• •

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE;

I WILL FOLLOW YOU INTO THE DARK.

• •

DEATH MANIFESTS IN A MYRIAD OF WAYS. Aboard the Ark, it lurked in the shadows of natural causes, disease, and the grim inevitability of execution. However, on Earth, the spectrum of mortal threats widened exponentially—acid fog that dissolved flesh on contact, treacherous traps waiting to ensnare the unsuspecting, the gnawing agony of starvation, and the primal terror of being hunted by unknown predators. Luckily, Haven managed to evade those perils so far. But now–with Bellamy's hands tightening around her throat, survival felt bleak.

        She was fucked.

        "Bellamy," Haven croaked, her voice strained and warbled against the relentless pressure of his hands. Desperately, she squirmed, trying to slip her own hands beneath his to relieve the suffocating grip. "Bellamy!"

        The Blake boy remained unyielding. With her torso firmly pinned and his weight bearing down on her, Haven was trapped, her legs rendered powerless beneath him. Every contour of his face was contorted with rage, the muscles drawn tight like a wire poised to snap. Through her blurred vision, she caught a glimpse of Bellamy's eyes, wild and unfocused, as if seeing something–or someone—else entirely.

        He had to have been hallucinating, too.

        Haven's nails dug fiercely into Bellamy's hands, but she might as well have been scratching against stone. "Let...me...go!" she wheezed, panic rising within her as she felt her extremities grow numb. His fingers constricted around her throat like a noose, his gaze clouded by an unrecognizable madness. "It's...me!"

        "FIX HER!" Bellamy thundered back, each syllable a visceral force that shook Haven to her core, drowning out the staccato of her own heartbeat. Imprisoned within the labyrinth of his own delusion, he roared again, his eyes ablaze with tortured fury as he loomed over her. "Fix her–or I'll kill you!"

        Terror surged within Haven as she writhed again and again–each futile struggle intensifying her sense of helplessness. Gasping for any shred of oxygen, her vision flickered with the threat of imminent blackout, the edges of her consciousness beginning to blur.

"FIX HER!"

Every defensive move Haven attempted seemed to be effortlessly countered by Bellamy's trained instincts, leaving her teetering on the brink of despair. Tears welled in her eyes as she horrifically racked her memory for a glimmer of knowledge, of hope–until finally, she found it.

"Pressure point always does the trick."

Summoning every ounce of her remaining strength, Haven launched her arm forward, her hand darting toward the vulnerable spot right at the nape of Bellamy's neck—just as he had taught her.

At once, he stilled.

"Haven?"

Bellamy's movements ceased abruptly, his entire being locking into place as he uttered her name. Every contour of her familiar face seemed to anchor him in reality, dispelling the hallucinogenic nightmare that had once gripped him. His gaze flickered down to the deathly hold he had around her throat, and a shiver of horror ran through him as he recoiled, scrambling to release her from his grip.

Finally–she could breathe. The Smith girl's chest heaved with each labored inhale, the influx of oxygen bringing a sense of relief to her straining lungs. Exhaling felt like a victory. Shakily, she turned to face Bellamy, only to watch him inch further away.

"I'm," she panted, "okay–"

"Don't," Bellamy rasped, his body quivering with the residual effects of adrenaline. He flinched as Haven shifted beside him in the dirt. "Don't come near me. I-I could've..." His voice faltered, and he shook his head, unable to articulate the horror of what he did. "I almost killed you."

Haven released an unsteady breath. "Y-You wouldn't have." Sensing Bellamy's reluctance to meet her gaze, she reached out her hand, grazing his knee with mere fingertips. "It's just me," she whispered, "It's me."

       Slowly, Bellamy lifted his head, as if half-expecting Haven to transform into his worst nightmare, as if dreading the possibility of hurting her again. Beneath the ethereal glow of the moon, every detail was accentuated: the hesitant tilt of his head, the way his eyes searched Haven's face for reassurance, and the faint tremor in his hands as he brushed aside a lock of hair, fingers stained with fresh blood from the cut on his temple.

        What the hell happened to him?

        Before she could ask anything further, Bellamy gathered himself to speak once more. "I thought, I thought you were–"

        "Me?"

With a sudden jolt, their heads whipped around to the source of the voice, only to be confronted by the ominous glint of a gun barrel–aimed directly at them. Frozen in terror, every nerve in their bodies screeched as they realized the lethal threat mere feet away, held with an unnerving stillness by Dax.

         "Plan worked out perfectly," Dax surmised, his tone mechanically flat and barren. There was an eerie emptiness in his eyes, a void where humanity should have been, as he casually gestured towards Haven with the tip of the rifle. "I knew that if I went after you instead, he'd come outta' hiding."

        Haven sat motionless. The dread that gripped her had turned her bones to ice, yet she dared not even flinch. Not if movement risked a bullet to Bellamy's brain, or her own. Confusion ran rampant within her, but there was no room for doubt or disbelief; the danger before her was undeniably real, no longer a figment of her troubled mind.

