• •

CHAPTER THIRTEEN;

TRANSIENT.

••

"BELLAMY, GET OUT HERE!"

At the sound of his name, Bellamy tore his gaze away from the girl in his arms. He hardly even noticed the escape pod until Haven slipped out of his hold, her curiosity driving her to get a better look. Soon, clamors of confusion buzzed within the camp's walls, each of the delinquents searching for their King in wake of the unexpected discovery.

Haven could feel the familiar weight of Bellamy's gaze lingering on her back. As she spun around, their eyes meshed, and she faced him with a newfound resolve. "I'm good," she affirmed, sensing the hesitation in eyes as he briefly glanced back at the camp. "I'm good–really. Let's go."

At that, they moved.

The moonlight bestowed heavenly shadows upon Bellamy's shoulders as he maneuvered through the night, slipping back through the hole in the wall with effortless grace. Haven trailed in step behind him, her breathing now regulated, jaw set with an unwavering sense of purpose: getting to that damn pod by any means necessary.

        "There!" Octavia's face lit up with a radiant beam as she pointed towards the celestial commotion in the sky. As Haven and Bellamy settled alongside her, the firelight revealed her face aglow with a childlike sense of wonder. "What is it?"

        "Looks like an escape pod." Haven remarked, squinting against the twilight as parachutes deployed from the craft. "I remember it from the scrap deck on Mecha. My mom used to–" She paused, swallowing hard to suppress the lump in her throat. "It should have supplies onboard."

"They're coming to help us! Now we can kick some Grounder ass!" Jones erupted in an enthusiastic shout, earning cheers of excitement from the small circle that had gathered to watch.

        Haven sighed. "Hate to be a buzzkill, but the Council definitely aren't sending us weapons." Which, was true. Oxygen deprivation must've certainly gotten to their heads if they were to reward the delinquents with arsenal. "Probably nutrition packs. Medical supplies. Stuff like that."

Another girl, Roma, joined the group. Her lips were slightly pouted as she observed the pod's fiery descent. "Please tell me they brought down some shampoo."

       As stupid as that sounded, Haven was inclined to agree. The Ark had sent them down with almost nothing of practical use. Bathing consisted of Haven, Orion and Octavia discreetly heading to the river each morning. The girls took turns vigilantly standing guard for both Grounders and perve-brained delinquents while the others rinsed off.

        Luckily, Orion's chosen Earth Skill was Botany. She possessed an intricate knowledge of plants, distinguishing those with antibacterial properties from those without. Which, certainly came in handy when Octavia almost used a poison ivy leaf on her ass.

        Things sucked. Bad.

However, more urgent matters demanded their attention. Medicine could've healed Jasper's infection, soothed Atom's burns, stitched Wells's slit throat. Nutrition packs could have eased the transition for lifelong vegans now forced to hunt for sustenance. The gloomy reality of their livelihood greatly overshadowed the inconvenience of lacking toiletries.

       Another thought dawned on Haven's as the pod struck the earth. Pods that small couldn't be operated remotely, especially if it was refurbished from scrap. Without someone to navigate the controls manually–the pod would've crashed and burned way before it broke through the atmosphere. Someone had to be inside. And if they were, they likely possessed the crucial item that camp needed most.

        A radio.

Haven cast a thoughtful glance toward her right, in Bellamy's direction, only to be met with his fleeting silhouette.

Unfuckingsurprisingly–he came to the same realization as she had.

The biting wind did little to soothe the embers resurfacing within her ribcage. Haven trailed after him in a storm, intentionally lengthening her strides to match his determined pace. "Bellamy?"

        Bellamy ignored Haven entirely as they weaved through the swelling crowd. As much as he possibly could, at least. He tried, yet despite his efforts–her presence raged like a fire that refused to be snuffed out, demanded to be felt. Outwardly, he remained composed; internally, he strained against the visceral urge to face her.

"Bellamy!"

