• •

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE;

RED TIDE.

• •

HAVEN STORMED INTO THE SANCTUARY OF OCTAVIA'S TENT, her eyes blurred with unshed tears–though she made no attempt to wipe them away. Inside, she found Orion and Octavia sprawled on their stomachs, engrossed in the pages of a familiar journal Octavia had been thumbing through lately. At the sound of her entrance, the girls turned their heads, their expressions shifting from curiosity to concern in an instant.

Octavia furrowed her brows. "What's wrong?"

"You were right," Haven's groan resonated with weariness as she sank onto the cot beside them, her movements heavy with irritation. She sniffled briefly before continuing. "Jasper's gone mad with power."

Orion's scoff carried a hint of contempt. "Oh yeah? Tell that overgrown beanstalk I can snap him like a twig," she hissed, shifting onto her back so she could see Haven more clearly. "Just say the word, Hav."

A gentle smile graced Haven's face as she absorbed the sight of Orion. Today, the Vincetta girl exuded a familiar aura, embodying her true self once more. It was a sight Haven cherished, a glimpse of normalcy amidst the chaos of their circumstances. And although she was unsure of how long it would actually last–she felt grateful for it nonetheless.

As Haven placed her hand gently on Orion's knee, she peered over her head, utilizing her as a perch to get a closer look at the journal. "What are you guys looking at?"

"Just some pictures," Octavia murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, cheeks tinged with a faint blush as she flipped through the pages, captivated. "Lincoln drew them."

        At once, Haven finally recognized the weathered journal cradled in Octavia's grasp–it was Lincoln's, the same one Bellamy had pressed into her palms amid the chaos of the hurricane. Despite its worn and ancient appearance, the drawings within held a captivating allure, each stroke telling its own story.

Well...most of it.

The most recent page Octavia was studying exuded an eerie ambiance. It depicted a Grounder adorned in a hazmat suit and gas mask, enveloped by swirling, ominous smoke reminiscent of the acid fog they had braved. Yet, it was the clenched fist tightly gripping a hand grenade that truly unsettled her–a detail that foreboded imminent danger.

        Haven did her best to maintain a steady tone in spite of the dread constricting her chest. "Did Lincoln explain what that one was?"

        "Dunno. Put it away," Orion groaned, her voice muffled as she squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face into the soft pillow beneath her. "I've had enough Grounder nightmares to last me a lifetime."

        The abrupt whoosh of the tent flap being thrown open silenced their conversation, halting their words mid-sentence. Startled, each of the girls turned their heads towards the entrance, only to relax as they saw Bellamy standing there. He hunched slightly beneath the much shorter entryway, his eyes glimmering with something indiscernible.

"Jeez," Octavia huffed, swiftly concealing the journal beneath her pillow and deliberately avoiding her brother's gaze. Annoyance flashed in her sapphire eyes as she turned away. "You scared me."

Undeterred by the frostiness of his sister's reception, Bellamy pressed on. "How are you guys feeling?"

        It was then that Haven could truly drink in the sight of him. She instinctively noticed the dilation of his pupils, the rapid movement of his eyes as they shifted between Octavia and Orion before ultimately fixing on her. His gaze was piercing, almost frantic, as if he were searching for something unseen yet urgently needed.

"Fine," Octavia deadpanned, "Get out."

        "Did any of you touch Murphy yesterday?"

        Octavia whirled around. "What–?"

        Visibly clenching his jaw, the Blake boy repeated the question, his patience barely contained. "Did you touch Murphy yesterday?"

        With a dismissive snort, Orion raised her head from the pillow, a grimace painting her expression. "Touch him? I wouldn't go near him with a ten-foot pole," she retorted. "Besides, I was zonked."

        Haven knew something wasn't right; she could feel it down to her very cells as Bellamy's eyes burned into her own. Ignoring the tremor of uncertainty, she steeled herself and spoke up, her voice firm despite her unease. "I helped him stand after we found him."

        "I did too," Octavia admitted, shifting from her position on her stomach to fully prop herself up, rising to the gravity of the moment. "Why does it matter?"

"The Grounders sent him here with a virus to infect us." Bellamy muttered the words as if they were ash on his tongue. "Derek just died from it."

Horror warped her brittle bones as Haven wrestled with the reality of yet another loss. Derek had been here, just moments ago; now, he was gone. Everything seemed to blur in the whirlwind of sorrow, the tragedy unfolding at a pace too fast for her mind to fully grasp. Yet, amidst the grief, a haunting sense of déjà vu crept over her—an acknowledgment born from the relentless pace of life on the ground.

        The worst was yet to come.

        A glare, sharp as a dagger, landed on the journal concealed beneath Octavia's pillow before Bellamy pivoted on his heels. "Another mark for your boyfriend's book," he jabbed, "Get up. Clarke needs to examine you both."

Octavia reluctantly scrambled to her feet, trailing behind her brother with an audible huff. Meanwhile, Haven's gaze darted towards Orion, searching for the reassurance that she could confidently be left alone.

"I'll be fine," Orion assured, "Try not to die in the meantime, kay?"

With a firm nod, Haven set off after the Blakes.