        Dax flexed his jaw before continuing. "You should've just killed her, Bellamy. Would've made my job much easier," he muttered, his fingers tightening around the gun's grip as his eyes darted between the pair on the ground. "Now–I have to kill you both. Shumway said no witnesses."

        Haven mustered the bravery to utter just one word, her voice steady as she met Dax's stare, refusing to be cowed by the presence of the gun. "Shumway?"

"Shumway–he set it up," Bellamy's voice snaked around Haven's fears like a caress. Despite the proximity between the two, neither of them glanced to the other in their peripheral; they knew the danger it posed. "He set everything up. He gave me the gun to shoot the Chancellor."

An epiphany bore down on Haven's shoulders, each piece of information gathered aligning with alarming clarity in her mind. Bellamy's earlier disclosure rang loudly–the one who brokered the deal for him to shoot Jaha wasn't merely a guard, he was the commanding officer of the entire fucking unit. Shumway possessed an insidious amount of power. And as the Ark's descent to Earth loomed closer and closer–Dax's threat could only mean one thing.

"You're finishing the job. Burying Shumway's skeletons," Haven breathed, the wheels beneath her skull whirring violently. "Look...Dax, just talk to us, okay?" she pleaded, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it in a gesture of surrender, a silent plea for understanding. "Did he threaten you too?"

A fleeting vulnerability passed through Dax's icy gaze, vanishing in an instant. "My mom isn't gonna make it on the next dropship down. Not unless I do this," he admitted, a sharp intake of breath punctuating his words. "I need to save her. There's no other choice."

       As if it were even possible at this point–what was left of Haven's heart was entirely decimated. The revelation that another teenager had been coerced into murder by the Ark's tyrannical regime struck her with despair. It felt grossly unjust, an egregious transgression against morality. Nevertheless, she knew she had to keep Dax talking, if only to provide Bellamy with a fleeting opportunity for escape.

        Even if it meant sacrificing her own chances.

        "There's always a choice," Haven asserted, averting her eyes from the mouth of the gun as he angled it closer to her. "We can talk to Jaha. Together. With two witnesses, telling the truth about Shumway might just be enough to–"

        "Save the humanitarian speech for someone who'll listen. Not gonna take that risk," Dax snarled, the sound of his tongue clicking against his teeth echoing in the tense silence. His grip on the trigger tightened, knuckles white with tension. Leaning in, he fixed Haven with a predatory stare, his eyes blazing with a vulturine intensity. "Do you think it's true?"

        Haven stared back twice as hard. "What?"

        "That Vampira won't go down without a fight?"

        Immediately, her blood ignited.

        Gone was the icy grip that once held her captive, morphing her bones into fragile shards of glass ready to shatter. In its place surged an insatiable heat, a relentless flame devouring her from within. Each breath stoked the inferno, every heartbeat thundering in her ears like a war drum.

"Enlighten me, Haven," Dax drawled, his voice dripping with malice as he lowered the gun, its cold metal now aimed squarely between her eyes. The scent of gun powder filled her nostrils. "What happens before you die? Do you cry?" He pressed the barrel against her forehead, his tone taunting. "Do you scream?"

One wrong move.

One wrong move, and she was dead.

Fury surged through Haven's veins as she stared down the barrel of the gun. Every fiber of her being burned with righteous anger, compelling her to stand firm, to defy the idiot who dared to intimidate her. Yet, within the tempest of hellfire, a fleeting hesitation slithered in. It was a transient pause, a flicker of doubt as she grappled with the overwhelming intensity of her own rage.

Then, she remembered who the fuck she was.

"Ask your mother."

Before Dax could comprehend her words, Haven's hand shot out and seized the tip of the rifle. With a swift and forceful movement, she thrust it backward, channeling every ounce of strength into the blow. Dax doubled over in agony, a primal cry erupting from his lips as the merciless impact landed squarely on his groin.

Good fucking riddance.

"You cunt–!"

        Capitalizing on the moment, Haven deftly snatched hold of Dax's ankle, her fingers gripping tightly as she yanked it out from under him. With no balance–and no balls–Dax plummeted to the ground. The impact was thunderous, sending shockwaves through the earth as he crashed down with a heavy, bone-jarring thud.

Haven glanced to Bellamy with wide eyes. "Take the gun!" she shouted, her voice strained with urgency as she scrambled to her feet. They had only seconds before Dax would inevitably rise again. But when Bellamy hesitated, lips parted in utter shock, she screamed even louder. "TAKE THE DAMN GUN!"

At once–Bellamy soared into action.