But whatever. None of that mattered. Right now–he needed to move away, away, away. Soundlessly, Bellamy slipped through the entrance of his tent, unfazed as the fabric rippled once more to unveil her presence behind him.

"You want the radio, don't you?" Haven assessed, her words more declarative than questioning. She inched closer, crossing her arms as he hastily slung his shirt back over his torso. "What the hell is going on?"

Bellamy evaded her knowing eyes at all costs. Panic fueled his every movement, it felt as if his cells were burning from the inside out as he reached for the jacket on his desk. "It's not for you to worry about."

"You know, that's usually what you say right before you go and fuck the rest of us over." Haven spat, shifting to block him as he sidestepped toward the exit. Those words had already been thrown at her before—by the fire, in the rain—during their first conversation in a year. "Stop bullshitting and talk to me."

        His response was stern. "No."

        "Bell." Haven despised the way her voice softened. She recognized that her irritation with him signaled a return to her true self, no longer succumbing to his strong arms beyond the camp's borders. Still, her words betrayed her, taking on a life of their own. "Just tell me what's wrong. Talk to me."

        Bellamy stared at her with dead eyes. Almost imperceptibly, he wavered, the sincerity in her tone and the depth of her eyes evoking everything he fought relentlessly to conceal. Despite the momentary lapse, he steeled himself together once more, attempting to move toward the exit.

        This time–Haven halted him with a hand to the chest.

        "Whatever you did..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, thoughts racing through the myriad of possibilities that could elicit such extremes from him. "We'll–we'll figure it out."

        In that moment, Bellamy faltered. His shoulders slackened, lips parted. Foolishly, her presence kindled a fragile hope within him, a fleeting belief that maybe, just maybe–she was right. Maybe it could all be figured out. Maybe he could confide in her without his tongue crumbling to ash.

Like he used to.

He drew a shaky breath. "I–"

"If it cleared the ridge, then it's probably near the lake."

Jones burst into the tent, his entrance marked by an assertive stride, flanked by Octavia and a handful of other delinquents. The sudden intrusion stirred a surge of tension, and though Haven fought the urge to clock him, Bellamy hardly even flinched. He retained his aura of authority with a quiet assurance, his posture unwavering as he donned his crown with ease.

        "We should get moving," Octavia nodded in agreement with Jones. "Everyone's ready."

        "No one's going anywhere." Bellamy asserted, arms crossed in a stance of undeniable finality. "Not while it's dark, it isn't safe. We'll head out at first light," he gestured to Jones with a subtle tilt of his head, "Pass the word."

        At once, Jones and the other boys dispersed, heeding Bellamy's command with a quiet efficiency. Haven, as anticipated, held her ground, accompanied by Octavia. Together, both of the girls formed a blockade just as Bellamy attempted to flee again.

        "Everyone for a hundred miles saw this thing come down. What if the grounders get to it first?" Octavia pressed, her eyes narrowing into a piercing glare as she confronted her brother. "Bell, we should go now."

        Bellamy's jaw tightened, mirroring Octavia's intensity with a harsh glare of his own. "I said we wait till sunrise."

        "I say you can shove it." Haven waited until Octavia huffily stomped out of the tent before continuing. Her fingers twitched with annoyance as Bellamy hoisted a backpack over his shoulders. "You really think you're slick, huh? I'm coming with you."

        Bellamy nearly scoffed at the absurdity of her statement, pointedly keeping his eyes trained on everything else in the tent besides her. "Like hell you are."

        "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

        The tent quivered beneath the weight of unshed truths in the air. Haven positioned herself in front of Bellamy again, forcing him to meet her stare, each glance an urgent plea to unburden himself. If she could, she'd pry open his jaw and rip the words from his tongue with her bare hands. She had granted him every opportunity to come clean–without judgement, without fear. Yet, at every moment, he refused, deepening the abyss that loomed between them.

        "One." she insisted.

        "I don't want you to." Bellamy spit out the words like they were poison in his throat, dismissing the grievous aftertaste that followed. "Good enough?"

