• •

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE;

SNAKE EYES.

• •

DAWN HAD LONG RISEN BY THE TIME THE GROUP ARRIVED AT THEIR DESTINATION, bathing the sky in hues of coral and gold. Finn had taken the lead, Clarke steamrolling at his side, while Haven guarded the rear. Occasionally, she slipped her hand into her pocket, discreetly dropping jobi nuts along their path—a clandestine signal meant only for Bellamy to follow.

        Haven didn't necessarily like the idea of bringing guns to what was supposed to be a peace talk. Yet, the thought of being caught unprepared was equally unsettling. With each step, her anxiety intensified, twisting her stomach into knots. Nothing about the situation felt right. Though the weight of her blade pressed against heavily against her skin, tucked beneath her skirt, the phantom weight of a rifle felt even worse. As long as Bellamy wasn't forced to use his–things would be fine.

At least, that's what she told herself.

Eventually, they stumbled upon a clearing nestled within the dense foliage. Towering before them was one end of an ancient bridge, its weathered stones stretching across the expanse for at least a hundred meters to the opposite bank. Each stone was cloaked in a lush coat of moss, a testament to the passage of time and the river's persistent caress. Below, the water roared with an unruly ferocity, far more turbulent than the serene riverbank closer to camp.

Octavia stood before them with a stormy glare.

        "So that's how you set this up," Clarke huffed, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at Finn, who maintained a tight-lipped silence. Then, she shifted her gaze back to the Blake girl. "You helped the Grounder escape, didn't you?"

        Somehow, Octavia's glare intensified even further, as if her sapphire eyes wielded the power to pierce through steel. "I trust him, Clarke."

        Clarke merely sighed. "There's a whole lot of that going around."

Haven was inclined to agree; the blonde's apprehension surrounding the meeting was undoubtedly justified. For all they knew, the group could have been walking straight into the line of fire. But then again–so could the Grounders. Wherever Bellamy was, Haven could almost feel the itch in his trigger finger, willing to unleash the firepower at any given moment.

        "Shh," Finn hushed, "Someone's coming."

Instinctively, the group snapped their heads towards the figure emerging from the opposite end of the bridge. Heavy footsteps echoed beneath the man's feet as he approached, clad in the unmistakable attire of a seasoned warrior, with his arms knowingly outstretched. Haven found herself momentarily transfixed by the sight of him, her focus so consumed by his familiarity that she barely even registered Octavia sprinting towards him.

        Then, without hesitation, she leaped into his embrace.

        Lincoln.

        "Holy shit," Haven breathed, recognizing the tattooed man with utmost clarity. It felt fitting to finally put a name to his face; Finn had briefed the girls about his crucial role in the meeting during their journey to the bridge. Undeniably astonished, she nudged the Collins boy with her elbow. "You really weren't joking when you said he was her boyfriend."

Lincoln regarded the trio with a stony glare cast over Octavia's shoulder. Even from afar, his eyes were nothing short of lethal. Its intensity was enough for Finn to hurriedly snatch Clarke's hand. Whether it was a gesture of solidarity or a reflexive instinct–Haven wasn't sure. But as Clarke's free hand slipped seamlessly into her own, their fingers intertwining in a silent pact, the truth became agonizingly clear.

They were fucking terrified.

"Oh my god..." Clarke breathed.

Through the dense greenery, thunderous hoofbeats rang out in perfect synchrony, announcing the imminent arrival of three magnificent creatures.

"Horses." Haven finished.

The first pair, their sleek obsidian coats gleaming in the early morning light, positioned themselves with a regal grace on the outskirts of the bridge. Then, amidst them, emerged the third horse—a breathtaking vision in chestnut, its coat ablaze with hues of copper and gold. Adorning its noble forehead was a cream stripe, a striking mark that seemed to elevate its presence to that of royalty, commanding attention with every step.

        As the steeds came to an abrupt halt–Haven felt her organs coil with dread. Mounted upon the horses were three warriors, their presence reminiscent of death itself. The two riding the black horses appeared to mirror one another, their attire draped in onyx from head to toe, adorned with ancient masks and thick leather armor that spoke of battles fought and won. Perched atop the third steed was a woman, unmasked and radiant, her beauty surpassing even the wonders of nature itself.

All three of them were armed.

"Hey–!" Finn surged towards Lincoln in riled disbelief, yanking Clarke behind him, which inadvertently dragged Haven along with them. "We said no weapons."

        Lincoln's response was terse. "I was told there wouldn't be."

Haven couldn't deny the surreal experience of absorbing the warrior's voice for the first time–especially when spoken in English. His tone carried a darkness, a biting frisson that seemed to permeate the very air. Yet, beneath the surface, there was an unmistakable strength, as solid and unyielding as the mightiest of mountains.

        "It's too late now," Clarke muttered.

        Drawing upon every reserve of her strength, the blonde relinquished her grip on her friends' hands and advanced towards the warriors. Finn moved to join her, only to be abruptly halted by Lincoln's arm barred across his chest.

Lincoln shook his head once. "She goes alone."

Fuck.

A tempest of terror brewed in Finn's eyes, its swirling vortex summoning every ounce of fear with horrific intensity. He cast a fleeting glance towards Haven, their unspoken bond pulsating with shared dread, before ultimately fixing his gaze upon Clarke.