With a roar of fury, the Blake boy propelled himself towards Dax, his movements fueled by a maelstrom of pent-up rage that surged through him. Every suppressed emotion, every ounce of wrath and dread that had been festering inside him, erupted in the ferocious velocity of his fist. He struck Dax once, twice, three times, four; the impact reverberated through his entire being. But Bellamy's fury knew no bounds, and even as Dax staggered beneath from the blow, he remained relentless.

        He couldn't stop. He couldn't.

Lost in the frenzy of his assault on Dax's face–Bellamy failed to notice Dax's hand reaching out for Haven's leg.

        "No–!"

        Haven slammed against the dirt as Dax ripped her weight out from beneath her–mirroring her earlier maneuver. A sharp thud reverberated through her skull as her head struck a protruding tree root, momentarily disorienting her and leaving her vision swimming in a sea of pain. Fighting through the distortion, she attempted to rise–only to find Dax pinning Bellamy to the ground.

Blood sprayed mercilessly as Dax utilized the rifle as a battering ram against Bellamy's face.

He didn't take the gun in time.

        "Stop! NO!"

Haven staggered from her place on the ground and hurled herself onto Dax's back. Her hands transformed into claws upon impact, ruthlessly digging into his forehead from behind, drawing blood as she unleashed a primal assault on his eyes. With every ounce of her being, she leveraged her weight, driving them both backwards into the dirt. Every muscle within her wailed in protest–but she couldn't find it within herself to care.

There was no time for it.

Hissing with rage, Dax pivoted onto his stomach, rolling over before Haven had the chance to free herself from beneath his back. His eyes flashed with malice, the reflection of the gun in his hands casting a menacing glint in his cold, murderous gaze.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Looks like you screwed yourself, Vampira," Dax breathed, his breath hot against her cheeks as his weight pressed down on her. "Think one bullet will be enough?" With a lazy flick of his wrist, he cocked the rifle in the air. "Or ten?"

"Fuck. You." Haven's voice cracked with raw intensity, her breath ragged as she writhed beneath him. "You're nothing but a coward–"

His fist collided with the side of her mouth.

"Say it again," Dax fumed.

Haven gritted her teeth. "I said, you're a–"

Before she could even blink, another blow landed, striking mercilessly against her cheek. This time, the impact drew blood–staining Dax's knuckles with a dark, ominous hue.

A smirk of disbelief twisted his lips as he raised skeptically raised his brows. "Holy shit. You really are a vampire," Dax remarked, undeniably intrigued by the sight of the black liquid trickling down Haven's cheekbone. But as quickly as his amusement came, it vanished, replaced by a startling darkness. "Camp will give me a whole lotta credit for killing you."

She spat out the blood in her mouth directly at his face.

        Dax jerked back, a flash of astonishment flickering across his features as he hurriedly cleared the dark splatter from his eyes. The mingling of their blood created an eerie tableau of onyx and scarlet. "You're a real angel, aren't you?"

        "You don't know the half of it."

        Bellamy.

        With the wrath of a titan, Bellamy surged forward, his muscles coiled with tension as he seized Dax by the shoulders, ripping him away from Haven's vulnerable form with an otherworldly force.

        They crashed to the ground in a chaotic flurry of limbs, Dax bearing the brunt of the impact as the earth swallowed him whole, Bellamy's weight pinning him down like an unyielding force of nature. This time, Bellamy's hands abandoned any thought of retaliation, and instead darted towards the gun.

Haven blinked frantically as the men dissolved into violence, her efforts to dispel her dizziness entirely in vain. Each of Dax's punches left her reeling; the relentless assault rendered her vision fuzzy and her senses blurred. She cursed inwardly, knowing all too well that she was no good in a fight if she couldn't see straight—the encounter with the Grounder in the cave had taught her that much.

        Just as she managed to prop herself upwards–a gunshot shattered the air.

The bullet grazed her ear.

        Time slowed to crawl as Haven absorbed the chaos before her. In a mere blink, Dax had wrested control of the weapon, the deafening echo of another gunshot piercing the night sky as it sailed past Bellamy's head. With lightning speed, he shoved the Blake boy aside and ruthlessly forced him back to the ground, the barrel of the rifle now leveled menacingly against Bellamy's chest.

        Death hung in the air like a promise.

        No longer was Dax wielding the weapon as an intimidation tactic. No longer was he wasting time with wicked taunts. If he wanted to kill Bellamy, he had him exactly where he needed him to be–powerless beneath the weight of a gun, his fate dangling by a thread.

        For a moment, Haven stood paralyzed. The specter of impending grief gnawed at her again, tearing through her ribcage as she grappled with the grim reality before her. With no blade concealed beneath her shirt and her vision blurred almost threefold, she understood that attempting to fight Dax further would only lead to her demise.

She had no plan. She had no plan.

        Then, like a bolt of clarity, she remembered the presence of the sword tucked against her spine.