        Haven faltered.

        With a knot in his gut, Bellamy slipped through the tent at last.

• •

HOPE AND FEAR ARE TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN. One cannot exist without the other. Both are bound to another as inseperable forces, wretched pairings. To comprehend hope, one must know the darkest of lows; to fathom fear, one must know the warmest of highs.

Haven hadn't felt hope in years. Rage had taken root as it's placeholder, her time spent in the Sky Box had corrupted her fragile bones and warped her into the myth she embodied today. On Earth, fear was vicious. It ripped apart her rage, pulverized her soul, beat her black and blue. But now, on the hunt for the pod, the radio–hope emerged as her fragile salvation, the delicate thread she clung to amidst the blur of uncertainties.

"You MOTHERFUCKER–!"

Orion's enraged shout sliced through the serenity of the the treetops, tearing Haven from her thoughts and halting her in tracks. Instinctively, she whirled around, only to find Orion fiercely swatting at the ends of her curls.

"Stupid bug was trying to make a nest in my hair." Orion whined, her fingers combing through the obsidian waves with a shudder. "Pouah (ugh)! Evil, nasty little piece of–"

"Keep it down!" Haven hissed, the words fleeing from her mouth in a frantic whiseper-shout. Once Orion quieted, Haven's eyes frantically scanned their surroundings for any sign of movement. "You're gonna blow our cover."

        "Alright, jeez." Orion huffed, resuming her stride behind Haven as they maneuvered through the forest's morning glow. "You really think it's worth it?"

        Haven relished the feeling of sunrise warming her skin; the seamless transition of night to day marking the resurgence of yet another sleepless night. "What do you mean?"

        "Following Blake." Orion murmured Bellamy's name as an annoyed grunt, eyes briefly flitting to his figure in the distance. "Finding the radio."

Right.

        After Bellamy's grumpy departure from the tent, Haven hastily formulated a plan. Well–perhaps it was more a semblance of one, driven by impulse. After locating Orion in the dropship, she had impetuously recruited her, sharing the decision to shadow Bellamy in his not-so-secret pursuit of the pod.

Orion harbored a profound disdain for many things, with authority reigning supreme on her list. In the Sky Box, her contempt extended to the Council and every single guard. The descent to Earth only intensified her animosity, expanding her disdain to the unyielding stick shoved way up Clarke's ass, and Bellamy's gratingly selfish ego.

        However, Haven stood apart. Unlike others, she didn't adhere to orders or bark out commands; instead, she navigated situations on her own terms and tried her damn best. Nothing she had done was self-serving or uptight, Orion could respect that far more than anything else she'd seen upon landing. So, when Haven had asked her to join–she followed.

        Without thought, without question.

        "Hm." Haven considered for a moment, a fleeting grimace accompanying the onset of a gentle rain. Great. "You got any other family up there you want to talk to?"

        "My mom, I guess." Orion admitted, her gaze dropping to her mud-stained boots. "She... I haven't seen her since I got locked up. It'd be nice to talk to her. To, y'know, explain that I didn't just kill her husband for fun."

"It's worth it, then."

Haven didn't need to look at Orion to sense the subtle smile that graced her face. Finding a working radio held the promise of survival on multiple fronts. It meant signaling the Ark, assuring them of their survival and safety. Moreover, if the other delinquents had a chance to connect with their loved ones, to let them know that they're alive...it could restore their will to live. To fight. Amidst the relentless cycle of death, they needed something good.

Hope.

"If you say so." Orion cleared her throat before continuing. "What about you? Anxious to talk to mama and papa Smith?"

"I have like, zero clue who my dad is. Don't think my mom does either. Plus, I cant really ask." Haven answered, her words measured, footsteps deftly navigating around a pile of twigs. "Jaha floated her."

"Well, shit." Orion immediately smacked a hand over her forehead, pupils blown with sheer embarrassment. A ripple of remorse echoed in her voice as she dared to speak once more. "Can we go back ten seconds and forget that I asked? Fuck. That sucks."