        As they traversed the camp, the tension between the siblings was an invisible but palpable barrier, thick as fog and just as suffocating. Octavia's gaze remained fixed ahead, barely acknowledging Bellamy's presence despite his frequent glances back to ensure her she followed safely. It was devastating to witness–one of the last surviving siblings known to mankind, yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with each other.

Bracing himself just outside the dropship's ramp, Bellamy came to an abrupt stop, his arms folded firmly over his chest. With a nod towards the entrance, he gestured for his sister to take the lead. "O–you first."

Unsurprisingly, Octavia's face contorted into an exasperated scowl. "What? But I—"

"Go."

A protest seared the tip of Octavia's tongue, yet before she could utter a word, she pivoted on her heels and silently stomped up the ramp. As she vanished behind the curtain, a profound silence descended upon Bellamy and Haven, enveloping them in a moment that seemed suspended in time.

        Bellamy was the first to speak. "What's with the frown?"

        Blinking, Haven suddenly became acutely aware of her facial expression. "I'm not frowning," she rebutted, yet the tension in her features migrated to her brows instead. As Bellamy tilted his head knowingly, she swatted at his chest. "Stop looking at me like that."

        "Like what?"

        "Like that."

        Bellamy squinted. "Alright," he began, subtly lowering his gaze to her fingers before meshing with her weary eyes once more. "I'll stop looking at you when you stop cracking your knuckles."

       "I am not cracking my–" Haven's protest died in her throat as she realized her fingers were indeed engaged in their nervous habit. With a defeated exhale, she threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine," she conceded, her voice laced with frustration. "I just...I don't like seeing you two fight. I don't like seeing anybody fight."

        Bellamy studied her intently, noting the way she shifted to reach for her locket instead. "You sure that's it?"

        Typically, Haven was excellent at veiling her emotions–a master of the art of concealment, especially in the company of others. But in the presence of Bellamy fucking Blake, all her carefully constructed barriers seemed to crumble into dust. It was pathetic. Beneath his stare, she felt naked, stripped down to her most vulnerable state, like raw and bleeding wound.

       She spat out the words almost involuntarily. "Jasper kicked Monty and me out of his tent."

        "Did he?" Bellamy pressed, his fists privately tightening beneath the concealment of his arms. "Funny. I remember giving it to all three of you–not just him."

        Haven sighed heavily. "Yep. It's whatever,"  she muttered, glancing downward and focusing on her boots. Their worn leather suddenly became captivating as she scuffed at a patch of dirt beneath them. It was a deliberate distraction–anything to avoid the intensity of Bellamy's stare boring into her. "He's just going through the popularity phase he never got. It'll pass eventually."

        "Sleep with me."

        Haven blinked. "What?"

        "Sleep in my tent," Bellamy reiterated, meeting her wide-eyed stare with a gentle shrug, as if the suggestion was the most natural thing in the world. Despite the gravity of his offer, he smiled softly. "I have room for at least three extra cots. Bring Monty too."

        The Smith girl stood there, dumbfounded, her jaw hanging open in disbelief for what felt like an eternity. Bellamy never allowed anyone into his tent—ever. Not even for meetings anymore. And yet, here he was, breaking his own rule and effortlessly extending the invitation to her and Monty. It was suddenly as if the world had shifted on its axis, defying all expectations.

        As Haven processed his words, Bellamy reached out a hand, gently lifting her jaw back into place. "Come on," he teased, his touch lingering for a heartbeat too long. "Is it that hard to believe?"

        "You're serious?" Haven's brows shot upward as she tilted her head slightly, silently urging Bellamy to confirm his words. With a careful gaze, she scrutinized every freckle on his face, searching for any hint of deception. Yet, as her gaze lingered, she found only sincerity reflected in his eyes. "Wouldn't want to intrude on the King."

"Shut up." Bellamy scoffed. "I mean, you could sleep with Miller and Sterling..."

"I–"

"She could sleep with me too!"

Seemingly eavesdropping on their conversation, Del materialized from around the corner of the dropship. With a swagger in his step, he came to a halt near the meat tent, a colossal log slung over his shoulder, his smirk oozing with arrogance as he directed it at Haven.

Haven grimaced. "I think I'd rather stick pins in my eyes."

"Come on," Del teased, abandoning the log near the pile of others and taking a step closer to the pair. "Legend says that no one's slept with Vampira yet." He emitted a low, lascivious whistle, his eyes lecherously tracing over Haven's figure with a predatory gleam. "I bet the sex is wild."

At once, Haven soared her fist into his nose.

Every ounce of pent-up emotion from the past two days surged forth, channeled into the visceral crack of knuckle against bone. Realistically, she could have chosen a gentler approach, but the instinctual satisfaction of landing the blow right on his stupid face felt like the only appropriate response.

Bellamy laughed. Loudly.

"You...you bitch!" Del seethed, stumbling backwards and furiously wiping at the scarlet streaming from his nostrils. "What the hell is wrong with you? I-I think you broke my nose!"

        Forcing his laughter to subside, Bellamy dared a step closer. "Good," he huffed, punctuating his words with a pointed finger jabbed against Del's chest, almost knocking him off balance. His grin twisted into something wicked. "Now run before I make the rest of your face match."