"I'll be fine," Clarke assured.

        "Clarke–"

        "Hey," she interjected, observing the boy before her with a softness that rivaled the wispy clouds overhead. "It's time to do better."

        The Grounder woman regarded Clarke with a void expression as she dismounted her horse. Together, they approached each other as wretched mirrors. Clarke embodied the brashness of youth and naivety, every step fearless. In contrast, the warrior exuded a quiet power, one honed by a lifetime entrenched in the crucible of warfare.

        Meanwhile, Haven felt herself unraveling from within. So far–their plan had gone to shit. How the hell was she supposed to accurately wield a blade from this far back? The increasing distance between her and Clarke rendered her abilities fucking useless; even her speed felt inconsequential in the face of the imminent danger.

        Discreetly, her eyes swept the perimeter of the riverbank below, seeking any trace of Bellamy. His absence, she admitted, brought a measure of relief—it meant the Grounders hadn't discovered him either. With a silent plea to the stars above, she trusted that he was vigilantly guarding them from afar, armed and ready to defend if need be.

        Octavia better be right.

        "You."

        Haven pivoted at the voice emerging from her left, fighting against the impulse to startle as she locked eyes with Lincoln. With a furrowed brow, she awaited his next move, only to feel her heart sputter as he inclined his head towards the Grounder woman beside Clarke.

        She was staring straight at her.

        Lincoln's voice barely registered over the thunderous pounding in her ears. "She requests your presence as well."

        "Me?" Haven choked out, vehemently shoving down the panic that threatened to flip her skin inside out. Lincoln nodded stoically. Every word felt like a twisted knot in her throat, as if speaking had become an insurmountable burden. "I'm not–I'm not a leader."

"Go," Lincoln countered, dismissing her protests as if they were nothing but mere specks of dust, of nothingness. He ushered her forward with a hand against her back. "You do not want to face the consequences if you decline."

Haven faltered.

Not because of the daunting task ahead. Not because of the piercing gaze of the Grounder woman that mercilessly ravaged every fiber of her strength. It wasn't terror that rendered the Smith girl motionless. No, it was the sudden recognition of Lincoln's hands—the same ones that had thrust her and Charlotte into the shelter of the cave just weeks ago.

He had saved her from the acid fog.

It was him.

"Go," Lincoln repeated.

        Haven held his stare for what felt like an insurmountable amount of time. With a decisive nod, she fortified her resolve and unwaveringly started her trek toward the heart of the bridge. Fear was undeniable. But within the depths of Lincoln's knowing gaze, Haven found herself propelled by something far more formidable.

        Trust.

Somehow, the Grounder woman appeared even more striking up close. Long strands of golden hair intertwined with intricate black braids, cascading around her face like a crown of shadows. Onyx war paint adorned her eyes, accentuating the graceful arches of her high cheekbones and infusing her features with an enigmatic allure. Every aspect of her appearance exuded a haunting beauty, yet it was the penetrating intensity of her earthy green eyes that made the girls want to run.

       "Your name is Clarke?"

The warrior's voice emerged as a rich thread of sound, laden with dreadful intensity yet devoid of any semblance of warmth. As her gaze swept over the blonde girl standing beside Haven, it was as if she was prying open the depths of her soul, dissecting her with a swift and invasive scrutiny.

        Clarke nodded. "Yes."

Swallowing the instinctive urge to stutter, Haven held her chin high. "I'm–"

"Haven," the woman cut in, her tongue coiling around the Smith girl's name as though she longed to smother it. "We know. I'm Anya."

        What the fuck?

        Terror surged rampantly throughout Haven's veins as her brown eyes locked with Anya's. How could they possibly know her name? The uncertainty of it all suddenly made her want to retch–again. Yet, despite the turmoil raging within, Haven summoned every ounce of her willpower to remain impeccably composed.

Unfazed, Clarke reached out a hand toward Anya in a gesture of goodwill. However, as Anya wordlessly rebuffed the offer, Clarke's hand retreated awkwardly by her side.

        "I think we got off to a rough start," Clarke began, refusing to wilt beneath Anya's glacial reception. "But we want to find a way to live together. In peace."

"I understand," Anya's lips curled into an amused scorn. "You started a war that you don't know how to end."

        Clarke raised her brows. "What? No. We didn't start anything." Her next words were firm, each syllable punctuated with conviction as she refuted Anya's accusation. "You attacked us for no reason."

        "No reason?" Anya scoffed, echoing Clarke's words with a disdainful sneer. Exasperated, she took another bold step forward, though Clarke stood firm. "The missiles you launched burned a village to the ground."

At once, Haven stiffened. The flares–intended as a desperate plea to halt the culling aboard the Ark–had not only failed to save the families in space, but had also wrought devastation upon an unsuspecting village on Earth. The once-nimble fingers of the delinquents, including her own, had unknowingly forged the instrument of doom, resulting in the simultaneous demise of two civilizations in a single day.

"The flares?" Clarke gawked, seemingly stricken with the same realization as Haven. She shook her head in denial. "No. That was a signal meant for our families. We had no idea–"

        "You're invaders," Anya spat, "Your ship landed in our territory."