Haven nearly burst out laughing, though managed to contain her amusement within a quiet snicker. "Don't worry about it. Half of our parents are dead anyway."

        "Ah, right. Good ol' population control." Orion delivered the last part in a singsong tone, a wry smile playing on her lips. It took everything within her not to snort at the absurdity of their life back on the Ark. "Jaha's gonna shit himself when he realizes Wells is–"

        "I didn't ask you to do that!"

        A familiar voice, faintly carried by the wind, spurred Haven into action. Her arm instinctively became a shield for Orion as they quietly ducked behind the nearest bush. Amidst the rustling leaves, the two girls peeked with bated breath over the foliage, eyes widening as they landed upon the distant figures of Bellamy and Octavia.

What the fuck?

"You're right." Bellamy's voice resonated with a painful acknowledgment. Haven couldn't see his face, but the weight of devastation was palpable in his words; he sounded wounded. "I made the choice, this is on me." After a beat, he turned away from Octavia and resumed his stride once more. "Whatever they sent down, I'll take care of it."

"What the hell is he on about?" Orion whispered, cautious to avoid any sudden movements. "What choice?"

Octavia's palms quivered with an unsteady tremor at her sides. "I didn't ask for any of this," she muttered, her breath visibly hitching as she sucked in a shaky inhale. With an unmistakable sense of unease, she hastily retreated toward the treeline, abandoning her brother in the dirt.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Haven's brows pinched as she observed Octavia slipping further and further into the forest. Clearly, Bellamy hadn't looped his sister in on his secret either. At least, until now. "Whatever it is, Octavia's pissed."

"Blake didn't tell you?"

"No. Why would he?"

"I thought you guys had...a moment."

Haven shook her head, the wrinkle between her thick brows deepening with perplexity. "A moment?"

"Uh–the hug." Orion deadpanned, her tone suggesting that what she referenced was glaringly obvious. "I sorta-kinda-definitely saw it from the top of the dropship."

        Constellations smoldered within Haven's ribs at the memory. The embrace had successfully dispelled her panic, but it's reprieve was as ephemeral as stars fading into the scorch of the sun. Always fleeting. Always slipping away. Always grasping for something just out of reach. Perhaps that would be the perpetual orbit for the two of them; one step forward, two steps back into the undertow.

        Always slipping away.

        "That.. that was different." Haven quickly shoved aside the ache settling within her chest–there was simply no time for it. "Why were you on top of the dropship?"

        "Why not?" Orion answered with a casual shrug. "But alright. Cool. Thought ya'll like, banged or something."

        The Smith girl whirled toward Orion with an almost inhuman speed, eyes wide, jaw hung open with fathomless shock. "What?!"

"Alright–show's over."

        An all-too-recognizable scoff, accompanied by the ominous snap of a tree branch, immediately prompted the girls to yelp in terror.

        With an air of distinctive annoyance, Bellamy advanced towards their hiding spot. As he rounded the bush, he assumed his usual stance of authority: arms crossed, jaw clenched, patience deathly low. "You can come out now."

Fuck.

At once, Haven forced herself to her feet, refusing to feel shame or any semblance of embarrassment, despite being caught rather pathetically. However, beneath the intensity in his gaze, maintaining that resolve proved to be way more difficult than it should have been. Her knees nearly buckled at the sight of him.

"Uh, I'm gonna head back to camp." Orion announced, dusting her hands off on her jeans and facing the others with a sheepish grin. "I'll grab Octavia on the way there."

Bellamy granted Orion an imperceptible nod. Together, the duo silently watched Orion's figure fade into the distance, biting their tongues in a shared restraint. Once she was out of earshot, they turned to each other in an exasperated frenzy.

"You're bad at hiding–"

"Why did you lie–"

        Haven blew out a long breath. "You know what, I'm done asking," she declared, shaking her head in defeat. With determined strides, she marched past Bellamy and toward the distant billow of smoke. Unbeknownst to them, they were surprisingly close to the crash site—the scent of propeller fumes reached her even from afar. "If you wanted to tell me, you would have."

