as they bounded across the terrain that separated them from the girl. In one fluid motion, Bellamy wrapped his arms around Charlotte's waist and lugged her out of sight.

"Shh–shh–shh." Bellamy whispered, clamping his hand over Charlotte's mouth as she unrelentingly thrashed in his grip. Upon realizing it was him, she ceased, prompting Bellamy to drop his hand. "Look! It's just me."

        To the pair's horror–Charlotte only shrieked louder.

       "MURPHY!"

        "What are you doing?" Bellamy hissed, the concern in his tone gradually morphing into impatience. He was entirely beside himself, lips parted in dreadful disbelief as Charlotte writhed beneath his hands, desperate to be set free. "Charlotte, stop! Now!"

"CHARLOTTE! You can't hide forever!" Murphy's blood thirsty shouts sliced through the twilight, echoing high amongst the tree tops as their wrestling persisted. "Don't worry! We won't hurt you!"

       Panic coiled in Haven's stomach, her fingers twitching miserably against Bellamy's back as she ushered them out of their less-than-ideal hiding spot. Judging by the proximity of Murphy's voice, it was painfully evident that he was gaining on them; his shouts were the closest she'd heard him since they ventured into the forest to begin with. If Charlotte kept up screaming like a goddamn banshee, he'd find them in a matter of minutes. 

They needed to find better coverage–now.

"Let me go!" Charlotte whined, compelled against every ounce of her will to follow Bellamy as he dragged her into step beside them.

"I'm trying–hey!" The urgency in Bellamy's voice mirrored the rapid beat of his heart as Charlotte nearly escaped his grasp. He spun, snatching her by her jacket, eyes widening with dismay as he absorbed the weight of her defiance. "Hey! We're trying to help you!"

        "I'm not your sister!" Charlotte cried, pale eyes matching his stare with a wild intensity of her own. Disheveled strands of blonde hair framed her face as she shook her head. "Just stop helping me!"

Bellamy hesitated.

Another millisecond slipped past him in slow motion as he tried to evade Charlotte's words. To avoid their sting and let them roll of his back like water. Charlotte was right–she wasn't his sister. She clearly wanted nothing to do his protection. Yet, in the sudden flash of her eyes, the line between her and Octavia blurred.

At that, Charlotte wrenched herself free.

"I'M OVER HERE!"

Time resumed for Bellamy at the sound of Charlotte's footsteps receding. Without thought, he surged after her, stumbling to a halt as he found Charlotte already wrangled into Haven's grasp. Flustered and undeniably fed up with the thrashing twelve year old, she passed Charlotte to Bellamy, whose strong hands seized her by her shoulders and willed her to finally cooperate.

"Are you trying to get us all killed?" He questioned, beyond exasperated.

"Just go, okay? I'm the one they want!" Charlotte's voice cracked as she released her plea into the night. Fresh saltwater clung to her eyelashes before surrendering to gravity, slipping to the earth in a devastating cascade. "Haven was right, I–I have to be a big girl now. I deserve this! I deserve to die!"

        "No." Haven whispered. Regret was a white-hot inferno ablaze in her chest as she frantically fought to raise her voice, to speak over the fiery guilt scorching the back of her throat. "No. That's not–that's not what I meant. You don't deserve to–"

        "Don't I?" Charlotte's eyes darted between Haven and Bellamy in a panicked daze. "I killed him! This is all my fault! I just–" She sucked in a ragged breath, cheeks flushed scarlet as she miserably choked back sobs. "Wells... he looks," she sputtered before correcting herself, "looked so much like Jaha. He floated my parents, and I-I watched it happen. I couldn't take it. I needed to make it stop. The voices. The nightmares. I-I couldn't, I can't–"

        "Okay, Charlotte–listen to me." Bellamy crouched to her height, tugging her small body forward by her jacket collar until she was forced to meet his eyes. He spoke every word as if it were a vow the universe itself. "We won't leave you."

"Please, Bellamy..." Charlotte whispered.

Excruciating silence wrapped it's tendrils around the trio, immobilizing them. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The silence was gutted with anticipation, broken only by the rabid rise and fall of their chests.

        For the first time since Charlotte's confession–Haven felt her tunnel vision subside. She feverishly studied the young girl's face before her; tear streaked skin, sunken cheeks, pinched brows, a jaw that trembled with raw defiance. Her eyes, God, her eyes–the grief that pooled within them made Haven's useless heart sputter and die out entirely.