        Del scrambled into the meat tent without a word.

        Meanwhile, Haven shook out her hand, wincing as she felt the lingering ache from the punch radiating up her arm and into her poor shoulder. By now, she was accustomed to the agony from her AC sprain, a constant companion in her daily movements. But it felt like ages since she'd last employed the Smith suckerpunch, not since before the hundred were forced onto the dropship. She had forgotten just how much it could hurt if she didn't execute it with proper technique.

"Bad form," Bellamy teased, barely suppressing another laugh as Haven shot him an immediate eye roll. "Could've hit him harder if you remembered what I taught you."

"Your rage is your greatest weapon," Bellamy imparted, effortlessly sidestepping Haven's punch and responding with a controlled strike to her forearm. "But you can't let it mess with your head. Take it out on your opponent–not yourself."

Haven released an exhausted sigh, her body sagging against the deserted corridor of Go-Sci before she scrunched her face into a scowl. "Less talking," she muttered. "More fighting."

"I don't think I've met anybody as stubborn as you are," Bellamy laughed, effortlessly keeping pace as Haven resumed her relentless assault of jabs and blows. "You're cute when you're–"

His words were abruptly silenced as Haven executed a swift maneuver, effortlessly tripping him. He crashed onto the unforgiving tile floor, his breath escaping him in a pained grunt. With a victorious smirk, Haven asserted her dominance by firmly planting her foot on his chest, the glimmer of triumph in her eyes unmistakable.

"You were saying?"

In one fluid motion, Bellamy seized her by the ankle and yanked her towards the floor. Thrown off balance, she let out a yelp, tumbling straight into his lap and inadvertently straddling him, their positions reversed in an unexpected twist of fate.

"I was saying that you're cute when you're mad," Bellamy finished, a playful twinkle in his eye as he felt the warmth of her weight above him. His hands leisurely found their way around her hips, the touch gentle yet possessive. "But you've gotta keep your form in check."

Haven rolled her eyes, shifting slightly to disentangle herself. "Whatever."

"What's the rush?" Bellamy tightened his grip around her body, unwilling to let her go just yet. His eyes beheld her with the same fascination that the moon holds for the stars. "I like this position."

"Haven!" Octavia shouted, "You're up!"

Blinking, Haven reluctantly anchored herself back into reality, delicately tucking the memory away within the recesses of her mind. As she pivoted towards Octavia's voice, she noticed Bellamy was already halfway up the ramp ahead of her, waiting for her expectantly.

Here goes nothing.

Entering the dropship felt like willingly sealing herself into a tomb. Long gone was the temporary lightness that enveloped her just outside its doors; in its wake left certain death lurking in every corner she turned to. Blood stained the floor beneath her feet. Teenagers lay crumpled in agonized contortions, their pallid faces twisted in silent screams of pain. The air was thick with the sound of labored breathing and hacking coughs, each rasping exhale reverberating against the metal ceiling as if trapped within the confines of a tin prison.

Hell; that's where they were.

       Hell.

       Clarke stood as a corpse in the midst of it all. Streaks of dried crimson marred her cheeks, stubborn remnants of the blood tears she had failed to wipe away. With a makeshift cloth covering her mouth as a desperate attempt to halt the spread of the disease, she urgently gestured for Haven to join her beside Octavia for inspection.

        "Clarke," Haven breathed, her voice hoarse with concern as she observed the girl before her, swaying on her feet with eyes ablaze. "There's no fucking reason for you to be standing right now. Go sit down–"

        "Don't," Clarke interjected, brushing aside Haven's concerns with a weary wave of her hand. In the other, she tightly gripped a flashlight, its beam cutting through the dimness of the surroundings as she angled it towards Haven's face. "Open your mouth. I have to check for symptoms."

        Haven complied promptly, eager to cooperate in the hope that Clarke would finally take a seat afterwards. She squinted against the harsh glare of the flashlight as the blonde meticulously inspected the back of her throat, palpated her lymph nodes, and concluded by peering into her ears, searching for any signs of the insidious disease lurking within.

        As Clarke powered off the flashlight, Bellamy lowered his own cloth, his eyes darting anxiously between Octavia and Haven. "Are they–"

        "They're fine, Bellamy." Clarke assured him, meeting his gaze with a weary nod before handing the girls protective cloths of their own. "Neither of them have any visible signs of swelling or bleeding."

        "Hear that?" Octavia gently nudged Haven's elbow. "We're munies."

        Haven managed a broken smile in return, though the weight of the situation left her feeling anything but joyous. It was impossible to shake the horror corrupting her onyx veins, especially as she noticed Derek's lifeless body shrouded beneath a tarp near the entrance.

        Bellamy's jaw ticked. "So you're saying they don't have it?"

        "I'm saying they don't have symptoms," Clarke reiterated, her eyes briefly fluttering closed as she grasped onto the ladder nearby for stability. "But that could change. We need to keep them here just in case."

"No way. Look at this place." Bellamy's voice rose with urgency as he gestured towards the sickly teenagers, their forms slumped against the walls, blood staining their clothes a deep shade of ruby. "They'll get sick just being here."