        Bellamy released a bothered sigh of his own, swiftly regaining his composure before storming ahead to take the lead. "Believe it or not, it's for your own good."

        Her tone was incredulous. "Fuck off."

        "It's the truth." Bellamy fired back, his eyes flashing toward her before pointedly refocusing on the distant smoke. Something indiscernible twisted within him again–the same as it had when she begged him to take her wristband off. "I'm trying–fuck, I'm trying not to incriminate you. Why do you have to make that so hard?"

        "Don't know if you remember or not–but I'm already a criminal. We all are." Haven fought the urge to roll her eyes. Though her words were flat, the honesty within them was unmistakable. "Whatever it is, it won't surprise me."

She meant it.

They walked in silence for a while. Despite Haven's best efforts, Bellamy maintained the lead, with her stubbornly trailing a step behind. They both understood that encouraging her return to camp would be stupid; she would refuse to listen regardless. So–they walked. Together. The quietude between them persisted, broken only by the rhythmic thump of their boots in the dirt and the gentle patter of raindrops.

        Then, she saw it.

        There, at the crest of a ditch, lay the pod—or rather what remained of it. The machinery was not merely battered; it appeared as if it had soared through a battlefield. Fragments of metal jutted out at odd angles, evidence of the tumultuous descent through the atmosphere. A red parachute, now faded and tattered, sprawled across the expanse of grass surrounding the pod. It was not just an archaic relic; it seemed like a time-traveler from an era long past, a survivor from a different age.

Haven surged into a sprint, a triumphant grin illuminating her face as her legs pumped, carrying her down the bank towards the pod. It was old as shit, but radios were also old as shit. Even if it hadn't survived the landing intact, salvageable pieces might still offer a chance. She could bring them to Monty, he could work his magic, they could reach the Ark.

They could save these kids' lives.

        "Haven, slow down." Bellamy warned.

        She cleared the distance in no time, ignoring him him entirely. His voice was nothing more than a dull echo amidst the whirlwind of thoughts alive within her skull. Upon reaching the pod door, she hauled it open, driven by an urgency that surpassed the cautionary words behind her.

"Holy fuck."

Haven exhaled the words in a mere gasp. Within the pod, there was a person—an actual, living person, adorned in a flimsy old spacesuit and a blood-stained helmet. Though she couldn't discern the identity beneath the visor, she could see the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

Whoever it was–they survived.

"Pod one, Pod one, this Ark station Medical. If you are receiving, please respond."

The static of a radio relayed the message in a redundant loop. Swiftly, Haven reached for the device, fingers buzzing as she held it within her hands. The initial shock of it all momentarily blocked off her comprehension skills, so this time–she cranked up the volume, forcing herself to listen more intently.

"Pod one, Pod one, this Ark station Medical. If you are receiving, please respond."

Haven stiffened, recognizing the voice with a devastating clarity.

Abby?

Bellamy materialized as a shadow beside her. His movements were silent, seamless. He cast one glance at the shock flickering within Haven's eyes, then another at the radio clutched within her palms. The weight of necessity bore down on him like a storm; as much as he wanted to stop himself, he knew that he couldn't.

His life depended on it.

Soundlessly, he reached for his axe. Then, in one, fluid movement–he severed the radio's cord from the pod and yanked it from Haven's grasp.

        Haven blinked, wrenching herself from the paralysis of her daze. Nails gouging into her palms, vision veiled in crimson, she erupted in an enraged shriek. "You son of a BITCH!"

        All at once, chaos unraveled around them. Together, they raced back through the underbrush, branches scratching at their skin and leaves collecting in their hair. Bellamy bolted for the river nearby, but Haven, a tempest of unadulterated hellfire, quickly outpaced him. Her feet pounded the earth in a furious rhythm, catching up to him within mere seconds.