        Charlotte's actions were the furthest thing from excusable. She was monstrous, vile. Any human being with a semblance of morality, of sanity could comprehend the consequences of killing somebody. However, Charlotte didn't fit the mold of an ordinary human being. Her turbulent journey bore the indelible marks of a traumatized past—witnessing her parents' execution as a child, incarcerated before reaching her teenage years. Of course she was fucking insane. In her own convoluted way, she had confronted her demons, not out of virtue–but because it was the first piece of advice she'd received since losing the people who were supposed to protect her.

She was just a girl.

        A girl responsible for an unspeakable tragedy. A girl who once cowered against repercussions, now willing to surrender herself to death with open arms.

Haven didn't like Charlotte, nor did she like Murphy. Each of them shouldered the weight of their own screwed-up existence; born and bred to be twisted as a product of their environment on the Ark. Not everybody had the strength to overcome their upbringing. Haven, herself, could hardly claim victory over her own demons; she recognized echoes of her younger self in Charlotte at fifteen—assaulting a guard in the aftermath of her mother's death. Similarly, she glimpsed shades of Murphy at fifteen, assaulting that same guard for revenge.

Granted, Haven didn't kill him.

But she might have.

        "COME ON OUT, CHARLOTTE!"

        Murphy's vexing shouts snatched the trio from their silence and thrust them into immediate action. Charlotte acted fast–ferociously lunging in the direction of Murphy's voice–but Bellamy was faster. Seamlessly, he tossed Charlotte over his shoulder with one arm. With the other, he reached for Haven's hand, their fingers intertwining as they weaved through the shadows as one.

        "NO–MURPHY! I'M OVER HERE!"

Charlotte's desperate cries echoed through the night as she pounded mercilessly against Bellamy's back. Together, they sprinted through the underbrush, leaping over fallen logs and darting through leaves at every turn. It became painfully clear that Bellamy had no fucking idea where he was going–but in that frenzied moment, anywhere seemed better than the peril they left behind.

"COME ON OUT!"

        A shiver crawled across Haven's spine as droplets of rain descended from the clouds above. The liquid sprinkled lightly against her face, merging with the unrelenting heat of her skin in a welcome union. Somewhere in the distance, an angered rumble reverberated through the air, swiftly followed by a white flash of light that painted the surroundings in a temporary glow.

        Eventually, the trees started to disperse, exposing them to an even harder downpour of rain due to the lack of coverage. Undeterred by the misty veil, Bellamy led them through the clearing, his footsteps echoing with urgency against the saturated earth. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the forest, and then Haven saw it.

"STOP!"

The words abandoned her throat in a horrified shriek. Summoning every ounce of her strength, Haven threw her weight backward, yanking against Bellamy's arm just in time to prevent them from careening over the edge of a cliff.

"Dammit!" Bellamy swore. His breath hitched as they teetered on the brink of the unknown, the unseen chasm below swallowed by shadows and the relentless storm. "Dammit!"

        Against the curtain of rain, five torches boldly emerged, casting flickering light in defiance of the downpour. Haven blinked furiously against the droplets clinging to her lashes, straining to discern the faces that materialized from the shadows.

        "Bellamy!" Murphy was the first to stride the clearing, quickly flanked by the four other delinquents who joined his manhunt. He stalked toward the trio with a wicked grin. "You cannot fight all of us. Give her up."

"Maybe not." Bellamy declared. Delicately, he set Charlotte on the ground behind him, fingers releasing their hold on Haven's hand. His silhouette flickered to a portrait of impending doom– back straightened, fists clenched, jaw hardened with the resolve to mete out justice by any means necessary. "But I gurantee I'll take a few of you with me."

"You're insane. All of you." Haven spat, swiftly retrieving her knife. Her gaze swept over Murphy's menacing entourage, recognizing the dire situation they were in—cornered, outnumbered, with the precipice of death looming just steps away. Despite it all, she bared her teeth. "Maybe you should go back to circle jerking each other instead of trying to kill a child."

"God–shut up, Haven!" Murphy's shout was so violent that spit flew from the corners of his blood-stained lips. "I promise you–you're next. It'd be nice to finally kill the vampire, after all. What do they say–hmm? Sixth time's the charm?"

