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CHAPTER THIRTY ONE;

COMING DOWN.

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THE LAST TIME HAVEN HAD STEPPED FOOT INTO THE DROPSHIP—it felt like crossing into a otherworldly dimension, one overrun by death, blood, and the sight of sickly teenagers. Frankly, she had always harbored a disdain for the metal tomb; it was suffocating, dark, soulless. And with the previous advance of the virus, the space had swiftly descended into the seventh circle of hell.

"There she is!"

   But now, it was nearly spotless. The once grimy floors now sparkled, scrubbed clean of any lingering traces of blood. The walls, once witnesses to the dire struggle for life, stood unblemished. Gone were the haunting echoes of agony, replaced by the joyous clamor of Haven's friends—her family—bounding towards her with radiant smiles and open arms.

Orion was the first to barrel into her, nearly sweeping her off her feet, quickly followed by Monty. Their arms encircled Haven with a fervent urgency, as though clinging to her could ward off the specter of death. Yet, beneath the frantic embrace, there was an undeniable sense of relief, tangible in the way they held her close, as if reassuring themselves that she was truly present, truly alive.

        "There she freakin' is!" Orion's joyous exclamation echoed through the once somber space, laughter bubbling within her as the duo gradually loosened their grip, yet still kept Haven within arm's length. "You're alive!"

       Indeed she was.

Defiantly, at that.

Haven's customary resurgence from the brink of death had taken on a newfound vigor this time around. Now—each return to her body became an act of rebellion, a spiteful defiance against the machinations of Abby's malevolence. If Abby had schemed to claim Haven's life, stealthily and mercilessly, then Haven would cling to existence with gritted teeth and bloodied hands. Every beat of her heart, every breath she drew, would serve as a resounding declaration of her refusal to surrender, fueled by a violent resolve to thwart the darkness that sought to devour her.

Of course, the weight of it all only intensified her impostor syndrome, multiplying it tenfold. But even as doubt loomed large, Haven refused to shrink into submission before the claws of mortality. Whether fueled by spite or sheer perseverance, she pressed forward, driven by a conviction to defy the formidable odds her own body had stacked against her. For her friends, for the burning flame of defiance that raged within her, for the sake of her own existence—she was determined to live.

"I am." Haven offered the Vincetta girl a gentle grin as she positioned herself between her and Monty. "Don't tell me that you doubted it."

        Orion let out a scoff at the accusation. "Me? Never," she quipped, feigning a frown before lightly nudging Haven's elbow. "But you did scare the shit outta me."

        "She scared the shit out of all of us."

        Raven Reyes stood in the corner of the first floor, emerging from the shadows like a phantom. Halting her tinkering with the radio, she strode purposefully towards the group, her footsteps echoing with an ominous weight. As she drew nearer to Haven, a corporeal sense of gravity settled over them, a silent acknowledgment of the harrowing ordeal they had endured together.

"I'm..." Haven's voice trembled. "I'm sorry."

        Then, Raven dragged her best friend into her arms.

        "Don't," she murmured into the strands of Haven's locs, her voice a fragile whisper amid the tempest of emotions swirling around them. With eyes squeezed shut, her embrace conveyed a delicate balance of strength and trepidation, as if she feared shattering Haven with the mere touch of her fingertips. "I'm sorry for dating a douchebag. I'm sorry for making you risk your life. I'm sorry for—"

        "Raven." Haven's interjection was sharp, deliberate, gently leaning away from the hug to peer into her friend's watery eyes. "All I did was keep you from blowing yourself up. That's what I do...remember?"

       Ever since they were little girls.

        Raven smiled—brokenly. "Still."

        "And from what I've heard..." Haven's voice trailed off knowingly, her gaze darting between Raven's tear-streaked face and Monty's presence at her side. "You two were the ones who saved my life."

Monty cracked a wry grin, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he lightheartedly tapped his temples. "Gotta put this brain to use for something."

        Meanwhile, Haven could hardly withstand the surge of gratitude swelling beneath her ribs. "You're the smartest people I've ever known," she confessed earnestly, reaching out to give each of them a heartfelt squeeze on the forearm, hoping to convey the depth of her sincerity. "Ever. I-I can't thank you enough."

Orion crossed her arms. "Uh—what about moi?"

"You too," Haven affirmed, her voice soft as she leaned into Orion's side, resting her head lightly against her shoulder. Despite being three years younger, Orion stood at least five inches taller than the Smith girl. Yet, as their heads lay atop each other—they fit together seamlessly. "Stabbing Finn takes some serious guts."

        "Attempted stabbing." Orion clarified with an eye roll, her voice tinged with gruffness as she recalled the incident from two days prior. "Monty and Jasper held me back."

        Monty vehemently shook his head. "Next time—I won't. Promise."