As Dax's fingers clutched the trigger and Bellamy's visage sank into defeat, Haven's resolve crystallized with astonishing clarity. Swift as a shadow, she snatched the sword from its sheath, her muscles thrumming with ancestral instinct. Though fear gnawed at the edges of her consciousness, it was eclipsed by the unwavering certainty that she needed to act.

        It was Dax. Or Bellamy.

        And as the sword cleaved through the air–she chose.

        "HEY–COWARD!"

Dax's abrupt spin met Haven's swift, decisive strike as she drove the sword deep into his chest. His eyes, laden with shock and terror, bore into hers for a fleeting instant before surrendering to the agony that consumed him. A choked gasp escaped his lips, followed by a gurgled cry as blood surged from his mouth, staining his chin and cascading in crimson torrents down his chest.

Undeterred, Haven twisted the blade within him, sealing his fate with a brutal finality. Then, he slid off the sword entirely, slumping to the ground as a limp, lifeless husk.

        Dead.

        The Smith girl's hands trembled violently as she let the sword fall to the dirt, the clang of metal against earth a stark punctuation to the weight of what she had done. She killed him. She killed him. Breathing raggedly, Haven sank to her knees, scrambling backward until her back met the trunk of a nearby tree.

Bellamy crumbled beside her.

"Are you..." Haven's voice faltered, her gaze drifting dizzily over Bellamy's blood-stained features. Every line of his face seemed etched with fresh wounds, as if he had become more scar tissue than skin. "Are you okay? Did he–"

Bellamy stared at her with dead eyes. "Why are you asking me that?" he breathed out, his tone heavy with incredulity. His gaze flicked towards the lifeless body nearby before centering on Haven, silently begging for some semblance of understanding. "You—God, you shouldn't have done that. I could've handled it! Why would you–"

"He was going to kill you!"

"Then you should have let him!" Bellamy's voice shattered, a wrenching plea born from the depths of his very soul. His breathing hitched, each gasp a battle against the harrowing weight of his emotions. "If he wanted to kill me–fine. I-I deserve it. But you..." Trembling, his fingers dug into the earth, as if seeking reprieve against the onslaught of his despair. "You shouldn't have been forced to make that choice. You shouldn't have to live with it! It should have been me–not you!"

Haven shook her head. "It's already done," she whispered, her words fractured as she tore her sights away from the wounded man beside her. "Sorry for saving your life."

"That is not what I..." Bellamy's voice softened at the sight of her private tears. Overwhelmed, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, furrowing his brows in distress as he miserably searched for the right words. "You don't have to be sorry, Haven. For anything. Ever. I'm sorry for putting you in that position," he admitted. "I-I'm sorry for the wristbands. I'm sorry for the radio. I'm sorry for–"

        With her heart lodged in her throat, Haven stammered, "Bellamy–"

        "No. I'm sorry for everything–all of it." Bellamy couldn't bear to face her. He trained his eyes to his bloodied hands in his lap, helplessly attempting to dismiss their tremors. "My mother... If she knew what I've done, who I am...she raised me to be better, to be good."

On Earth, Haven had faced nightmares that surpassed the darkest corners of her mind, atrocities etched into her soul with unforgiving clarity. She'd seen lifeless eyes stare right back into her soul and pleaded with the universe to die with them. Yet, nothing prepared her for the cataclysmic unraveling of the boy beside her. As tears bled down Bellamy's cheeks, each droplet a testament to the depths of his misery–every other horror paled in comparison.

"Listen to me," Haven's voice quivered with urgency as she fought to soothe his agony. Drawing closer, she instinctively sought his eyes. "You are–"

"All I do is hurt people," Bellamy whispered. "I'm a monster, Haven. You were right."

Her heart plummeted to an abyss.

A monster–that was the label Haven had damned him with that day in the dropship, just before she crumpled to the floor and seized. It was as if her own body had sensed the venom pulsating beneath the word, the same venom she had hurled at him with careless abandon. In the aftermath, she longed to snatch back the words the moment they escaped her lips, but the cruel truth remained: it was far too late.

Paralyzed by remorse, she stared at Bellamy's silent tears, then shifted her gaze to the blood staining his hands—the same blood now coating her own. It was a visceral realization, like the first light of dawn breaking through a seemingly endless night.

Finally, she understood him.

After weeks marred by resentment, blurred lines, and unyielding chaos–Haven's perception of Bellamy underwent a seismic shift, as if she were peering through a lens she'd never dared to look through before. It felt like a veil had been torn away, laying bare the raw depth of his commitment in a light she'd never truly comprehended.

        Is this what it meant to protect the ones you held close? Is this how he felt–at all times? Wrestling with decisions, tormented by the consequences–all in the relentless pursuit of survival? Today, Haven had taken one step in Bellamy's shoes. She didn't just harm a man; she claimed his life. And as she stared at Bellamy's broken figure, stripped of his usual armor and heart laid bare–she harbored no remorse for it.

Not if it meant saving him.

        What did that make her?