"You'd have better luck learning how to fucking fly." Haven scoffed, her ears tuned to the ominous crack of Bellamy's knuckles alongside her. With an arched brow, she tilted her head toward the cliff. "Wanna find out?"

"STOP!" Clarke's voice cleaved through the downpour as she burst through the foliage behind the pack of boys, strategically centering herself between Murphy and the trio. Finn followed closely, urgency etched across his face as he halted beside Haven. "This has gone too far!"

Murphy observed Clarke with an eerie silence, his face a stoic mask that seemed to beckon the blonde to continue.

        "Just... calm down," Clarke dared, taking a half-step closer to Murphy. Her movements were cautious but infused with a subtle bravery. Not once did she waver from meeting his intense stare. "We'll talk about this."

        One second passed. Two.

        On the third, Murphy's restraint snapped. He lunged forward, violently dragging Clarke against his torso, his arm constricting around her neck with ruthless force. The glint of a blade emerged in his other hand, poised perilously close to her throat. "I'm sick of listening to you talk."

        Finn raced forward, eyes wide, hands outstretched in a defensive stance as if Murphy were an unhinged animal. "Let her go!"

"Back off!" Murphy sneered, pivoting toward Finn in a trembling rage. His grip around Clarke tightened like a vise, emphasizing the threat in his next words. "I will slit her throat."

        "No!" Haven's heart slammed against her ribcage over and over and over again in a miserable cadence. Fumbling through her thoughts, she frantically sought any solution to stop Murphy, but everything unraveled far too fast. There was too many opportunities for missteps–too much panic roaring in her stupid eardrums; she could hardly even hear herself speak. "Murphy, just–"

        Murphy whipped his head to face her, the abrupt movement causing Clarke's feet to slide in the mud as she struggled to maintain her footing. "I thought I told you to shut the hell up!"

        "No–please!" Charlotte's plea pierced the air as she narrowly escaped the shield of Bellamy's body. All heads turned toward her in surprise, her voice laden with harrowing terror. "Please don't hurt her."

        "Don't hurt her?" A gust of rustled the trees as Murphy cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. You come with me right now, I will let her go."

Charlotte's unnerving trembling crescendoed, her fear reaching a drastic boiling point as she seemingly considered the sinister bargain.

"Don't do it, Charlotte." Clarke rasped, her voice strained against the force of Murphy's forearm. She willed herself to breathe, to fight. "Don't do it!"

Hollowly, Charlotte stepped forward.

Before she has a chance to move another inch, Bellamy jutted his arm in front of her, all sense of gentleness abandoned in the wind. There was no time to cradle her the way he had in the past. Unfazed by her thrashing, her shrieking–he determinedly attempted to settle her. "Charlotte! Shh–stop!"

"No!" Charlotte wailed. "No! I have to!"

        Once Bellamy wrestled her behind his back once more, ensuring Haven held onto the girl's jacket, he spun toward Murphy. His jaw ticked, eyes sharpened in steely resolve. "Murphy, this is not happening."

A suffocating swell of silence settled among them. Nothing could be heard except the patter of raindrops and the crackle of torchlight. Ten pairs of eyes flashed rapidly from person to person, each member of the group silently anticipating who would challenge Bellamy's decree, and who would bear the brunt of Murphy's wrath.

        "I can't let any of you get hurt anymore."

        All sights flickered to Charlotte.

        "Not because of me." she continued, tears bleeding down her cheeks. Something foreign corrupted her pale eyes, making Haven's gut twist. She was unnervingly composed, as if, rather than battling the demons raging within, she willingly surrendered to their embrace. "Not after what I did."

        Haven felt the absence of cloth beneath her fingers.

        "Time to be a big girl."

        And then, Charlotte jumped.

Every instinct Haven possessed ran haywire. Suddenly, she found herself sprawled on the ground, her upper body perilously hanging over the cliff's edge, a hand reaching out in vain. Her mouth hung open, but whether it emitted a scream or a silent plea was lost in the tumult. She couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears. She couldn't feel Bellamy collapse to the earth beside her, nor could she feel the tremor in his hands as he hauled her away from the edge.

But she could see.

She could see Charlotte's frail body vanish among the shadows, swallowed like a star in the night. The agony twisting Clarke's face as she sunk to her knees. The private tears burning Bellamy's eyes, streaking down his cheeks like liquid magma. Haven could see all of it–yet she could not will herself to move. Amidst the relentless downpour, she sat motionless, shackled to the paralysis of shock.