Sighing, Haven shot her hand towards his own. "So will you," she hissed, forcibly guiding his fingers to conceal his lips once more with the makeshift mask. "Cover your damn mouth."

It was both a gift and curse for Haven to read Bellamy so easily. He looked excruciatingly tense, his desperation to assert control over a situation that seemed to slip further from his grasp with each passing moment evident in every line of his face. She half anticipated him to discard the cloth with a frustrated huff, but to her relief–he complied, reluctantly listening to her command.

"Do you want to stop the spread, or not?" Clarke reasoned, suppressing the urge to grimace as Bellamy narrowed his eyes. "Look, I'll keep them on the third floor with the people who aren't symptomatic yet." She shot a meaningful glance toward Octavia. "Think of it as a way to stop her from sneaking out again."

"Screw you, Clarke." Octavia scowled.

        Clarke opted to disregard the snide comment, too drained to defend her decision to another Blake. "I'll let you know if their condition changes."

        Satisfied enough, Bellamy nodded solemnly at the blonde before allowing his gaze to linger on Haven and Octavia. They returned his stare with a silent intensity. Finally, he mustered the strength to turn away, but it offered no relief; each step towards the exit was marked by an unmistakable agony.

        As Bellamy's silhouette vanished beyond the curtain, Haven's gaze involuntarily clung to the empty space he left behind. "Alright," she started, swiftly tying her cloth into a bandana to cover her mouth and nose before turning to Clarke. "Where can I help?"

"Help?" Clarke echoed, staring at the Smith girl incredulously. "Haven, it's too risky. Just...go upstairs with Octavia. Please."

Catching on at once, Octavia mirrored Haven's actions, quickly fashioning her own cloth into a protective barrier. "Not happening," she scoffed, leveling Clarke with a determined glare. "If we're gonna be stuck here, might as well make ourselves useful."

Clarke had no energy left within her to muster a protest. "Fine," she relented, her voice strained as she wiped a fresh sheen of sweat from her forehead. "Haven–you can help with clean up. The virus is only gonna spread further if they're laying in their own blood." She then cast a grave glance toward the Blake girl. "And Octavia?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to sneak out again."

• •

WALKING AMONG THE BODIES OF SICKLY TEENAGERS was like walking through a morgue. Death seemed to loom with every gasp for air, saturating each drop of blood oozing from their eyes, noses, ears, and mouths. Haven was engulfed in terror as she tended to their near-lifeless forms, knowing that her efforts offered little respite from the excruciating torment they endured.

        As time passed, approximately forty more delinquents squeezed themselves into the already crowded lower level of the dropship, spilling into the second level when space became too scarce. The need for sanitizing seemed futile now—everyone was sick, and for those who weren't, it was merely a matter of time.

        During the first hour, Haven found herself knee-deep in the gruesome task of cleaning up the blood Murphy had regurgitated, all while reluctantly standing guard over him. She hadn't volunteered for the role; circumstances had thrust it upon her. Most of the delinquents wished him dead, with two already attempting to take matters into their own hands, assuming his weakened state from the virus would make it easy to do so.

        They failed when they met the wrath of her fist.

        Much to Haven's astonishment, Murphy bounced back from the illness surprisingly fast, reclaiming his strength and joining the efforts as soon as he could walk again. It was an odd dynamic, collaborating with someone who had once threatened her life. Murphy took charge of the cleaning tasks, while Haven assumed responsibility for water distribution and ensuring none of the others seized themselves to death.

        Strangely enough–they proved to be a highly effective duo.

Weird.

        "God, it smells like a death in here," Orion groaned, brushing aside strings of curls and tucking them behind the bandana at her ears. As Haven shot her a disapproving look, she merely shrugged. "What? Am I wrong?"

        Murphy let out a wry chuckle Murphy snickered. "Can't argue with that," he commented, casually discarding another rag tinged scarlet into the growing pile on their left. "All I can smell is my own blood."

        Even as half of Orion's face remained veiled by the mask, the intensity of her contempt seemed to sear through the fabric itself. "I don't remember asking you, serpent."

        Haven let out an exasperated sigh, feeling as though she'd endured an eternity of the incessant bickering between Murphy and Orion. The Vincetta girl had stormed into the dropship not long after Murphy started assisting Haven and Clarke, seemingly restless and needing something to occupy her. Since then, she had found herself clashing with Murphy more often than not.

        "Could you grab some more towels from the second floor?" Haven asked, attempting to steer Orion far away from trying to stab Murphy–again. "All of the others are..."

Sensing the tremor in Haven's voice, Orion nodded understandingly. "Sure thing," she agreed, her gaze flicking towards the pile once more as Murphy tossed down another stained rag. Then, she offered a friendly salute. "Be back in a jiffy!"

Once he was certain Orion had hauled herself through the upper hatch, Murphy finally spoke. "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd defend little ol' me," he mused, observing Haven as she crouched to gently offer Fox some more water. "Gotta say, I kinda like it."

"I defended you when I cut you down from your noose," Haven countered, her voice carrying a touch of steel as she tenderly smoothed Fox's hair with her free hand, the girl savoring each sip from the canteen. She hardly even spared Murphy a glance over her shoulder. "Doesn't mean I particularly like you."