        "No. I-I..." Haven sucked in a shuddering breath before raising her hand to his cheek, gently forcing him to face her. "I was wrong. Terribly, stupidly wrong. You're not a monster, Bell. A monster wouldn't feel this way."

       Bellamy shook his head, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks, as if a dam within him had finally ruptured. "I've gotten people killed–"

        "You've also saved countless others," Haven countered, undeterred as the tears from his eyes and the crimson on his face stained her fingers even further. "You were doing the best you could with what you knew. Not everything has been perfect. But you kept us alive. All of us." Then, her voice shattered, splintering into a thousand tiny shards. "You kept me alive."

        Slowly, Bellamy lifted his head.

Haven was defenseless to the onslaught of emotion breaching within her. "When I mentioned the blood you donated, I wasn't going to hold it against you. I was going to thank you," With trembling hands, she withdrew from his cheek, futilely attempting to brush away her own tears. "All of these years, you protected me. You kept me safe. And I..." Her breath caught. "I don't think I've ever thanked you for it."

An apocalyptic silence roared between them.

Bellamy stared at Haven as if she were speaking a foreign language. As if the incredulity of her words had robbed him of his own damn breath. Did she truly believe she owed him thanks for doing what was right? Protecting her wasn't a debt to be repaid—it was a sacred duty he would willingly fulfill a hundred times over, a thousand times if need be.

"That was nothing," he insisted, "Anybody would have done the same."

"No. They wouldn't," Haven's voice was devastatingly low. "You could've run. You could've told the Council and gotten the promotion of a lifetime–but you didn't," she declared. Her chest heaved with the ebb and flow of her affection, unearthing the deepest parts of herself to refute his doubts. "Keeping me safe wasn't all that you did, Bell."

Their eyes locked; his to hers, hers to his. In that moment, Haven was utterly unable to resist the reshaping of her heart any longer. Not anymore. Not ever. It surged with an intensity that seemed to echo through every fiber of her being, thrashing against the confines of her chest, expanding to fill every cell of empty space within her.

"You made me want to live," she whispered, the confession laden with so much conviction that it rattled them both to the bone. "To fight. You make every single person in that camp want to fight, too. They listen to you. They need you." Almost horrifically, the words abandoned her with a devastating truth, "I need you."

        Cosmos were raining all around them–Bellamy was certain of it. His vision was so tainted with tears that he could hardly decipher whether Haven were made of flesh or starlight. Maybe the heavens themselves wept with them. With an iron heart, he shook his head, clenching his fists in his lap once more.

        "I don't want to hurt anybody anymore."

"Then don't," Haven urged, her plea raw and unguarded, "We can do better–together. But you can't leave. You can't." As Bellamy's gaze faltered, a cyclone swirled within her, garnering strength with an unshakable resolve. "What do you need me to do, Bellamy?" Her voice rose to a fever pitch. "Do you need me to tell you not to go? Fine."

        Fearlessly, she reached for his hand.

        "Don't go," she begged, "Please."

        Bellamy felt his entire body stiffen beneath Haven's touch. Her hand, tender against his calloused skin, gripped his with a strength that felt both gentle and resolute, as if it carried the weight of the world and the promise of redemption. Breathlessly, he searched her face, seeking any trace of deceit or falsehood.

Undying devotion stared back at him.

Slowly, he surrendered to her touch, allowing himself to be consumed entirely by her warmth. He leaned his head against the tree bark behind them and sighed. "We don't have to go back yet, do we?"

"No," Haven breathed, "They can wait."

        Time seemed to stretch for an eternity as they lay in the dirt. Fatigue was a debilitating cross to bear, threatening to crush their brittle bones to dust. Yet, amidst the weariness, they found solace in the warmth that pulsed beneath their ribs. For once, nothing unsaid existed between the two; only stillness.

Since their arrival on Earth, their paths had diverged like parallel streams, two celestial entities orbiting in separate spheres, ever on the brink of slipping away from one another. Bellamy would reach for her with his left hand, while Haven would reach for him with her right–yet their fingertips barely grazed, unable to anchor themselves in the abyss between them.

Always fleeting. Always elusive.

But in this moment, amidst the hush of the night, they defied the pull of their separate trajectories. Their hands, once condemned to pass by each other in passing, now wove together in a tangible embrace, drawn inexorably towards each other as if by the unseen tug of gravity.

"I never got to say sorry," Haven whispered, weary eyes tracing the constellations strewn across the velvety expanse above. "About your mom."

Bellamy cast a delicate glance in her direction. "I never got to say sorry about yours."

The Smith girl's lips curled into a rueful smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes as she unconsciously leaned closer to Bellamy. "You definitely have," she replied, her breath forming misty clouds in the frigid air. "At least five times, actually."

"On the Ark, yeah," Bellamy nodded slowly, his gaze following hers to the stars above, contemplating if they held a different significance for her. He longed to understand them through her eyes. "But not down here. Not after...this."