"Bellamy."

        The sound of his name served as the prelude to the visceral crack of bone that followed, disrupting the ringing in Haven's ears. All at once, her senses returned home to her. With a sharp intake of breath, she tore her gaze away from the cliff, dread swirling in her gut as her eyes absorbed the scene before her.

        In a devastating act of retribution, Bellamy seized Murphy by the shoulders, driving him to the ground with a primal groan. A tempest of rage surged through him, hatred breathing life into every sinew of his body as his fists soared with unbridled fury, crashing into Murphy's face again and again. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed. Crimson ribbons merged with the rain as Bellamy wailed on him unrelentingly, percussively, fists shaking, teeth grit. 

"Bellamy–stop!" Clarke rose from the ground beside Haven, tears staining her jacket sleeve as she fervently approached the clash. "You'll kill him!"

Bellamy made no effort to cease the violence. Not even as Murphy's sputtering quieted, not even as Finn uselessly tried to pry Bellamy away from the near-dead body beneath him. He was senselessly disfigured by fury, a prisoner to grief. Knowingly or unknowingly perpetuating the cycle of violence that had led them to this point in the first place.

At once, Haven stood.

No more death.

"Stop!" Haven's voice ripped a hole through the atmosphere as she raced toward the beating. Her hands relinquished to the relentless tug of gravity as they landed atop his shoulders. She shook him like his life depended on it. "Bellamy!"

        He lifted his head.

Their eyes locked; his to hers, hers to his. Saltwater flowed freely down both of their cheeks, chests heaving in a tortured rhythm. For a moment, nothing else existed–nothing beyond the raw agony running rampant between them. Stars could have fallen from the sky. Cosmos could have crumbled into dust.

Neither of them would have noticed.

"He deserves to die." Bellamy croaked, lowering his fists to his side at last. There was an undeniable brokenness about him as he spoke, something grievously maimed beyond repair.

        "No." Haven spoke in a mere whisper, almost inaudible amidst the downfall of rain. "Nobody deserves to die."

        "Haven's right! We don't decide who lives and dies." Clarke inhaled sharply, meticulously piecing every shred of herself back together at the seams. She planted a firm foot between Bellamy and Murphy as he stood. "Not down here."

        Bellamy's breaths remained erratic. His eyes flashed between Haven and Clarke in a futile attempt to ground himself. "So help me God, if you say the people have a right to decide..."

        "No! I was wrong before, okay?" Clarke's lip quivered, but the unwavering resolve in her jaw held firm. "You were right! Sometimes it's dangerous to tell people the truth. But if we're gonna survive down here, we can't just live by whatever the hell we want! We need rules."

        "And who makes those rules, huh?" Bellamy's hand ran wearily over his face, fingers tracing lines of exhaustion and distress. "You?"

        "For now, we make the rules." Clarke dared another step closer to Bellamy, her movements cautious, like threading through a field of delicate glass. "Okay?"

Haven observed Bellamy as he mulled it over. The ravages of stress and fury had chewed him up and spit him right back out. Every line on his face retained its tension, and even after he stopped pinching his brows, the crease between them persisted. It was as if worry had permanently taken root, weaving like ivy over every soft contour, until he resembled nothing but a boy corrupted by shadows.

"So what, then?" He gestured to Murphy–alive, barely–just behind Clarke's shoulder. "We just take him back and pretend like it never happened?"

"No!"

Clarke balled her hands into fists at her sides, desperately trying to articulate a solution amidst the settling chaos. She cast a poignant glance over her shoulder, absorbing the sight of Murphy sprawled across the ground, his vulnerability laid bare as he awaited his fate. Then, with the certainty of a gavel, she set her jaw.

"We banish him."

        Haven remained soundless, her breath caught in the charged stillness. There was no time to digest the gravity of Clarke's words, for even if she wanted to, Bellamy was already grabbing Murphy by his collar and hauling him to the edge of the cliff once more. Murphy wobbled from the impact, his feet skidding against the pebbles that yielded beneath him. Yet, despite the precarious position, Murphy made no effort to resist, no hint of eagerness to fight back.

        Clarke erupted in a shout. "Bellamy–STOP!"