        Murphy stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Shoulda' known that way coming." Surprisingly, there was no trace of irritation in his tone. Instead, he sounded rather...grateful. "It's cool though. I appreciate it, Haven."

Haven went rigid.

"Uh..." Murphy nearly shivered beneath the intensity of her blank stare. "What?"

At that, Haven slowly straightened from her position beside Fox. "I–nothing," she stammered, fumbling to find the right words in her brain and pathetically attempting to jam them together. "I just...I don't remember the last time you used my actual name."

        Which, was true. In the confines of the Sky Box, Murphy's confrontations with Haven were invariably marked by the sharp hiss of Vampira–a far cry from acknowledging her real name. Clearly, this habit persisted on the ground as well; the last time he had used her actual name must have been back in their childhood math class.

Murphy's lips curled into a wry grin. "Maybe we should retire Vampira for good, eh?"

       Just as Haven began to roll her eyes in response, an abrupt slam echoed through the lower level, followed by a gut-wrenching moan of agony. With a jolt, she spun on her heels, her heart pounding with dread as she desperately searched for the source of the noise. Her breath caught in her throat as she laid eyes on the familiar figure crumpled at the bottom of the ladder, bathed in a pool of her own blood.

        Orion.

       "Oh my god," Haven's whisper barely escaped her lips as she dashed toward the Vincetta girl, whose body started convulsing in a violent seizure. "No, no, no–"

       By the time Haven fell to her knees, attempting to steady Orion's convulsions, the virus had already seized her with relentless force. Vicious retching racked her frame, crimson fluid gushing from her mouth at a horrifying pace, staining the ground beneath her. Her skin, now pallid and ashen, radiated an unbearable heat that nearly scorched Haven's trembling fingertips.

        "Damn it!" Haven cursed, futilely attempting to clear the blood from Orion's lips with her bare hands as the seizure gradually subsided. "Orion?" she pleaded, her voice tinged with urgency as she searched her friend's dazed eyes for any sign of responsiveness. "Orion! Can you hear me okay?"

Sluggishly, Orion nodded. "Eegghh...yeah," she rasped, blinking rapidly against the crimson stains that marred her waterline. Each movement seemed to require a Herculean effort as she fought to regain her bearings. "Not...feeling...great."

Haven nearly passed out from the sheer relief of hearing Orion's voice. "That's okay," she assured her, swallowing thickly against the lump in her throat. Her hands, now slick with Orion's blood, hovered as she desperately sought a way to provide aid. "Just take a breath, okay? Let me get you some–"

Without uttering a single word, Murphy reappeared, silently extending a clean rag to Haven for her ruby-stained hands and a freshly filled water canteen for Orion.

"Thanks," Haven whispered gratefully, her hands steadying as she accepted the items and began to tend to Orion. With thoughtful precision, she wiped away the blood from Orion's mouth, chin, and neck before offering her the canteen. "Small sips," she advised, "Otherwise you'll yack it back up."

        Despite the virus's severity, a twisted silver living emerged: the seizures, though intense, were mercifully short-lived, never extending beyond ten seconds. Moreover, the disorientation that ensued seemed to linger only briefly. With Murphy already showing signs of recovery, there was hope that Orion and the others would soon follow suit.

        They had to.

        "Aye–Haven! I need a hand!"

        The Smith girl wearily swung her head towards the opposite end of the dropship, eyes widening with dread as Jones attempted to wave her over. Halting by the curtain, he gestured towards the covered body at his feet, signaling the grim task that awaited her.

        Another dead. Another. Another.

        Not everyone had been fortunate enough to withstand the virus's relentless rampage. In addition to Derek, two more had fallen victim to its merciless grasp: Percy Stewart and Romina Gravewell. Witnessing their final moments had been harrowing enough, but the anguish of carrying their lifeless bodies outside to the makeshift graveyard had been an entirely new level of torment.

Haven shook her head, her fingers tracing comforting circles along Orion's back as she released another anguished groan. "Ask somebody else, Jones!"

"There is nobody else!" Jones shouted back, forcing his voice to pierce through the suffocating haze of coughs and hacks that tainted the space between them. "Octavia's gone, Clarke's upstairs, Murphy's still contagious, and Orion is..."

Shakily, Orion lifted a middle finger.

Jones sighed. "Look, I can't do this alone!" He adjusted his bandana, the gesture a futile attempt to shield himself from the suffocating reality around them. As his voice dwindled to a whisper, a raw vulnerability surfaced. "I...I just can't."

If it were under different circumstances, Haven might have found humor in her friend's obscene gesture. But now, torn between staying by Orion's side and assisting in burying a fourth body, the choice became agonizingly impossible.

"Go," Murphy encouraged, "I got her."

Unease stirred within Haven's ribs as her gaze flitted between Murphy and Orion. With a lethal intensity, she studied every line and shadow on his blood-spattered figure, probing for any hint of deception. Yet, just as she had during his confession about Charlotte, she found no trace of falsehood in his demeanor–only a sincere determination to help.