"We had no choice," Haven interjected, her words laden with a tenacity that nearly startled her. Discarding the initial plan of biting her tongue, she pressed on, knuckles white at her sides. "We were sent here against our will."

Clarke nodded. "We didn't know anyone was here. We thought the ground was uninhabited."

Anya stared at the girls as if they were nothing more than just that–girls. Her blistering eyes stripped them down to the skeletons of their youth in mere seconds. "You knew we were here when you sent an armed raiding party to capture one of us and torture him," she seethed, "These are all acts of war."

       Again–Haven felt her heart revolt within her chest. It was a harrowing truth to admit; Octavia's warnings about Lincoln had right all along. He had been aiding them from the very beginning, even before they had realized it. And yet, despite his covert support, what had he received in return?

        A screw in his fucking hand.

        Granted, Finn and Haven were dying at the time–but their perilous state was a direct consequence of their own intrusion into Lincoln's home. Regardless, Haven knew she would have much rather preferred to seize and die over subjecting another human to such barbarity again.

        "I see your point," Clarke admitted, her words resonating with the impartiality of a seasoned diplomat. "That's why we need to put an end to all of this."

Anya merely blinked. "Lincoln said there are more of you coming down–warriors."

        "The guard, yes. But also farmers, doctors, engineers." Clarke released a weighted sigh before continuing. "We can help each other, but not if we're at war."

        For a fleeting moment, Anya appeared to mull it over. "Can you promise that these new arrivals won't attack us?" she prodded, crossing her arms defiantly across her chest, swathed in the protective embrace of a fur cloak. "That they'll respect the terms you and I agree on?"

        An excruciatingly long silence ensued.

        Haven wasn't sure of many things, but one truth blazed with an agonizing certainty: the Council would sooner sever their own hands than offer aid to those in need. Unity Day epitomized this sentiment—a volatile display of aggression against dissenters. Persuading Jaha to consider a peace treaty would be as futile as teaching him to shapeshift.

        "I promise I will do everything I can to convince them to honor the terms that we set." Clarke answered, though the tremor within her pale fingers was unmistakable.

Anya arched a brow. "Why would I agree to an alliance that your people can break the moment they get here?"

        "Because they annihilated the last group of people who refused to join theirs. They blew them out of the sky," Haven deadpanned, reflecting Anya's glare with a withering glance of her own. Her throat felt like sandpaper. "You know the ship we came in? That's a tin can compared to the weaponry they have. Your people are safest behind it, not against it."

        Clarke set her mouth into a grim line. "If you fire the first shot, the people coming down won't bother negotiating. Our technology..." She shook her head. "They will wipe you out."

"They wouldn't be the first to try."

        Haven studied every sinew of Anya's features, meticulously seeking even the faintest hint of weakness, a chink in the armor of the relentless warrior before her. Yet, with each scrutinizing glance, her unease intensified; there was no facade to pierce, no veil to uncover. Every word that escaped the woman's scornful lips struck with the force of undeniable truth.

        Anya titled her head. "It appears you are more like the people in the sky than you care to admit."

        Clarke blinked. "What–?"

        With a sickeningly saccharine smile, Anya reached beneath the plushness of her fur cloak, retrieving a familiar weapon. The mere motion was enough to set Haven's fingers itching for her own blade. But as she caught sight of the weapon gleaming in Anya's lethal grip–fear sunk its teeth into her neck, rendering her paralyzed with horror.

        Anya was holding the sword.

The very same sword Haven had used to claim Dax's life.

"One of our warriors found this in the woods," Anya drawled, mindlessly tossing the weapon to the ground. The hilt clattered against the rough stone with a thud, landing perilously close to the tips of Haven's boots. "Right next to the dead body of one of your own."

Instinctively, Clarke's eyes flashed towards Haven's. Her pupils dilated with a potent storm of confusion, dread, and panic—a tempest threatening to eclipse the vibrant blue irises with pure darkness. Yet, as she searched the depths of Haven's eyes, all she encountered was a haunting reflection of her own inner turmoil.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

        How could she have been so careless as to leave the murder weapon beside Dax's body? Haven recoiled at the mere thought of touching it again, let alone presenting it to Orion after staining it with another life. Asking Bellamy to physically carry such a burden for her was unthinkable. It was her fault, plain and simple. And now–whatever transpired between the girls and Anya–would ultimately be her fault, too.

"You're playing a dangerous game–bringing your greatest weapon right beside you and thinking we wouldn't notice," Anya spat, her voice laced with venom as she fixed a steely gaze on the Griffin girl. Then, her eyes shifted to Haven, a silent accusation burning in their depths. "How are we supposed to trust you when you feel so comfortable murdering your own?"

Haven nearly blacked out. "I-I was defending one of our own. I was defending myself," she countered, every word a battle against the imminent hysteria clawing at her lungs. "If you would allow me to explain–"

"Save your explanations for someone who cares to listen," Anya interrupted, squinting as she observed Haven further. "You are nothing like what I've been told you are." Her voice was unnervingly flat. "How disappointing."

Before Haven could even begin to decipher whatever the hell that meant–an urgent cry shattered the tense silence, carried on the wind with a fear that could quell even the fiercest infernos.