Right. This.

Bellamy was well aware of the depths of her mother's obsession; Haven had shared every detail about it after an incredibly brutal seventeenth birthday. It must have been dreadful to accept that Dahlia had been right about Earth all along. The prospects of survival, once dismissed as the products of an overactive imagination, now stood as undeniable truths. Maniacal passion. Tireless research. Everything that had propelled Dahlia to the brink of madness had ultimately been validated in the end. And yet, somehow, the truth proved far more devastating than Dahlia could have ever imagined.

        Her daughter was condemned to inhabit the very planet that had driven her to death.

        Haven sighed. "You don't have to be sorry," she insisted, though her tone fell flat. "It's just like she's haunting me from the fucking grave. Everytime I look around and see the things she's always dreamed of, it feels wrong. Like she should be here instead. Not to experience all of the bad stuff, but... y'know." Her eyes remained on the galaxies swirling overhead. "The good."

        His voice was unbelievably soft. "The good?"

        "Yeah," Haven shrugged, sinking deeper against the tree trunk, grappling to summon memories of beauty amidst the harshness they'd endured. "Stars, sunsets, birds. That kinda stuff."

        One heartbeat passed. Another.

        "You deserve to experience it too," Bellamy whispered, the sincerity in words enough to eclipse the brilliance of the moon. "The good. And you don't have to feel bad about it."

        As his thumb absentmindedly traced patterns and gentle circles upon the back of her hand, Haven realized they had yet to break apart. Shortly after that–she realized that she didn't want to let go, either. Despite the faint sensation of heat festering beneath Bellamy's touch, his fingertips left a soothing imprint on her skin, comforting yet electrifying all at once.

Haven released a slow, drawn-out breath. "I guess. But everytime I don't feel bad about it–something else comes up and stomps on it til' it's dead."

"Then stomp back harder," Bellamy urged softly, as if the answer were simple. There was nothing demanding in his tone when he spoke, nothing harsh. His gaze, softened by the moon's ethereal light, lingered on her face with a tender understanding. "Give em' hell, angel. Like you always do."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's tiring," Haven merely waved him off, though the gradual release of tension above her shoulder blades spoke volumes of his impact. Her eyelids nearly fluttered closed in sheer relief. "But whatever. The world keeps spinning."

It was a jarring truth. Before long, they'd be thrust back into the relentless cycle of survival at camp. Training sessions loomed ahead, where they'd hone their skills with the rifles they'd stumbled upon in the bunker. Bellamy would inevitably have to face Jaha and plead for his life. The weight of it all felt suffocating, immobilizing. Yet, as Haven sat beside Bellamy, the burden seemed to lessen, if only by a fraction—as if they were shouldering it together rather than alone.

"What about now?" Bellamy dared to ask. "Does this feel...bad?"

        Their eyes blazed with an intensity that could rival the luminance of every star in the galaxy. They didn't have to face each other to recognize it; the vitality permeated their very beings–embedded in their bones, coursing through their cells. It was catastrophic shift, or perhaps a stirring of something dormant, something buried beneath the shadows of obsidian space between them.

        Haven gripped his hand tighter.

        "No," she breathed, "Not at all."

• •

HALLUCINOGENIC NUTS HAD WREAKED HAVOC ON THE CAMP BY THE TIME THE DUO RETURNED. Half of the hundred were still entrapped in their illusions, while the other half were reeling from the aftershocks. From what Haven was told, most of their experiences were nowhere near as morbid as hers; Monty was hell-bent on changing the literal tide, while Jasper had fiercely carried around an Anti-Grounder stick.

Just another day on Earth.

Miraculously, Bellamy and Haven had successfully transported the majority of rifles and other supplies from the bunker back to camp. It was fucking exhausting, but somehow, they managed. Clarke had been the first to greet them at the gate, assessing their weary features with an abhorrent understanding; nothing could ever be easy. Then–the blonde seamlessly assumed command, directing orders to any teenager willing to listen.

        Tomorrow, Bellamy would lead rifle training, stressing the significance of mastering firearms before entrusting them for self-defense or border patrol. He'd even keep the remaining rifles under his bed until he felt confident enough to hand them out–quite literally sleeping on the responsibility. Meanwhile, Haven would lead hand-to-hand combat sessions, catering to those favoring non-lethal defense or who were downright terrified of firearms.

        She couldn't blame them.

        Whether the teenagers liked it or not, the ability to defend themselves was a critical necessity for their survival. With the Grounder now on the loose—whether escaped or released—they couldn't afford to be unprepared for the worst-case scenario.

        But for now, it would have to wait; nobody was in the right frame of mind to handle lethal weapons tonight, and Haven was undeniably distracted. Sitting beside Orion on a weathered log, the girls shared an orange blanket, drawing comfort from its warmth as they huddled near the crackling firepit. Her knee bounced incessantly, her eyes darting between the dancing flames and the imposing silhouette of the comms tent in the distance.