        Haven observed the Green boy with a watchful eye, taken aback by the sheer force of conviction within his tone. Monty was typically the epitome of level-headedness among the camp's inhabitants; always fair, always calm. Yet, as he clenched his fists at his sides, eyes flashing with resolve, he underwent a visceral shift—one that signaled a readiness to prioritize Haven's life above all else.

       She hated it.

        "Well—hopefully Spacewalker took a very long walk off a very short pier, and we won't have to worry about plotting his death anymore." Orion remarked nonchalantly, casting an apologetic glance towards the Reyes girl with a near wince. "No offense, Raven."

        Raven merely sighed. "None taken," she answered truthfully, though the black hole within her only widened. "But we still have to go after him. Finn wasn't alone—Clarke and Myles were with him. None of them are back yet."

        Right.

        No longer was Haven suspended
amongst the otherworldly heavens within Bellamy's tent. No more was she ensnared in the eerie limbo that bridged the chasm between life and death. With every breath she took, she was keenly aware of her return to the realm of the living, where the burden of existence in their brutal and unforgiving world was fucking inescapable.

        "Once we, um...fried the radio to save you, we stripped the rest of it to make walkies," Raven continued, her stride purposeful as she approached the radio cart. Returning with a dingy walkie-talkie in hand, she extended it towards Haven with a faint, weary grin. "Bellamy's taking a group out soon."

Haven nodded. "I know."

"You know." Raven echoed wittingly.

All too quickly, Haven detected the teasing glint veiled within Raven's smirk. Soon—all three of her friends were futilely resisting the urge to laugh; Monty bit his lip, Orion let out an involuntary snort, while Raven assumed a pose of feigned skepticism, crossing her arms and arching a knowing brow.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Haven asked, slowly knitting her brows together as she tucked the walkie into her cargo pocket. "Bellamy told me."

Raven tilted her head. "Was that before or after he gave you that hickey?"

Fuck.

Orion snorted. Again.

There was no dispelling the flush of heat that crept down the nape of Haven's neck. In a feeble attempt to shield herself from embarrassment, she hastily adjusted the collar of her jacket, only to feel her cheeks burn even hotter as the realization dawned: it was Bellamy's jacket she wore, too.

        With each subtle shift of the fabric, she felt the soft caress of his fingertips, their phantom touch tracing invisible pathways of desire along her throat, her waist, her hips. It was as if his hands had a mind of their own, lingering long after they had withdrawn, imprinting even from afar. His lips, however, left an physical manifestation of his affection—a celestial display of blue and violet scattered across her chest and throat, a spellbinding spray of stars adorning the night sky.

Luckily, the majority of his marks remained veiled beneath the protective layers of the coat, shielding her from the prying eyes of the world. Not-so-luckily, it didn't take long for her friends to connect the dots, subjecting her to the teasing torment she had begrudgingly anticipated.

        "During," Haven shot back boldly, swatting at Raven's chest as the brunette erupted into uncontrollable laughter. "I mean it—stop looking at me like that! All of you!"

        "We're not looking at you!" Monty protested, smirking as he gestured toward the faint bruise peeking out beneath the collar of the coat. "It's looking at us!"

Once Orion managed to rein in her own spiel of laughter, she clasped a firm hand atop Haven's shoulder. "Y'know, we probably shouldn't be so hard on her," she began slyly, "I mean, she died, and the first thing she needed once she was revived was some dick. So, she got it! And personally, I think—"

"Orion!"

The Vincetta girl blinked. "What?" she asked innocently, dismissing Haven's scolding with a mere shrug. "If you would've let me finish, you would've heard me say I respect it."

Then, she proceeded to hump the air.

"Make it stop," Haven groaned, smacking her palm across her forehead and pleading with the heavens above to grant her some reprieve. Grimacing, she squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to shield herself from the onslaught of laughter surrounding her. "Please, make it stop."

        "Ya hear that?" Orion jested, wiggling her eyebrows in a suggestive dance as she resumed her lewd gestures. "Must've been the opposite of what you were telling Blake."

Haven was going to kill herself.

"Okay, okay—too far," Monty's interjection served as the necessary voice of reason, his nose scrunching in distaste at Orion's obscenity. "I don't wanna think about it anymore! She's basically, like..." He paused, visibly recoiling at the sight of the hickey once more, seemingly soaring through the five stages of grief—all at once. "She's basically my sister!"

        Groaning, Haven expelled an exasperated sigh. "Thanks, Greenie," she expressed sincerely, her acknowledgment meant with a wry grimace from Monty. "Besides, shouldn't we be focused on, y'know—everything else?"

"Alright, she's got a point," Raven conceded, delicately swiping at the amused tears that had gathered in her lashline, her laughter subsiding into a composed exhale. "We've got shit to do."