"HAVEN! CLARKE! THEY'RE GONNA SHOOT–RUN!"

Jasper?

Horrifically, Haven jerked her head towards the source of the shout, her heart lurching into her throat as she spotted Jasper exploding out from behind a thicket, rifle in hand. Without hesitation, he unleashed a barrage of rapid gunfire towards the trees above, bullets whizzing through the wind in a wild frenzy. But before the echoes of his shots could fade, the Grounders retaliated with deadly precision.

Violence erupted at once.

        Spears sailed through the air like javelins. Arrows streaked towards their targets like bolts of lightning hurled by the most vengeful of gods. Knives flashed with the promise of death. Blood sprayed mercilessly as bodies crumpled from their concealment among the treetops.

        Haven's instincts ignited with a primal urgency. In a heartbeat, she thrust an arm in front of Clarke, forcefully urging her backwards and compelling her to duck, their movements swift and decisive amidst the unfolding chaos. The need to run was visceral–but where could they go? The bridge stretched out before them like a barren wasteland, an exposed battleground that left them perilously vulnerable to the lurking threats that surrounded them.

Then, Anya unsheathed her dagger, poised to hurl it directly towards Clarke.

Finn's cry echoed across the bridge like a prayer. "Clarke, GET DOWN!"

Just as Anya was about to strike, Haven instinctively shoved Clarke to safety, the ground swallowing her whole as she tumbled away from danger. But there was no respite, no moment of reprieve; in the heartbeat that followed–Anya's blade was already arcing towards Haven instead, a deadly dance of steel aimed squarely at her heart.

. . . FUCK!

       With lightning reflexes, Haven deftly sidestepped the dagger's trajectory, the metallic whisper of its edge grazing her by a hair's breadth–far too close for comfort. In a swift retaliation, she delivered a punishing blow to Anya's exposed kneecap, the force of impact reverberating through both combatants. It granted Haven mere seconds to recover and swiftly retrieve her own blade. But as quickly as the pause had come, Anya surged forward once more.

        "Yu izi branwada!" Anya's voice seethed with fury as her dagger slashed relentlessly towards Haven. With each strike, Haven's agility was put to the test, shuffling backwards to avoid the lethal blade again and again and again. "This isn't supposed to happen! You must stop!"

        "Then stop," Haven's chest heaved with exertion as she continued her strategic retreat, deftly guiding Anya further away from Clarke's vulnerable form. "Trying," Slash. "To," Another slash. "Kill," she sliced through the fur of Anya's obsidian cloak with gritted teeth. "Me!"

        Anya, realizing the futility of her blade, changed tactics, launching her opposite hand towards Haven's cheek with a resounding thwack upon impact. "I don't want to kill you!" She hissed. "Yield!"

        Haven could see stars swirling above Anya's crown of hair. "You just tried to stab me in my fucking heart!" she retorted, ducking to evade an arrow whizzing past her head, only to be met with the force of Anya's fist once more. "You...yield...first!"

"Never!"
       
As Anya wielded her blade once more, the dagger menacingly close to Haven's throat, a bullet tore through the air with a shrill cry. Haven could feel the heat of its passage grazing her cheek before it tore straight through the muscle of Anya's hand–obliterating her bones to dust and forcing her to release the dagger in agony.

        Startled, Haven's gaze snapped towards the source of the bullet, tracing the stark trail of smoke all the way down to the riverbank.

        Bellamy.

He stood as a formidable pillar amidst the foilage, clutching his rifle tightly in his palms, his gaze unwavering over the barrel. It was him who had made the perfect shot. Only as the ringing in her ears faded did Haven recognize his urgent shouts piercing through the chaos of battle.

"GO!" he howled. "I'LL COVER YOU!"

Right.

Haven spun on her heels, racing through the tumult of the bridge and back towards its heart. Arrows zipped perilously close to her temples, though their deadly whispers drowned out by the thunderous crack of Bellamy's bullets. Go. Go. Go. At last, she reached Clarke, still cowering on the ground, and yanked her upright with a fierce urgency.

        Apparently, Finn had the same idea.

        "Finn–get back! GO!" Clarke shouted.

        With an audacious disregard for danger, the Collins boy charged towards the girls at the center of the turmoil, narrowly evading gunfire and arrows before seizing Clarke's forearm with a vice-like grip. Casting a fleeting nod to Haven, they sprinted towards the edge of the bridge, retracing their steps amidst the chaos. Though panic threatened to choke them, a stronger instinct to survive spurred them onward.

        "LINCOLN!"

Haven lifted her head at the sound of Octavia's blood-curdling cry. About a hundred feet away, Octavia stood sheltered behind the towering bulk of Lincoln, his arms outstretched in a protective stance against any imminent threats. It was only as Haven sprinted closer that she registered the source of Octavia's anguish.

Lincoln had been struck by an arrow.

        Blood cascaded from his shoulder in a devastating torrent of scarlet as he grimly yanked the arrow from his body. Not even a fraction of pain crossed his stoic features as he resolutely discarded the weapon onto the cobblestones below. Without hesitation, he pushed Octavia further behind him, a silent vow to shield her from harm–at all costs.