        "Give it back!" Haven fumed. With a surge of aggression, her hands collided with Bellamy's shoulders, violently shoving him away from the body of water. "Bellamy fucking Blake, I swear to God–"

        "I can't." Bellamy's voice was low and hauntingly somber, his pained eyes hidden beneath a crown of onyx curls. He hardly even flinched as her fists pounded against his chest. "I can't, Haven. I'm sorry."

        "Bullshit!" Haven lunged for the radio, her skillful fingers nearly wrestling it from his grasp just before he effortlessly tugged it away. She clenched her teeth, seething. "Give it back! They need to know that we're alive!"

        "No," he shook his head. "They can't."

        "Stop being so selfish!" Fury pulsed within the Smith girl like a second heartbeat. She couldn't bear to think, couldn't bear to empathize with the stranger standing before her. Another fist flew toward his shoulder, a fervent attempt to make him drop the radio, but her aim fell short. "You can't do this, Bellamy! Their lives depend on this!"

Bellamy trudged further toward the river, moving past Haven with an unsettling ease. The roaring water beckoned him closer and closer, it's tumultuous waves mercilessly drowning out her protests. As his boots neared the bank, he lifted his head apocalyptically, apologetically.

"So does mine."

He flung the radio into the tide.

        The water rippled as the piece of machinery landed within it. It floated and bobbed, desperately attempting to rise to the surface before succumbing to the relentless undercurrent. The waves embraced it with a melancholic dance, each crest and trough mirroring the ebb and flow of each and every shattered hope.

        "What have you done?" Haven whispered, eyes glued to the radio as it disappeared beneath the surface at last. "What have you done?"

        Bellamy's jaw tightened. "What I had to."

        One beat passed. Two.

        Then, Haven shoved him into the stream.

        Within the same breath, she plunged in after him, their bodies colliding with the water in a cacophony of resounding splashes. It was eerily cold, yet refreshingly brisk. Unfortunately for Bellamy–it failed to temper the blaze of Haven's wrath.

        Bellamy's head was the first to break  through the surface. It reached just above his stomach, leaving him and every article of his clothing irreparably drenched. To rid his locks of clinging water, he vigorously shook his head, pushing unruly curls away from his eyes in attempt to regain his bearings.

        "Find it!" Haven roared, spitefully delivering a forceful splash of water right into Bellamy's face. He grimaced. The river, much higher on her due to their difference in height, halted right at her collarbones. "Don't just fucking stand there! Find it!"

        Bellamy blinked against the rain. "Haven–"
       
       "No!" She could hardly stand to even look at him. Frantically, her eyes scanned their surroundings, panic swelling in her throat as she realized the radio was nowhere to be found. "It has to be somewhere," she waded through the water in the opposite direction, barely registering the rocky terrain beneath her feet. "It has to!"

        "It's gone!" Bellamy shouted, the finality in his voice forcing Haven to meet his stare. Raindrops mingled with the anger scorned across her face. "It's gone–okay? Save your breath."

       "How could you do this?" Haven's chest began to heave. She couldn't discern whether it was fury, panic, or exhaustion. The lines between them blurred; everything felt the same. All she could grasp was the internal decay, a profound sense of rotting within her. "You destroyed our last chance to reach them!"

        Bellamy's heart pounded in an agonizing rhythm beneath his ribcage, each beat echoing with a rising sense of anguish. The water surrounding them suddenly felt too deep, too invasive. "I had to!"

        Haven shook her head. "Not good enough."

        "They'll kill me–"

        "Not good enough!"

        Before he could reel them back, the words that had torn through his lungs, ravaged his throat, and tainted his very tongue erupted with an uncontainable force.

"They'll kill me because I shot the Chancellor!"

        Silence hung in the air between them. It was as if the world itself held it's breath, waiting for the fallout of the nuclear revelation. Every syllable was laden with with the weight of remorse, desperation, and the irreversible consequences of Bellamy's actions. Steeling himself, he turned away from the surrounding water, bracing for the imminent disappointment he anticipated in Haven's stare.