Abruptly, Haven seized Murphy by his collar, yanking him close until their faces were inches apart, her breath warm against his nose. "If you hurt her–you're dead," she hissed, her voice dripping with undeniable conviction, "Got it?"

Murphy nodded. Knowingly.

With that, Haven released her grip on his shirt and begrudgingly rose to her feet. She offered Orion a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, silently conveying her faith before trudging towards Jones. As she moved forward, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that her trust Murphy would define their fate–for better or for worse–and the consequences would be felt for eternity.

Dragging Xavier's lifeless body into the harsh afternoon light felt utterly abhorrent. Jones took charge of his shoulders while Haven supported his limp form by his legs. Together, they shuffled down the ramp in a mechanical trance, lowering him to the soil while trying not to choke on their own grief.

        "Alright, show's over–get back to your posts!"

        It took every ounce of strength within Haven to remain standing as a familiar warmth settled beside her. Bellamy's thunderous command effortlessly thrust the prying eyes of onlookers far away from the scene–his towering presence serving as a protective shield as she miserably blinked away tears.

        She was tired–so, so tired.

        "There she is," Bellamy's lips curved into a gentle smile as Haven finally mustered the courage to look at him. "Still not sick?"

Haven took a hesitant step back. "Nope," she sighed, loosening her grip on her bandana only when she felt safely distanced from Bellamy. "Clarke thinks Octavia and I are immune because of Lincoln's antidote for the..." She winced. "...poison. Finn probably is, too."

        "If you're immune," Bellamy dared, closing the distance between them with a hint of playful defiance. He tilted his head, a wry smirk playing on his lips as Haven instinctively retreated once more. "Then why do you keep moving away?"

        The innocence radiating from Bellamy's smile seemed to suspend time, captivating Haven and urging her to bask in his gentle glow just a little while longer. Bathed in sunlight, every detail of his face seemed to come alive, from the crinkles around his eyes to the freckles scattered across his skin. He was beautiful–simply looking at him was enough to alleviate the heaviness of the day.

Then, she remembered.

"I'm not sure if I can be a carrier or not." Haven reluctantly took another step backwards while Bellamy feigned a frown. "Sorry. Looks like you'll be stuck without me til' this all blows over."

Bellamy dramatically placed a hand over his heart. "But how will I live?"

"You're fine, Haven," Clarke interjected, emerging from the dropship like a ghost and halting at the top of the ramp. "The incubation period seems to be within ten hours of initial exposure. If you were infected, you probably would've shown symptoms by now."

        That was possibly the least reassuring scientific explanation ever heard.

But Haven supposed it made a twisted sort of sense. Even though her encounter with Murphy had occurred way outside the incubation period by now, she had spent the entirety of the morning confined inside the dropship, surrounded by a multitude of individuals who were undoubtedly contagious. Despite this, she felt perfectly normal. While her chest still ached from the events of the previous day, she attributed it to what she cynically dubbed as broken heart syndrome.

Watching her friends slowly succumb to their illnesses felt like the life was being drained out of her as well.

Bellamy observed the blonde in the distance warily. "You guys got enough food in there–water?"

"Yeah," Clarke forced herself to smile, though the audible strain of her breathing was unmissable. "Some medicine might be nice."

"I'll see what I can do," Bellamy quipped sarcastically–fully aware that a virus striking the camp without a cure was the last thing they needed. Then, he shifted his focus beyond Clarke's shoulder to the entrance. "Octavia, you okay?"

Silence.

       Haven's fingers twitched apprehensively at her sides as Bellamy instinctively searched her face for an explanation. When her face twisted into an awkward grimace, a silent admission of her inability to provide the answers he sought–he stomped towards the ramp in a blur.

        "Bellamy, wait." Clarke's feeble voice halted him mid-stride, her hand raised in a frail attempt to block his path to the entrance. "She's not here. I sent her to see Lincoln. If there's a cure–he has it." She sighed as Bellamy clenched his jaw. "I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't let her go."

The fury engulfing the Blake boy seemed to devour him from within, yet this time, it manifested in an unfamiliar manner. Rather than clenching his fists or tightening his grip around his rifle, he remained eerily motionless. Of course, this was happening–because how else could the day get any fucking worse? His sister was gone, but there was nothing left within him to feel surprised.

        "If anything happens to her..." He shot Clarke a withering glare. "You and me are gonna have problems."

Then, he stormed off.

Haven released an exasperated sigh. "I got him," she assured Clarke, offering her a sympathetic frown before pivoting in the opposite direction. "Bellamy–wait!"

It quickly became apparent that Bellamy had zero intention of halting his warpath. Navigating through the dwindling crowd outside the dropship, untouched by the sickness that plagued others those within it, he moved like a force of nature–unstoppable and unyielding. Somehow, his fury seemed to fuel his movements, imbuing him with an unprecedented speed that left Haven scrambling to keep up.

"Bellamy!" Haven's voice echoed through the crowd as she hurriedly weaved between bodies, desperately trying to match his relentless pace. "Bell, just wait!"

        "Dude–your eyes!"

        Bellamy halted in his tracks, prompting Haven to forcefully smack against his spine. She had been so fixated on closing the distance between them that she failed to notice he stopped altogether. With a groan, she strained to peer over his broad shoulder, curiosity piqued by what had brought him to a standstill.