        "It's just a scratch!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the havoc as he pivoted towards the incoming trio hurtling towards their end of the bridge. "Run! Don't stop til you get behind your walls! Go!"

Haven was certain her heart was failing; each glance at Lincoln's determined face only fueled the mounting guilt that threatened to suffocate her. She could've died on the spot right then. But there was no time for remorse, no luxury of processing the brutal truth: despite his own people under attack, Lincoln had chosen to protect them.

       They couldn't afford to waste it.

        So, she simply ran faster.

       Tears blistered against the biting wind as Haven crashed into Octavia, gripping her arm with an otherworldly strength, hell-bent on dragging them both to the safety of the forest's embrace. Yet, Octavia fought against her efforts with a primal ferocity, her nails clawing into the fabric of Haven's jacket as she cried, thrashed, begged for freedom.

       "Lincoln!" she shrieked, "No!"

        The Grounder shook his head. "Take her!" he barked, dark eyes ablaze with misery as he directed Haven and Finn to drag Octavia into the dense foliage. "GO!"

Enveloped in primal and guttural horror, the group tore into the forest, the echoes of the bridge's bloodshed fading into the distance behind them. Every footfall reverberated with desperation as they navigated the dense wilderness. Through tangled vines and looming shadows, Clarke and Octavia forged ahead, their rabid breaths mingling with the wild air. Meanwhile, Haven and Finn remained vigilant at the rear, scanning for any lurking danger.

        Orion was the first to stumble upon them.

        "Oh my god," The Vincetta girl gasped, her voice trembling as she adjusted the strap of her rifle to rest securely against her spine. Sweat glistened on her forehead, her curls matted against her skin. Every muscle in her body seemed to sag with exhaustion. "Oh my god. You're okay."

        Abruptly, Haven skidded to a decisive halt. "Orion?" she breathed, raising her brows in bewilderment as she grappled with presence of the seventeen-year-old standing before her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she fought to regain her breath. "What are you..."

       "Saving your asses," Raven huffed, emerging from the thicket of evergreens like a force of nature, Jasper trailing frantically behind her. "As usual."

        Haven quickly became all too aware of the fact that each of her friends were armed with rifles. Had they all expelled gunfire from the riverbank while the others remained on the bridge? The notion that Bellamy and Jasper could have single-handedly expended so much ammunition seemed improbable. And if that were the case, then...

        Her heart seized in her chest.

        "Where's Bellamy?"

        As if sent by the stars themselves–Bellamy hurtled through the underbrush like a comet, his fingers gripping his rifle with a ferocity that seemed to warp the metal itself. Relief pooled in his dark eyes at the sight of his friends–safe–then contorted into fury as he observed their stilled posture.

"What the hell are you doing?" he seethed, "We have to keep running! MOVE OUT!"

For the first time in her life, Haven found herself faltering as the group surged into action once more. Fatigue pressed down on her like a leaden cloak, but it wasn't mere exhaustion that hindered her usual graceful stride. It was the crushing weight of guilt, an oppressive burden threatening to consume her whole. She felt like an impostor among her friends, cruelly undeserving of their efforts to save her. Every step through the wilderness was punctuated by the blur of saltwater threatening to spill over her lashes. Every breath was maimed with an unfathomable agony beneath her ribs.

She didn't want to survive this.

She didn't deserve to.

"Keep going," Bellamy urged, delicately guiding her forward with a hand that refused to abandon her lower back. "Just keep going."

• •

FAILURE HAD SMOTHERED EVERY SHRED OF HAVEN'S RESOLVE AS THE GROUP HALTED OUTSIDE OF CAMP. With each passing moment, she battled the urge to collapse to her knees in despair, to let the earth swallow her whole and end her suffering eternally. Yet, even as she longed to surrender to the darkness, she also knew that she couldn't. There was too much at stake, too much riding on their ability to overcome this setback.

        Their lives depended on it.

In spite of that certainty, anger still surged throughout the group like hellfire. Knuckles clenched into fists at their sides. Lips twisted into disdainful scowls. Chests heaved with the burden of their laborious trials. Eyes flashed with tortured fury. And still–they waited, their gazes locked, silently pleading for somebody to be the first to stroke the flames.

Bellamy glared at Finn with a lethality that could incinerate an entire planet. "You got anything to say?"

Here we go.

"Yeah," Finn snarled, his body trembling with barely contained rage as he straightened up from his previous hunched stance. Except, instead of aiming for Bellamy, he jabbed an accusatory finger towards Clarke. "I told you no guns!"

        "And I told you we couldn't trust the Grounders!" Clarke fired back, "I was right!"

        Despite the heated exchange between the two, Raven pivoted toward Finn with watery eyes. "Why didn't you tell me what you were up to?"

Finn scoffed. "I tried–but you were too busy making bullets for your gun!"

        Wrath festered beneath Haven's skin, immediately displacing any lingering despair upon absorbing Finn's cruel words. He spoke to his girlfriend a callousness that prompted Raven's chin to wobble, as though she were nothing but an afterthought. Before Haven could unleash her reprimand, or even entertain the notion of pulverizing him–Bellamy beat her to it.

        "You're lucky she brought that!" The Blake boy seethed, gesturing to the rifle Raven held her in grasp before shaking his head in bewilderment. "They came there to kill you, Finn."