By some fucking miracle, Orion finally relented. "Fine...fine," she grumbled, begrudgingly raising her hands surrender as Haven mirthfully rolled her eyes. "At least we don't have to watch their longing, agonizing stares anymore. Unless it's only gonna get worse." She visibly shuddered at the thought. "Then, we're screwed."

        "What she means to say is—we're happy for you." Monty offered the Smith girl a reassuring tap on the shoulder. "Hickeys and all!"

        Raven nodded emphatically. "Amen to that. Now, let's move. Little Blake's waiting at the gate," she began, deftly slinging her rifle over her shoulder before shooting Haven one final smirk. "I'm sure Bellamy's not far behind."

        With an audible huff—Haven stomped after her.

        Soon, all four members of the group emerged from the dropship's confines, marching into the bustling atmosphere of camp like toy soldiers. Monty and Raven's knuckles whitened as they clutched their identical guns, eyes sharp and vigilant. Orion's homemade sword lay nestled against her spine, its gleaming edge a silent promise of her prowess. In contrast, Haven concealed her blade beneath her shirt, a hidden guardian always poised for action, its presence known only to her.

Gone was the glittering mirth and youthful exuberance that had enveloped them just moments prior. It was almost dizzying how rapidly they metamorphosed from carefree teenagers to hardened warriors. But alas, when duty beckoned them—they had no choice but to heed its call.

        Haven felt overly aware of the eyes trained on her from nearby. Their gazes, though silent, felt like probing spotlights, dissecting her very being. Many onlookers paused in their activities, practically gawking at her presence—alive—before retreating into the shadows. While she had grown accustomed to the familiar attention over time, this instance felt...different. No longer were the delinquents merely amused bystanders of some selfish bet on her life. Instead, their expressions seemed tinged with a strange sense of relief. For once in Haven's life, it was as if her survival held deeper significance, one that transcended the shallow thrill of entertainment.

Weird.

Octavia's glacial demeanor was impossible to miss as she loitered near the camp's boundaries. With her arms folded across her chest and a rifle securely strapped to her back, she gazed pensively beyond the confines of the metal gate. There was a wistful air about her, as if she were searching for something—or someone—in particular.

Upon Haven's arrival, she smiled.

"Hey," The Blake girl greeted warmly, the midnight breeze thawing the frost of her exterior as she reached for Haven's outstretched hand. "I'm glad you're okay."

Haven grinned. "Me too," she admitted, squeezing Octavia's palm softly before releasing it at her side. Upon studying Octavia further, she quickly discerned the melancholy lurking within her sapphire eyes. "You've been alright? Lincoln?"

        Octavia shot her a look.

"Shit," Haven breathed.

        "Yeah—shit." Octavia resumed her stance of peering through the cracks in the wall, her fingers reflexively tightening around the strap of her rifle, a symbol of the impending conflict she longed to avoid. "He's taking off before the war starts...doesn't want anything to do with it. You remember the sketches in his journal?"

       As if she could forget them.

Amidst the distorted memories leading up to the day of Haven's death, the images of Lincoln's drawings were practically fused into her skull. Amongst the pages, where faded ink met parchment, lay not just illustrations, but harrowing glimpses into a reality fraught with peril. Bones intertwined with lifeless bodies, their outlines etched with an eerie precision, coiled like serpents amidst the weathered pages. Butterflies fluttered in a motionless eternity on the next. But, perhaps the most ominous sketch of all had been the depiction of the Grounder, swathed in a hazmat suit, adorned in a gas mask, and clenching a hand grenade.

Shoving her horror aside—Haven nodded.

Octavia blew out an elongated breath. "He calls them the Mountain Men."

"Is that, like...Grounder code?" Haven asked warily, knitting her brows together in deep contemplation. The revelation stirred a flurry of thoughts in her mind, each one tinged with a sense of trepidation. Given the presence of the Grounders in the forest, she couldn't help but wonder if there were other factions scattered across the remainder of the world. "Maybe for a different clan?"

        "Not sure," Octavia admitted, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly as her gaze lowered to the dirt. "Whoever they are, they're enough to make him run. He says we have no idea what we're up against, and..." A crestfallen shadow swept across her pale features. "He asked me to go with him."

        Haven connected the dots at once.

        "But you didn't," she finished.

        A glassy shein stretched over Octavia's eyes as she shook her head in misery. "You're my people," she whispered, her voice hollow yet overflowing with unspoken anguish. "All of you. I-I couldn't."

        There was a certain softness to the Blake girl that seemed to emerge only in Haven's presence. Since the moment they clasped hands in the dropship, crumbling under the weight of impending loss as they awaited Jasper's fate, an unspoken understanding had silently woven itself between them. Long before Lincoln's existence was revealed, Haven knew that Octavia was destined for a life far beyond the confines of their camp. It was evident in the way Octavia led the way to the river each morning for their ritual bathing—a quiet assertion of her autonomy, a reclaiming of the life stolen from her during sixteen years beneath the floor.