        Bellamy was in there.

        Talking to Jaha.

"I tried to warn you, dude!" Orion exclaimed, her laughter mingling with the crackle of the nearby fire as she argued with Monty. "If you don't wanna get splinters in your ass–you shouldn't have eaten the freakin' pine cone."

Monty snickered. "Relax, I'll be fine. The Greens' digestive systems are top-notch," he assured, proudly patting his stomach as Orion rolled her eyes. "My mom was totally pissed when I told her though."

"Whatever you say," Orion teased, "Just be prepared for the next time you gotta take a dump."

Beside herself, Haven couldn't help but grin at the banter between her friends. It was a small but welcome reprieve from the perpetual dread they had become accustomed to, a sign that Earth hadn't completely corrupted them–yet. As their parents' arrival approached, she dared to believe that perhaps they could defy the looming darkness for a little while longer.

She nudged Orion softly. "Did you get a chance to talk to your mom?"

        The Vincetta girl broke into a timid smile. "Yeah," she confessed, her voice tinged with a gentleness that Haven had never heard from her before. "She said she understood why I did...it. And that she doesn't hate me."

       "Really?" Haven's eyes widened in disbelief. Blinking once, then twice, she stared at Orion as if trying to comprehend the improbable. When Orion nodded eagerly, her astonishment deepened. "That's...incredible. You deserve to hear believed in. Always. Especially by your mom."

        Orion bit her lip. "Things still felt kind of awkward. I just can't wait to see her and make things feel less...weird, y'know?" she rambled, releasing a shaky breath before her smile brightened even further. "Jaha's giving her priority seating on the next dropship launch–apparently as a token of appreciation for trying to save Wells." She covered Haven's hand, resting atop her knee, with her own. "Word is they're planning to launch within the next week."

        "About damn time!"

        Raven Reyes approached the girls near the firepit with a heavy sense of exhaustion. Having been among the few sober ones during the nut nightmare, she and Finn had taken on the responsibility of overseeing a hundred unruly teenagers. Despite the weariness etched into her features, Raven pressed on with her trademark tenacity, her ponytail dancing in tandem with each purposeful stride.

        "We need all the help we can get. I'm tired of saving your asses all on my own," Raven huffed, dropping down beside Haven on the log and slinging an arm around her shoulder. As she settled in, she shot Haven an odd look. "You good?"

        Haven knitted her brows. "Yeah?"

        "You're shaking."

        Instantly, Haven became aware of the subtle trembling in her limbs, a poorly concealed sensation that nagged at her. It wasn't an overt tremor, but rather a subtle, persistent buzz that seemed to radiate from within. Her gaze instinctively flicked towards the comms tent before returning to the puzzled expressions of the girls beside her.

        "I'm good," she answered, mustering a smile that felt hollow, knowing it wouldn't deceive either of them. "Just been a long day."

        Raven's scrutiny lingered on Haven for a moment longer than usual, a faint furrow appearing on her brow as she noticed the bruise blossoming on Haven's cheek. Sensing her unease, Raven made a silent promise to broach the topic when the time was right. Not now. She shifted her attention towards Orion instead. "What about you?"

        Orion gaped. "Me?"

        "Yeah," Raven continued, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Still battling it out with the dropship curtain, huh?"

        "Hey–it's not my fault it looked like a giant fuckin' dragon," Orion scoffed, pressing her palm to her forehead in utter embarrassment before rubbing her temples with a weary sigh. "Those jobi nuts were hell."

        Raven's eyes twinkled mischievously as she winked at the Vincetta girl. "Don't worry. That dragon had nothin' on you."

        A blush intensified on Orion's cheeks, the warmth spreading like foreign wildfire. "Uh–"

Suddenly, Haven catapulted from her perch on the log, abandoning the warmth of the blanket and the solace of her friends with jittery urgency. With panic chewing at her insides, she dashed towards the comms tent at the slightest hint of movement from the curtain, her heart sputtering in her chest as Clarke and Bellamy emerged into view.

        "How did it go?" She asked, halting in front of Bellamy as Clarke ambled her way towards the fire. "What did Jaha say? Did he–"

        "Haven."

        "Was Clarke helpful? Did she make him more lenient? I mean, he better have listened to her, of all people–"

        "Haven."

        Firm hands clasped atop Haven's shoulders, their strength stabilizing her in place and momentarily quelling her ceaseless thoughts. She stood frozen, her pleading eyes aglow with anticipation as searched Bellamy's face for any indication of his fate. In that charged moment, their gazes locked, and then—he smiled.

Bellamy was pardoned.

All at once, Haven surged towards him with the force of a thousand stars, a million supernovae erupting within her. Not a single cell remained untouched, every fiber of her being ablaze with an unburdening sense of relief. With arms wrapped around his neck, fingers weaving through his curls, torsos meshing together–they descended to the earth in a euphoric tangle of limbs.