        "If I ever catch you near camp, we'll be back here. Understand?" Bellamy seethed, waiting for Murphy's nod of acknowledgement before tossing him to the unforgiving dirt. Then, he addressed the pack of henchmen. "As for the four of you, you can come back and follow me, or go off with him to die." His decree cracked through the air like gunfire. "Your choice!"

He dissolved into the shadows without a word.

In an almost synchronized motion, the remaining delinquents began to follow. Not that they had much of a choice; Bellamy's command served either as their compass or their coffin. Clarke hesitated before vanishing into the trees behind them, leaving behind Haven, Finn, and Murphy in her wake.

They stood there, for a moment, watching silently as Murphy crawled to his knees. He spit out a mouthful of blood at Finn's boots, maroon splattering against the leather before managing to draw a handful of labored breaths. It was only when he lifted his head that Haven's felt her knees nearly buckle. Every patch of his skin, every strand of hair was bloodied, mutilated. His left eye was swollen shut entirely, bottom lip split into two. Not one inch of him remained untouched from Bellamy's wrath.

And still, he held their stare.

Defiantly. Remorsefully.

In a shameful attempt at peace offering, Finn tossed Murphy the blade he had been sharpening last week. The piece of metal landed with a pathetic thunk against the ground. Then, with a firm grip on Haven's forearm, he began to tug, determined to distance her far, far away from the crime scene–foreseeing the exact moment her body might betray her.

        The Smith girl shivered against the night, allowing Finn to drag her along. Apocalyptically, she forced one foot in front of the other–ignoring the familiar stretch of tissue within her ribs, dismissing the sickening crunch of bone as her chest paved way for it's latest resident.

        The graveyard within her was alive with ghosts.

Murphy was the newest addition.

• •

        "GREAT JOB. NOW, MAKE A FIST."

          Haven sat slouched against the wall of the first floor of the dropship–her sole place of refuge as of the past week. Under any other circumstances, it would've just been her and Monty within it. He'd tinker with the wristbands, now enhanced with the addition of the transmitter; she would watch, absorbing his every move. Eventually, fatigue would set in, and she'd slump against the wall to nap. It was the only place she could sleep, in all honesty. Her tent still felt like a trap more often than not. Plus–her nightmares seemed to evade her in the hum of his presence.

But now–the first floor was filled with far more people than desirable. Octavia and Jasper loitered around Monty's work station at one end, Finn clutched his bottle of moonshine at the other. Orion, who hadn't left Haven's side since their return to camp, sat cross-legged to her right, all while Clarke conducted a meticulous physical exam on her shoulder. Not that Haven didn't appreciate the presence of her friends. It just felt...strange, resuming normalcy after the day's turmoil.

Another death they were forced to walk off.

"You sound just like your mom." Haven groaned, the words slipping from her lips more bitingly than intended. Nonetheless, she complied with Clarke's tenth direction, hissing in pain as the blonde's thumb worked around her sore spot. "Is this really necessary?"

        "Grade Two AC sprain." Clarke noted, retracted her hand with a forced smile. "Nothing's broken, which is a good thing. Should heal in about a month, maybe less. No heavy lifting in the meantime though, so just... take it easy, when you can." Her brows furrowed as she posed her next question. "How's your stenosis been?"

"Stenosis? Isn't that for like, old people?" Orion took a hard chomp into her apple, peering at Haven with a raised brow. "Lemme' find out you've got Grandma lungs."

Clarke immediately shot Orion a glare, to which she answered with a mere shrug.

"Not the lungs–the heart. Good guess though." Haven toyed with her locket between her fingers, finding solace in the cool metal to distract from the persistent ache in her shoulder. "But it's been fine, Clarke. No new or worsening chest pain."

       For the first time in five years–half a decade–Haven uttered that sentence truthfully. In fact–it was the healthiest she had felt in a long, long time. On the ground, there were no doctors to avoid, no one prying into her well-being. Constantly downplaying the true severity of her condition to the Medical team, except for Abby, had become second nature.

Today, however, was the first time she actually meant it.

It had been just over a year since Haven's last resuscitation. In the passing months, her condition had shown a gradual but notable improvement. She'd been weaned off her meds, experiencing only sporadic flares of chest pain here and there. A fresh team of doctors replaced Abby and Jackson, and a new guard escorted to all of her checkups post-flatline.

The pace of change was almost dizzying, along with the lack of explanation. Eventually, as things improved, her checkups had vanished altogether—no more tests, no more surgeries.