Did they?

"You don't know that!" Finn thundered, his voice raising to a decibel that certainly must've startled the entire camp. With a sweeping, erratic motion, he flailed his arm towards the Jordan boy. "Jasper fired the first shot!"

Meanwhile, Jasper's entire frame quivered like a leaf in the wind, his eyes frantically scanning the perimeter for any signs of danger. His fingers clenched so tightly around the rifle that his knuckles turned white, as if he feared it might slip from his grasp at any moment.

        Haven shook her head. "He wouldn't have fired without a good reason! He was just trying to protect us!" she snapped, leveling Finn with a damning glare before shifting her focus towards Jasper. Her voice lowered to a haunting whisper. "Right–?"

        "So was I!" Finn fumed.

        "Would it kill you to SHUT UP?" Orion's voice erupted like a cannon across the night sky. "You're the jackass who got us into this mess in first place, Finn! They had warriors in the trees the entire time!" she shouted, every muscle within her pulsating with vexation. "Don't know it you missed it or not because of your brain rot–but Clarke almost died! Haven almost died!"

        Confusion bore down on Haven like a relentless fog. Nothing made sense anymore; the chaos on the bridge seemed to defy logic at every turn. Lincoln's attempt to aid them raised a whirlwind of questions: Were the other Grounders aware of their plan, lurking in the trees with hostile intent? Or had they been part of a larger scheme for protection, mirroring Bellamy's readiness with the rifles their group had brought along?

        Anya's conflicting behavior further muddied the waters of their already complex situation. Despite her staunch refusal to yield first, she also voiced her reluctance to harm Haven directly. But that didn't make sense, either; her actions contradicted her words as she wielded a dagger towards Haven's throat, all while speaking in cryptic riddles. Unraveling Anya's motives seemed futile in the face of their grim reality. In a world where running for their lives had become routine, such contradictions were just another facet of their harsh existence.

        But amidst it all, one truth remained.

        Everything was a fucking disaster.

        Octavia fixed Jasper with a harrowing glare, her eyes cold enough to frost even the deepest pits of hell. "You ruined everything."

"We saved you!" Jasper countered, his shout falling on deaf ears as Octavia stormed into the safety of camp. Undeterred, he barged between Haven and Bellamy with a grunt, hot on her heels. "You're welcome!"

         Finn could hardly even breathe without fire coating his tongue. "Well, if weren't at war already, we sure as hell are now!" he seethed, casting a heavy glare at the remaining members of the group before fixing his gaze on Clarke once more. "You didn't have to trust the Grounders. You just had to trust me!"

        Clarke retreated without a word.

        "How the hell is she supposed to trust you?" Haven fired back, miserably losing the battle against the rage sledgehammering within her. Her fingers convulsed relentlessly at her sides, itching for an outlet. "Look at what you've done to her!" Her eyes flashed towards Raven. "Look at what you've done to your actual girlfriend!"

Finn went rigid.

Beside him, Raven found her best friend in a fleeting glance. Tears adorned each of the Reyes girl's dark lashes and cascaded the terrain of her cheek unchecked. It felt good, to be seen by somebody who truly knew her–but not when the weight of sorrow overshadowed any solace it offered.

Not when the boy she loved so dearly could hardly even spare her a glance.

Long gone was the inseperable trio of Mecha station. In their place stood strangers, fragmented and fraying at the edges, desperately clutching at effigies of their former selves. Despite their best efforts, it was inevitably all in vain. Finn had long forsaken their bond, and Raven teetered on the brink of collapse.

But Haven refused to let go. "You violate their trust every single time you look at either of them!" she shouted, her voice raw and ragged. "You want peace, Finn? Maybe the call is coming from inside the fucking house." She dared a step closer. "Fix that first."

Finn's gaze lingered on Haven for what seemed like an eternity before his lips curled into a sneer. "Violating trust? You're one to talk, Hav," he huffed, keenly noting the way Bellamy tensed as Finn drew nearer to the girl beside him. Then, he scoffed. "Does he know?"

"Do I know what?" Bellamy hissed.

"She trusted me to find your sister."

Bellamy pivoted towards Haven on instinct. "You knew Octavia snuck out?" he demanded, his eyes shrouded in a darkness so profound they seemed to swallow the moonlight overhead. "You didn't tell me?"

"I-I saw her leave camp," Haven admitted, her lip quivering with panic as she dredged up the moonshine-tainted memories from the day before. "I was gonna go after her, but Finn said he'd handle it. But then I saw Dax..." Nausea twisted in her gut as three more pairs of eyes flashed towards her. "And then I got drunk. I-I can't–I didn't know it would lead to this!"

"Stop acting so innocent!" Finn scowled.

Orion wasted no time delivering a forceful shove to his chest. "I thought I told you to shut up!"

"No! Why'd you think she chose to bring you to the depot, huh?" Finn persisted, shrugging off Orion's hands with callous indifference, as if he hardly even registered her touch. His gaze bore into the Blake boy with searing intensity. "Funny how Lincoln went missing the same night."

Bellamy paled.