        As they collided into the ground, it was Bellamy's sturdy back that absorbed the impact, his reflexes guiding his arms around Haven's waist to steady her atop him. Even as she attempted to rise, her hands seeking stability on his chest, his grip remained firm on her lower back, securing her in his lap with a silent reassurance.

        Then, they laughed.

        "You're free!" Haven's face lit up with an elated smile, her laughter dancing on the edge of breathlessness as she looked down at him beneath her. "You're free. Oh my god. I-I was so–!"

"Nervous?" Bellamy arched a sly brow, fingers tenderly sweeping aside a stray loc of hers that had fallen across his view, allowing him to observe her more clearly. "About me?"

Haven smacked his chest with her hand, setting off another round of laughter that seemed to ripple through the air around them. It felt as though every fractured piece of their beings had been seamlessly realigned, fused with an unbreakable steel that defied the cruelty of the world around them. None of it mattered anymore. Nothing could diminish the sheer euphoria that danced between them, a palpable surge of joy bouncing back and forth like a stolen ray of sunlight.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Uncontrollably, Haven's gaze dipped to the curve of Bellamy's mouth, drawn on the flush of his lips like a moth drawn to a flame. The sun existing in the mere inches between them underwent a dizzying metamorphosis, its warmth and intensity magnified into something primal, something entrancing. Bellamy's arms tightened around her, driven by an instinctual urge to clutch her tighter, while Haven remained dreamily spellbound.

        "JASPER–YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The Smith girl's reverie was abruptly shattered by the sound of commotion. With a jolt, she snapped back to reality, her heart racing as she glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, she saw Orion in hot pursuit of Jasper, brandishing his Anti-Grounder stick at him and shouting something about moonshine.

"Duty calls," Haven sighed, her departure from the security of Bellamy's lap almost reluctant as she rose to her feet. Extending her hand, she helped him rise from the dirt, brushing off a stray leaf that clung to his shirt. "Can't let her take his head off, can I?"

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "You should let them figure it out themselves."

As if to spite them, Jasper zoomed past the pair in a blur, emitting a high-pitched squeal of terror. "HELP!" he screamed, his eyes bulging with panic as Orion pursued him with a wicked grin. "FUCK–SHE'S GONNA KILL ME!"

Haven shot Bellamy a knowing glance, both unable to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "Told ya," she teased, already spinning on her heels to pursue her friends. "I'll see you in the morning–"

He halted her with a tug on her hand.

"Wait," Bellamy began, the lightness in his tone softening to something more sincere. As Haven stared at him expectantly, he cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts before he spoke again. "I just wanted to thank you."

Haven raised a brow. "Thank me?"

"For...believing in me," Bellamy averted his eyes now, fingers uneasily tracing the nape of his neck. "I wouldn't have had the guts to talk to Jaha without you. So..." He gave her hand three tender squeezes. "Thanks, angel."

Once more, the celestial warmth between them swirled. Maybe it was stirred by Bellamy's earnest words, or perhaps it was the enchanting dance of firelight in his deep, obsidian eyes. Either way, she felt its glow the moment it ignited, stretching beneath her skin until she was nothing more than a vessel of molten heat. Unconsciously, she braved a step forward.

"You don't have to–"

Her breath died in her throat.

Just behind Bellamy's shoulder, the spectral figure of Dax materialized, his ghastly appearance rooting Haven to the dirt. Blood marred every crevice of his face. His fingers clenched the rifle tightly, knuckles straining against the weight of his intent, while the sword jutted from his torso, a stark symbol of his demise. With a malevolent grin stretching across his pallid face, he aimed the weapon at Bellamy's temple, the trigger slick with fresh blood.

"Haven?"

At the sound of Bellamy's voice, she blinked.

Dax was nowhere to be seen.

• •

hi🤭🤭🤭🤭

YOU GUYS IM LITERALLY SOOOOO FHEJEJEIDIWJWKSKSS RN

i was initially very stressed going into this episode because i REALLY didn't want to steal any bellarke moments.. i tried to keep it as unique to haven & bell as possible while driving the plot forward realistically <33 so hopefully you guys liked it!

i wanted to draw back to the pressure point thing. if u didnt catch it, its exactly what bellamy said when he snapped her out of dissociating in chapter 10 :)) also... what we do we think bellamy was hallucinating🤔🤔🤔🤔

and... raven and orion ???🫣

i said it before but i'll say it again, things are gonna skyrocket. liiikee balls to the walls insanity incoming. next up: UNITY DAY BITCHESSSSS!!

also....
haven's kill count: 1

I LITERALLY LOVE U SO MUCH IT HURTS!!! comment your thoughts, vote if u enjoyed, have a BEAUTIFUL day <3