No more Bellamy.

        "Hm." Clarke's brows remained taut as she considered Haven's response. Haven couldn't fault her wariness—she, too, anticipated her condition to worsen on the ground. After a beat, Clarke's smile shifted from forced to genuine. "That's great news, Haven. Let me know if anything changes though, 'kay?"

        Haven offered Clarke a salute. "Will do, doc."

        "We're ready!"

        All heads in the room swiveled toward Monty. There he sat, crouched over a newly-rewired wristband – Clarke's – using a small metal tool to deftly maneuver a blue wire around. Upon finding the optimal position for it, he turned to face his friends behind him, glowing with the brightest of smiles.

At that, Haven rose from her seat against the wall. Her steps held a gentle urgency as she crossed the room, with Clarke and Orion following in tow. Soon, all three girls settled around Jasper and Octavia, forming a close-knit circle by his side.

        "You're a super genius, Greenie." Haven clamped a proud hand atop Monty's shoulder, unable to resist the grin tugging at her lips as she marveled at his work.

        "I know," Monty beamed at the compliment from his friend. "But–I couldn't have done it without the transmitter. Still don't know how you managed to find that."

        Haven rolled her eyes, amused by Monty's modesty. He spoke as if she had done more than simply scavenge the necessary part—which she hadn't. The magic, she knew, was all his. "You would've found a way. I know it."

"Will we be able to talk to them?" Clarke asked, hovering closely over Monty's shoulder as she scrutinized the piece of machinery. Concern etched her pale features, the yearning to connect with the Ark eclipsing any excitement.

        "Vocally? Maybe. Depends on how well the transmitter works." Monty casually shrugged as he met the Griffin girl's stare. "If not–it'll be more like morse code."  A brief pause followed before he turned to Jasper, a playful grin on his face. "You wanna do the honors?"

Jasper blinked. Once. Twice. As if he were visibly processing the fact that Monty was offering the most important role to him. Then, his face practically shimmered with disbelieving joy. "Really?"

        "Mhmm. You got it, buddy." Monty passed Jasper the final red wire with a nod, a hint of nerves evident in Jasper's hesitant step forward. As the cord found its place in Jasper's waiting palms, Monty pointed with precision to the heart of the open wristband. "That port right there."

        Haven held her breath as Jasper carefully plugged the cord into the port. The air almost felt too dense to breathe; suspense clung to every moment. This needed to work, otherwise–they were in deep, deep, shit. There was no other means of communication to reach the Ark; it was the wristbands, or nothing. Finn appeared to share the same understanding, placing an anxious touch atop her shoulder while peering over her head in anticipation.

For a moment, nothing happened.

        And then–it all went terribly, miserably, abhorrently wrong.

        Sparks flew from the wristband, crackling and hissing, followed by a blinding white flash of light that engulfed the group before the device burst into flames. Haven winced in pain as a sudden jolt shot through her forearm. Scanning the room, she discovered her friends sharing in her discomfort, each one rubbing their wrists in pain.

        "What the hell?" Orion hissed.

        Worry riddled across Clarke's face, but there was an absence of surprise, as if she had anticipated the worst and braced herself for it. She rapidly turned to Monty, seeking an explanation. "What happened?"

        "It didn't work." Monty's voice was a mere whisper as he peered closer into the smoking piece of machinery. A tinge of dread crossed his face while he momentarily shut his eyes, processing the potential ramifications. "I think we fried all the wristbands."

        "What?" Haven's heart pounded against her ribcage as she grappled with the incomprehensible. Immediately upon the group's return from the cliff, she had come straight to the dropship to busy herself with work, to contribute, to help. Every step had been meticulously double-checked, triple-checked before inviting the others to the first floor. "How?"

        "I don't know, I–" Monty paled as he inspected the wiring further. "The transmitter. One of the wires was a dud. It... torched the whole system."

        Haven's heart plummeted to her gut.

        What have you done?

        "It's not your fault." The warmth in Monty's brown eyes softened as they met his friend's, immediately aware of the abrupt shift in her demeanor. "I didn't notice it either. It's not your fault."

        You ruined everything.

        Haven's surroundings blurred amidst the roaring in her ears. Blinking rapidly, she fought to clear the spots obscuring her vision. The weight of Finn's hand disappeared from her shoulder, his footsteps echoing through the room as he stormed out, leaving an angered gust of wind in his wake. After a beat, another pair of footsteps raced after him.