        Excruciating silence descended among the group as Finn wordlessly stalked off towards the gate. Raven stood rooted in place, torn apart by the conflicting halves of her soul–again. Bellamy could hardly see straight, Haven could hardly even breathe. Everything had spiraled too far, too fast. All at once, their feeble grasp on sanity slipped away, away, away.

        And then, there was Orion.

        "Raven," The Vincetta girl began, her smile stretched to its limits, revealing the strain of her barely contained rage as she locked eyes with the mechanic. "If you don't mind–I'm about to kill your shitbag boyfriend."

With a velocity that matched the speed of arrows on the bridge, Orion dashed through the camp's gates, her pursuit of Finn fueled by an unbridled, primal wrath.

Raven trailed after her with a mere sigh.

The air became agonizingly thick as Haven and Bellamy finally found themselves alone. Except, there was no reprieve granted beneath the veil of stars–only turmoil. Amidst the waning rush of adrenaline, coherent thoughts seemed elusive, slipping through their grasp like water through cupped hands. Haven made several futile attempts to speak, her mouth opening and closing without sound, while Bellamy's fists clenched and unclenched in silent frustration.

"That's–"

"I'm–"

They exchanged a heated glance.

"That's why you asked me to go with you?" Bellamy rasped, finally summoning the strength to speak. He averted his eyes towards the trees in the distance, unable to bear the weight of the truth he sought. "So Octavia could free him?"

        Haven gaped. "What? I asked you to come because I trust you!" She wrinkled her brows in exasperation as the vortex of panic threatened to pull her under. "But I also trust your sister. So should you. Lincoln was going to escape eventually, and it's not his fault today happened. He tried to help us." An anguished knot tightened around her lungs, constricting her breath as she choked out the words, "It's nobody's fault but mine."

       "What are you talking about?" Bellamy's eyes flashed towards Haven's in a storm. Yet, she kept her gaze miserably fixed on the ground, her fingers white-knuckled around her locket. "How could this possibly be your fault?"

        "The sword!" Haven's cry pierced the air, the words bursting forth as if torn from her very soul, signaling the beginning of her inevitable undoing. "One of the Grounders found it in the forest and gave it to their leader. She knew I killed Dax from the moment I walked onto bridge! She used it as fucking leverage!" Her voice plummeted to a breathless whisper. "We were screwed from the start."

        Bellamy went rigid.

        How could he have been so blind, so careless as to leave the murder weapon lying beside Dax's lifeless form? He knew Haven would rather face death itself than touch the damned thing again. It should have been his responsibility to dispose of it, to spare her from such a burden—not hers, never hers.

        Defeat coated his tongue, though something darker swathed around his every word–acceptance. "We always are."

What have you done?

Haven could hardly contain the anxiety writhing within her. Tremors wracked her limbs, spreading from her fingertips to her shoulders, every muscle coiled tight with dread. If the Grounders retaliated for the attack on the bridge–the hundred were surely going to die. Maybe if she hadn't left the sword in the forest, they would've stood a chance. Maybe if she hadn't kill Dax in the first place, her hands could finally feel clean again. Maybe if she had let Dax claim her life instead–she wouldn't be drowning in this suffocating torment, trapped in this hell of her own making.

What have you done?

        "Listen to me." Bellamy began, "This is not your fault."

        But Haven could hardly hear him over her the deafening roar of her own heartbeat. Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision as she battled to slow her erratic breaths, each inhale feeling like shards of glass piercing her lungs. Even the mere thought of seeing straight felt ludicrous–how could she? Every blink only conjured the harrowing images of Dax. Roma. Charlotte. Atom. Her mother.

        Death clung to her hands like a second skin.

        "But it is–!" she choked.

        "Enough." 

        Strong hands clasped atop Haven's shoulders. Through tear-blurred vision, Bellamy's form wavered, but his presence was unmistakable. Despite his own breaths still echoing the intensity of her own, he exuded a quiet calmness as he met her wild eyes. And although she couldn't see Bellamy, she could feel him–his steadiness, his strength, his gravity.

        It was enough for the hurricane within her to dissolve into whispers of wind.

        "Just...breathe," Bellamy's voice was laden with a horrific exhaustion, yet somehow retained the softness of the moon. "You can't keep doubting yourself, Haven. You did what you had to do to protect us. To protect me." His pupils were blown with something enigmatic. "What part of you thinks that was the wrong thing to do?"

        Haven could see him clearly now, though she longed to remain hidden in the shadows of doom. Unraveling in his presence–only his–felt like a relentless cycle she was intrinsically bound to. Trying to deny his magnetism was like trying to rewire her very cells. It felt humiliating to even utter the words aloud.

        "I killed him."

        "You did."

        Bellamy's gaze was unflinching, his touch unyielding even as Haven tensed beneath his fingertips. He cradled the most jagged part of herself in his palms and refused to even blink; her darkest truths rendered powerless against his resolve. She could have unwrapped endless admissions of bloodshed, failures, and atrocities right then, right there.

        His presence would have stood unshaken.

"You did," he repeated, "And it doesn't make you any less than the person you were before."

Haven stared at the boy before her, scouring his dark eyes for any semblance of doubt. Finding none, she pathetically attempted to summon a protest, but it faltered before it could take shape. So–she heaved a sigh instead. "Tell that to Anya."