Yet, as their eyes locked, it never came.

Surprise painted Haven's expression; her pupils widened as she grappled with the implications of his admission. Yet, to his astonishment, there was no anger, no fear, no disappointment. Instead, a profound sense of understanding unfolded in her eyes.

"Tell me everything. Now."

"I found out they were sending Octavia to Earth. I–I couldn't let her go alone." Bellamy started, fumbling over his words as he fought to explain. "Someone came to me with a deal. Do this, kill him, and they'd get me on the dropship." He clenched his jaw, pleading eyes drilling into her wilting gaze. "And I did it."

Of course he did.

        Haven gnawed at her bottom lip. From their very first night on the ground, her suspicions reigned true. Everything Bellamy had done in his life was for his sister, would always be for his sister. It was a loyalty that defied reasonable explanation. Though she didn't condone literal assassination, she could recognize that he felt cornered. Maybe if Haven had a sibling–she might have done the same.

In an odd way, it brought her a fleeting sense of comfort, to know that at least one facet of him remained tethered to the boy she once knew. However, it did little to change the circumstances now. He didn't trash to radio for Octavia; he trashed it for himself. And as much as Haven understood his motives–it didn't make it right.

Haven stared at him with a transient warmth, though her words sounded hollow. "I wish you would've told me sooner."

The river murmured with the remnants of Haven's presence, it's currents mirroring the contours of her fading figure. Everything felt too cold now. Too pervasive. Slowly, she fought her way back to the shoreline, resisting the allure of letting the tide carry her away.

"Where are you going?"

Bellamy remained anchored in the water, seemingly ensnared by it's icy grip. His eyes bore twin fiery holes into her back as she continued to retreat further and further away.

"To the pod." Haven answered, offering him a simple honesty. Something he had seldom granted her nowadays–not since they landed. Once she fully emerged from the river, she turned to face him, her expression solidified into an unyielding mask of stone. "As for you? Find my damn radio–or don't come out."

        With that, she left.

        There was no inkling within her to wait for Bellamy's reaction. No celestial tether tugging at her conscience to face him, to engulf him in her arms as he had for her. If such a connection existed, it eluded her awareness, or perhaps–she no longer felt it. Not in this moment. Not anymore.

        Haven didn't give two shits about Jaha. Frankly, if Bellamy killed him–she wasn't going to lose sleep over it. What mattered to her was the ceaseless spin cycle of selective truths– decisions made on behalf of another, for his benefit, that left the others to mop up the consequences. Maybe revealing the truth sooner wouldn't have changed the outcome; there was a high probability they wouldn't have formulated a plan in time. Hell, he probably would've still chucked the radio into the river regardless.

        But at least he would have tried.

So much for that.

With an exasperated sigh, Haven continued her trek back toward the crash site. Her clothes were sopping wet, her shoulder stung from wielding punches, her brain simply hurt from thinking. Despite the physical toll of the past twenty-four hours, the promise of revealing the person in the pod was much, much sweeter. Supplies wouldn't hurt either, and judging by the hum of familiar voices nearby–Haven knew she was close.

She quickened her pace through the underbrush, coming to a decisive halt besides the pod once the trees thinned. An abandoned spacesuit lay beside the open hatch. Clarke stood to the right of it, rigid as a statue, eyes trained to the figures in the distance. Finn remained at the center, arms wrapped firmly around–

        Haven's breath caught.

        "Raven?"

• •

BIRD DOWN YA'LL!!!!!

nobody understands i am SO excited raven has arrived!! she is my favorite character on the show and i am so excited to write the dynamic between her and haven :) they are besties for the resties

thank you for taking the time to read! i'm not suuuper happy with this chapter but i tried my best lol

if you're interested in seeing some tiktok edits for the story, check out user @/bellblakes_ on there! and if you came here from there... hiii! i hope you have enjoyed :)

happy new year! love you! <3