        Dead eyes stared back at her.

        Reed, one of the younger delinquents, appeared as a walking corpse before them. His eyes, ringed with blood, reflected a profound emptiness. Scarlet tears streamed down his pale, hollow cheeks, tracing parallel lines of anguish as he gazed dazedly at them.

        Fuck.

       "Nobody touch him!"

"Stay back! Stay back!"

In a sudden flurry of movement, the teenagers surrounding Reed scrambled backward, their actions born of panic. Tripping over their own feet, they frantically shielded their noses with their shirts, a desperate attempt to protect themselves from their infected comrade. Despite Reed's stumbling, almost apocalyptic gait, the gunners in the vicinity reacted with swift precision, their rifles poised and aimed at him with lethal intent.

"Get to the dropship!" Bellamy's command reverberated through the air with the force of a gunshot, his arm reflexively guiding Haven behind him as Reed stirred. "Now!"

        "Hey, are you okay?" Raven.

        Frantically searching for her friend, Haven spun around to face the opposite side of the camp. Her heart lurched as she witnessed a nearby teenager crumple into Raven's embrace, their body convulsing with uncontrollable retching. A savage torrent of blood erupted from the teenager's mouth, spraying like a gory fountain directly into the eyes of another delinquent standing nearby.

"Oh my god!" He yelped. "Oh my god! It's on me!"

        Like a dam set loose, hysteria ravaged the camp at once. Dozens of bodies scrambled frantically with nowhere to go. Those who lacked rifles hastily seized them, or resorted to stealing from others, brandishing the weapons with trembling hands and aiming them haphazardly at the nearest person within reach.

       "HANDS UP!" Mooney boomed, the muzzle of his rifle pressed firmly against Raven's chest. "Get them up–now! Y-You touched her! You're infected!"

        Immediately, Haven wrenched herself from the crook of Bellamy's arm and sprinted towards Raven, terror fueling her every footfall. "PUT THE GUN DOWN!" she screamed, dodging through the frenzied mob and hurling herself into Mooney's side. "Drop it, Mooney!"

       In a swift and calculated move, Mooney aimed the weapon at Haven, the barrel now a menacing extension of his unwavering resolve. "You too!"  he demanded, fervently thumbing the trigger. "Put your fucking hands up! You've been in the dropship all day long!"

        Both girls complied, their hands shooting up in a swift gesture of surrender amidst the swirling chaos. To their right, Miller and Jones engaged in a heated argument, their voices rising above the tumult like a pair of warring titans. Meanwhile, on their left, Finn fought desperately against a group of gunners, his efforts a useless attempt to maintain control in the midst of the frenzy. Every direction they turned, they were met with a maelstrom of frazzled shrieks and wild clashes, the air thick with the acrid scent of fear and desperation.

        "Calm down!" Bellamy demanded from somewhere in the distance, though the strain in his voice was undeniable. "Calm down!"

        "Get away!"

        "Get that gun out of my face!"

        "Stop–STOP!"

        Haven felt paralyzed with dread as pandemonium swallowed the camp whole. It echoed hauntingly of the day Murphy was hung; once the mob was unleashed, there was no halting its relentless tide, and once it had subsided, there was no erasing the devastation it left in its wake. This was the essence of the delinquents–frightened children, clinging desperately to the remnants of safety by the skin of their teeth, willing to sacrifice anything, even each other, in their quest for survival.

It was all they had ever known.

Three gunshots tore through the tumultuous air, freezing everyone in their tracks and quelling the madness in an instant. All heads swiveled toward the origin of the sound, only to behold Clarke, feeble hand clutching a rifle aimed at the canopy above.

        She looked like she was dying.

        "This is exactly what the Grounders want," Clarke explained, defeatedly. Every step down the ramp seemed to sap her strength further, each movement a laborious effort against the illness ravaging her body. "Don't you see that? They don't have to kill us if we kill each other first."

Mooney's rifle jerked away from Haven, its barrel now aimed squarely at the blonde nearby. "They won't have to kill us if we all catch the virus! Get back in the damn dropship!"

Seizing the opportunity while Mooney's back was turned, Haven unleashed a swift kick, aiming for the vulnerable crease between his thigh and calf. Before she could make a move to wrestle the rifle from his loosened grip, Bellamy materialized at her side, wrenching the weapon from Mooney's hand and thrusting the barrel squarely against his jaw.

"Not the state the obvious," Bellamy released a ragged breath, "But your quarantine isn't working."

        Clarke parted her lips to speak once more, but before she could even blink, a sudden weakness seized her, causing her to sway dangerously toward the unforgiving ground below.

        Faster than anyone nearby could react–Finn Collins sprinted to catch her fall.

        "Finn, don't touch her!" Raven pleaded.

        But the Reyes girl's request fell on deaf ears. Before she could even finish her sentence, Finn had already swept Clarke into his sturdy embrace, his attention solely fixated on the fragile figure nestled in his arms, oblivious to his girlfriend's frown.

        Soundlessly, Haven reached for Raven's hand and squeezed–though she knew it did nothing to mend her broken heart.