"The Grounder princess?" Bellamy scoffed. "I should've aimed for her head."

        She shot him an immediate eye roll.

        "What–too soon?" Bellamy's voice teetered on the edge of incredulity, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as the ghost of a smile tugged at Haven's mouth. "She tried to kill you. and I still aimed for her hand." He looked down at her with a knowing smirk. "You proud of me?"

        "You're psychotic," Haven huffed, lightly shoving him against the chest before she turned and strode toward the gate. Just before disappearing through the entrance, she cast a sly glance over her shoulder. "But maybe just a little bit."

        There was a familiar furnace blazing within Bellamy's ribcage as he absorbed the sight of her. The weight of the day's frustrations had etched lines of weariness on both of their faces; had it been anyone else who dared to conceal Octavia's whereabouts, Bellamy would've put them in a grave himself. Yet, as he stood before her, ensnared in depths of her glittering eyes–all thoughts of retribution vanished like smoke in the wind. He couldn't find it within himself to feel any of his usual wrath.

Not when she was looking at him like that.

"Careful," Bellamy warned. "Those eyes are deadly."

        Scarlet fire stirred in Haven's lungs at the lure of his voice. "Don't think I'm the one who needs to be careful," she drawled, her head tilting in a coy challenge as Bellamy shifted to lessen the gap that separated them. "I'm looking at you, aren't I?"

        Bellamy halted with only mere inches between them; her back against the unforgiving metal gate, his torso poised to merge with hers. It felt as though entire galaxies converged in the narrow space between them, each star yearning to bridge the darkness that their ruling planets forbade. Despite the magnetic pull drawing them inexorably closer, Bellamy exerted a herculean effort to restrain himself, every sinew and muscle strained in resistance.

"I can handle it," he breathed, relinquishing his gaze to the flush of her lips. "It's that pretty mouth of yours that worries me."

Haven was certain her knees were bound to collapse. He was closer now–dangerously close–his breath teasing against the bridge of her nose and his hands floating, hovering, waiting just above her waist. The depth of their proximity over the past few years felt painfully insignificant compared to the centimeters that separated them now. It was evident that Bellamy teetered on the edge of losing control. And with each passing moment, she felt own resolve crumbling, piece by agonizing piece.

They almost died today.

They could die tomorrow.

Would it be so terrible to relent to something that felt good? Amidst the swirling chaos, constant bloodshed, irreparable trauma–did she even deserve to? Probably not. Yet, as she dazedly bit her lip, Bellamy drew in a breath that felt like his last–signaling the ultimate shattering of his restraint.

Then, a sonic boom ruptured the tranquil twilight enveloping them.

Startled, they both instinctively craned their necks toward the heavens, beholding what appeared to be a...meteor? No–meteors weren't typically visible from such a distance. The fiery object streaked across the inky darkness with unimaginable speed. As it continued to hurtle through the atmosphere faster and faster and faster, they squinted, straining to discern its true nature amidst the rapidly fading light.

Bellamy cast the girl beside him a sidelong glance. "The Exodus ship?"

        "Yeah, but..." Haven's voice trailed off, her words faltering as the ship soared alarmingly close to the distant mountaintops. "There's no parachute. It's not...it shouldn't..."

Without warning, the vessel collided with the unforgiving peaks of jagged stone, ripping through the obsidian sky and igniting it into a searing inferno. It was horrific; the heat of the explosion could be felt even from miles away. But as swiftly as the flames erupted, darkness descended once more, reclaiming its dominion over the charred remains below.

        "No," Haven breathed, "No. No. No."

Somewhere within the confines of the camp's walls, a heart-wrenching wail of despair shattered the stillness of the night, its piercing agony echoing through the darkness with the force of a gunshot.

Haven launched into an immediate sprint.

With her heart writhing in her throat, she bounded through the gate, frantic eyes searching wildly for the source of the familiar shriek. It took mere moments to locate Orion, knelt in the dirt, fragile frame wracked by violent sobs, her gaze fixed on the distant plume of smoke trailing from the collision site.

"My..." Orion nearly choked on her own grief as Haven crumpled into the dirt beside her, while Bellamy skidded to a halt a few yards away. "My mom. My mom."

Haven tugged Orion into her arms without thought as she dissolved into anguished cries. Every fiber of the Vincetta girl's body was shaking so viciously that Haven feared she would disintegrate beneath her touch. With each tremble, Haven's grip tightened, as if she could single-handedly defy the merciless hand of fate and mend the fragments of her friend's devastation.

Those onboard the dropship were dead.

All of them.

• •

HI BESTIES!!!

this chapter was soooo tough to write, especially when it got to the argument scene because i feel like everybody has a valid argument and theyre all just like

something about surviving the day seems to get baven(??) bellhaven???? i really dont know a ship name for them but i need one... anyways it seems to likeeee get them all hot and bothered recently 🤭🫣  cockblocking tho🤝 YOU'LL THANK ME LATER

also orion💔💔💔 IM SORRY!!! i love her so dearly

7.6k words :0 everytime i write a chapter recently this is where i always end up

as always, i am literally desperate to hear your thoughts and it is my favorite thing in the world to go back and reread comments. i freakin love u so much it hurts!!!!