        "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

        Dahlia's voice thundered through the library, a guttural blend of anger and disbelief. Her frantic pacing cast eerie shadows on the walls as she violently flipped through pages of different books, hurling them to the floor in a desperate search for her missing book.

        "YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!"

        Haven clung to the shadows between a stack of shelves, silently choking back tears as her mother continued her accusatory rampage. The darkness offered a meager shield, and she dared to believe that if she leaned into their depths far enough, she could disappear completely.

        She hoped so.

        "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, Haven!" Another book sailed across the room. This time, it flew perilously close, grazing Haven's knee. "You should have never touched it! I knew you would lose it–I knew it!"
       
        Haven's voice cracked. "I was trying to organize the shelves–like you said. I–I was just trying to help–"

        "YOU SHOULDNT HAVE!" Dalhia yanked Haven from her spot between the shelves by her forearm.  Her grip felt scalding enough to sear. "STUPID, SELFISH GIRL. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

        Haven tore herself from the shackles of her mind just before the memory progressed, but it was too late. Her chest was heaving. Her ears were ringing with ghosts of the past. Panic gripped her, it's paralyzing tendrils wrapping itself around her throat, her lungs, her chest.

        She needed to move. Now.

        "Hey–it's okay. You're good." Monty reached for Haven with a reassuring hand, but she dodged it. "Come on, Hav..."

        Slipping far, far away, Haven marched toward the exit. She pushed through the curtain with ease, obliviously tuning out Monty's sigh, Orion's shouts of concern, the stinging in her eyes. All of it became muffled, serving as nothing but mere background noise to the riot within her ribcage.

        As she cleared through the sea of delinquents, she made a beeline toward the wall. Mechanically, she slipped through the same crevice Octavia had uncovered earlier in the day, coming to a standstill only when the awareness settled that she was now alone.

        Then, she screamed.

        Raw, unbridled fury surged within her as she cast a defiant gaze at the stars. She didn't care who might hear. She didn't care if a Grounder revealed themselves and sent a spear soaring through her chest. All she knew was that she needed her failure gone. With every ounce of her strength, she hurled her wrist against the trunk of a nearby tree, slamming the wristband relentlessly into the bark.

        "Stupid–!" Haven seethed as the metal merely loosened, it's grip on her still unyielding. In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a fallen log. Without hesitation, she grabbed it, steadily positioning her wrist against the trunk and hammering away at the metal instead. Another forceful slam followed. "Stupid piece of junk!"

        "Stupid!" Again.

        "Stupid!" Again.

        "STUPID!"

         The machinery crackled and sparked against the relentless force of the log. Despite Haven's determined assault, it still remained attached. Stubbornly. Fueled by an escalating rage, she swung with increasing intensity. The physical pain seemed inconsequential, overshadowed by the burning need to see it shattered.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Her next swing fell short as a familiar hand gripped her bicep.

Bellamy appeared at Haven's side within seconds. His voice cleaved through the roaring in her ears, his presence felt incandescent, scorching the earth beside her. Despite it–she couldn't bring herself to look at him, not yet. Instead, she steeled herself for another strike, resolute in her determination to aim true this time.

"Not so fast." Bellamy swiftly impeded her next hit with the brunt of his forearm. The wood splintered against his strength, eliciting a low groan from him, though he outwardly remained unfazed. "Haven, take it easy–"

"No!" Haven turned to face him, her hands trembling as she finally met his gaze. He was shirtless, his windswept hair framing cheeks tinged the faintest shade of pink, as if he'd been running. Wild eyes bore into hers with an intensity that only weakened her resolve. "No–not you! Please, just let me–"

"Let you what? Accidentally slit your wrist?" Bellamy fought the urge to scoff as he steadied her, wrenching the log from her shaky hands and tossing it to the dirt. "Good luck with that. You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?"

Haven glared at him, chest still heaving with restrained panic. "The wristbands. I–I screwed it up. I screwed up everything."

Bellamy's brows pinched. "How did you–"

"Monty needed a transmitter to build his radio, and I found one. Don't ask." Haven's nails gouged into her palms as she forced herself to inhale. "Turns out it was a dud. The wiring started a fire and fried the whole system. So now–because of it, because of me, all of the wristbands are dead. They're useless–ALL of them!" Terror laced her every word, breath faltering. "We have no way to reach the Ark anymore, which means all of these kids are going to die. All because I was so fucking stupid–"

        "You're not stupid." Bellamy vehemently shook his head as he inched closer. "You're not stupid. You couldn't have known."