Meanwhile, Clarke remained utterly limp against Finn's chest. "Hey, let me go," she rasped, "I'm okay."

"No, you're not." Finn breathed.

        Clarke's breath was drawn with such defeat, such excruciating exhaustion, it seemed as if her lungs were on the verge of collapse. "Octavia will come back with a cure."

        "There is no cure!"

Octavia forcefully carved her path through the swarm of teenagers, her wind-whipped hair and rosy cheeks bearing witness to her sprinting effort. Unperturbed by the bodies that instinctively gave way, fearful of contagion, her eyes blazed with an unsettling fervor, casting an aura of apprehension over the frozen onlookers.

"But the Grounders don't use the sickness to kill!"

       "Really?" Bellamy's incredulous stare was laden with an emotion so immense it nearly overshadowed his relief at his sister's return. With a trembling hand, he pointed towards Xavier's lifeless body, surrounded by the graves of others. "Tell that to them! I warned you about seeing that Grounder again."

Raw grief seared through Octavia's eyes as she took in the sight of the freshly dug graves, each one a stark reminder of the loss they had endured. With a bitter twist of her lips, she gathered her resolve. "Yeah? Well, I have a warning for you too." Her words erupted from her in a shout that reverberated through the entire camp. "The Grounders are coming...and they're attacking at first light!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd, each one a tremor of unease, teenagers casting wild-eyed glances in every direction, desperately grasping for... something, anything. Was it an explanation they craved? Clarity to cut through the chaos? Haven couldn't quite pinpoint the underlying need. But as her gaze locked with Bellamy's, a raw surge of anguish tore through her–a stark understanding of the crushing weight they all bore.

Comfort.

It wasn't just a fleeting wish; it was a primal scream of agony echoing in the depths of their cells, pleading for respite amidst the looming darkness. Those in the crowd weren't the only ones consumed by the craving, either. Bellamy tore his eyes away from Haven and instinctively reached for Octavia as she stomped past–but his outstretched hand was met with a harsh shove.

With hardly a glance spared for her brother, Octavia pushed past and joined Finn in carrying Clarke toward the towering tomb ahead.

        Bellamy's demeanor shifted abruptly as he pivoted towards Raven, every feature of his face etched with resolve. "How many bullets can you make by first light?"

        "I–I dunno," Raven answered, futilely attempting to shrug off the magnitude of everything that just happened. "Why?"

        The Blake boy's response was terse. "Make it enough," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument as he waited for Raven to nod in understanding. Then, he shifted his gaze to the girl standing to her right. "Haven–you're with us."

        Haven blinked. "What? No," she protested, shaking her head in bewilderment, unable to fathom the gravity of what he was asking. "If I am a carrier, I don't wanna get you guys sick. Orion–"

       "Orion is indestructible. She'll be fine," Bellamy interjected, leveling her objection with a truth that neither could deny. He edged closer to her as she drew her lip beneath her teeth. "And so will you. Your immunity is a risk I'm willing to take."

Still, Haven remained unconvinced. "Even I do leave the dropship, that's one less pair of hands they have," she reasoned, "We're already stretched thin as it is. There aren't enough people inside to help."

Bellamy's patience waned, locked in yet another clash against Haven's adamant willingness to die. It infuriated him to no end. Did she hold any regard for her own life, or was she simply hell-bent on risking it at every opportunity? She was selfless down to her very bones. It was maddeningly irrational, outrageously stupid, and yet–it remained one of his favorite qualities about her.

        "So I'll send in more hands," He gritted his teeth. "You're not going back in there."

       "Why–?"

        "Because I'm not letting your body be the next one dragged into the graveyard."

        Haven's protest died on her tongue.

        Sensing Raven's knowing smirk burning into his temples, Bellamy cleared his throat. "Plus–you two work better together than apart," he added, striving to lend credence to his argument, though Raven's smirk only seemed to double in size. "Time is of the essence. We'll be done twice as fast if you help her with the bullets."

        Truth be told, Haven wasn't opposed to the idea of crafting bullets. She knew it would be good to utilize her hands in a task that didn't involve wiping away somebody else's blood. Instead, what truly unnerved her was the proximity to her friends–not because of the virus, but because with each passing day, the specter of losing them in the war felt more and more real. 

        It was easier to suppress thoughts of their mortality when witnessing someone else's demise back in the dropship. But now, standing before those she held closest–every glance, every touch, was shadowed by the looming threat of their cruel fate.

        "Fine," Haven relented, "But If I accidentally blow us all up–you can't say I didn't warn you."

• •

HELLLLLLLLOOOOOOOO <3 

hadddd to put this out a day early bc im literally buzzing with adrenaline for whats to come. next chapter is gonna be a LOOOOOOT. but before then...who's excited there was another flashback🤭 i fricking loved writing this chapter!!! i love writing murphy back into the plot!! i love everybody in this chapter and i love YOU. again, this was more setup but its so necessary for everything else. may the tension thicken✨✨✨

i cant believe we are at 10k <3 my heart lives for every single ghost reader and voter and to my bestie commenters. u r my whole life and more!!!

LOVE YOUUUUUUUU💌💌