        "I should have!" Haven's cry carried the weight of unshed tears, their heat stinging the corners of her eyes. "I should've been smarter, looked closer. I was just–I wanted to help. To do something else beside watching everybody around us die!" Her next breath hitched in a broken gasp. "But I guess it doesn't matter anymore. We're all gonna die anyway."

        Bellamy's voice wrapped around her name like a caress. "Haven..."

        "Don't." Haven fiercely blinked back her tears, a tempest brewing in her eyes as she met his gaze head-on. She was determined not to unravel in front of him. Not anymore than she already had. "Please, don't look at me like that."

        "Like what?"

        "Like you care."

        A subtle heaviness settled upon Bellamy's shoulder. There was no anticipating her answer, no time to brace for it's impact. His mouth opened and shut, a flicker of hurt in his eyes as he fumbled to find the right words. "I–"

        "This is what you wanted, Bellamy! You wanted the wristbands gone so that the Ark wouldn't follow us down here!" As she locked eyes with him, Haven's heart was no longer rioting; it was bleeding out entirely. "For whatever reason, I don't know, considering you refuse to tell me–but I guess I did you a fucking favor."

        Silence had never been so damn loud.

        After a beat, the realization settled that Bellamy wouldn't fight her accusation, nor would he explain himself to her. Long gone was the boy who would share the lowest of his secrets beneath bright fluorescent lights and shadowy hallways. With a weighted breath, she extended her wrist toward him. "Take it off."

        Bellamy's eyes practically bulged out of his head. His gaze darted between the wristband and the tears glistening on her lashes. "What?"

        "The wristband." Haven insisted, her voice strained as she fought to maintain eye contact. She could feel her self control slipping through her fingers like water, like blood. "Take it off."

        "No chance." Bellamy shook his head, his resolve firm. An indescribable tension coiled within him, tugging at the very core of his being. "Not unless you're sure it's dead."

        "Oh, for fuck's sake–look at it!" Without a second thought, Haven thrust her wrist into his hand, lifting it between them as the only barrier. The obliterated metal cast broken reflections of moonlight, a fragile shimmer between their torsos. "What does it matter?"

        Bellamy clenched his jaw.

        "Take. It. Off." Haven's voice trembled, tears cascading unchecked. Her words, stripped of their earlier force, transformed into a desperate plea; the weight of his gaze was the beginning of her undoing. "Please. I–I can't–"

        There was no time to resist the sobs escaping her.

        Nor the gravity of Bellamy's arms.

        All at once, he tugged her into his embrace. His movements were deliberate yet gentle, passionate yet restrained. It was as if he were scared of hurting her but selfishly needed her closer. Fearful of her resistance yet fearless of the consequences. All he could focus on was the tremble in her bottom lip, the pain eclipsing her big brown eyes–the irrefutable urge to make it stop the only way he knew how.

        Haven collapsed into him against all better judgment, defying every protest in her skull. The sensation of her head against his thunderous heart and the weight of his arms cocooning her was enough to unravel her. Every failure since they had landed on Earth tore through her, every death a haunting echo as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. The emotional comedown of it all was debilitating.

        Yet, within the shelter of his embrace, the weight suddenly felt less burdensome. It wasn't just the physical warmth of his bare skin against her cheek; it was an unspoken understanding, an instinctive connection that only the intertwining of their bodies could convey.

        Between glimpses of blurred vision, Haven watched a shooting star streak across the cosmos above. The sight felt surreal, an ethereal dance of light she had only read about in urban legends. Some believed they held the power to grant wishes, while others deemed them as bad omens. But...shooting stars didn't appear so closely. She blinked, attempting to clear her tears, only to find the star now ensconced in a ring of fire, hurtling down to earth with a breathtaking grace.

She gasped.

        It wasn't a star.

It was an escape pod from the Ark.

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RAVENS COMING BITCHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this chapter was so difficult to write because i find it so hard to humanize charlotte but i tried lolllllllllll. i also have no idea how radios work so take everything with the transmitter with a grain of salt besties

happy holidays to those who celebrate <3

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