And now, when presented with the chance to flee to safety, to wander the world alongside another she loved, Octavia had chosen to stay—to fight for the camp that had become her new home, to die alongside the friends that had become her family.

        Haven reached for her hand.

        "I would've understood if you left," she ventured softly, "But...I'm glad that you stayed."

        At that, Octavia's laughter bubbled forth, a lighthearted melody that chased away the shadows lurking in her eyes. "Believe it or not, you and Bellamy made the choice a whole lot easier by nearly dying," she chuckled, "I just...I don't wanna be without either of you. Ever."

Haven grinned. "Dying has its perks. Kind of."

"Listen up!"

At the sound of his voice, a familiar warmth cocooned around Haven, cradling her equilibrium. It didn't matter if he remained silent or obscured from view; his mere presence resonated deep within her nervous system. It was as though every fiber of her being seemed to hum in recognition, attuned to his essence, capable of sensing him in every corner of existence—through all the ages of time.

Bellamy stood at the helm of the small group of five, curls tousled, clad head to toe in jet black. His right hand clenched the sling of his rifle, while his left remained planted against his hip, fingers drumming expectantly as he awaited their attention.

Naturally, Haven was the first to look.

He shot her a private wink.

"Here's the plan," Bellamy started, his voice dropping an octave as he ensured everyone's undivided attention. "Octavia, Raven, you'll exit through the east end of the wall. Monty and Orion, you'll leave from the north." His eyes deftly scanned their choice of weaponry. "Make sure there's at least one gun between you and your partner."

        Orion proudly jabbed two thumbs in a gesture towards the sword against her spine. "Who needs guns when I've got good ol' Michonne with me?"

        Bellamy blinked. "You named your sword?"

        "Like you wouldn't," Orion retorted, leaning down to bestow a tender kiss on the strap securing the blade to her back. As Bellamy shot her an odd look, she raised her hands in exasperation. "What? I know you're from Factory too, dick. You've never read that old zombie comic?"

"Didn't say that." Bellamy answered stoically, though the amusement flickering in his eyes was undeniable. "But let's stay on task. Keep your walkies on and move out." His order was accompanied by an authoritative dip of his head. "We'll meet westbound if we don't find them."

With a devious smirk tugging at her lips, Orion cast a final, taunting farewell over her shoulder before melting seamlessly into the shadows. "Whatever you say, King of Nerds."

        Then, the group vanished.

        As the last two remaining near the gate, Haven and Bellamy stood in a silent embrace of tension, intimately aware of the static electricity surging between them. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, hearts momentarily suspended in the ether as they shifted closer. But the harsh reality of their circumstances soon intruded, casting a sobering reminder of the perilous world they inhabited, and the ever-present dangers that lurked beyond the safety of the wall.
      
The Smith girl crossed her arms. "What about—"

"You're with me." Bellamy finished her thought seamlessly, a gentle grin softening his features as he made a slight adjustment to the grip on his rifle. "I'll handle the gun. You got your knife?"

"You know it." Haven's hand knowingly patted the fabric of her jacket, a subtle gesture indicating the concealed knife nestled beneath the layers of clothing—right where Bellamy had fashioned it for her.

        "Good." Bellamy nodded, the memory of tucking the knife beneath Haven's undergarment igniting an insatiable flicker of heat in his blood. With practiced ease, he reached for the metal object hanging from his belt, deftly slipping it into Haven's front pocket. "Take the extra radio too."

Haven tilted her head. "Uh, why? Raven already gave me one."

"Because you have a tendency to get yourself killed." Bellamy's response was swift and deliberate, landing with a finality that silenced any further protest. Despite this, his tone was unfathomably soft. "Two forms of backup is better than one. If you decide to pull one of your little stunts—at least we'll be able to communicate."

Fair.

Rolling her eyes, Haven lightly elbowed his torso, a fond smile gracing her lips as she basked in the mellifluous sound of his laughter. "Charming."

Bellamy pressed a tender kiss to her temple before stepping forward to lead the way. "Just another way of saying I love you."

With that, they were off.

As they ventured deeper into the forest, a hushed serenity blanketed their surroundings, a stark departure from the usual burden of unspoken truths that had long plagued their interactions. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the silence was not suffocating; instead, it was liberating. No longer did secrets fester between them, no hidden truths lurked in the shadows. Everything had been laid bare earlier in the night; souls overturned, skin flipped inside out, leaving no corner of their beings unexplored or unseen.

In spite of that knowledge—the cruel reality of their life on Earth remained. Haven could physically feel Bellamy's reluctance to involve her in the mission, an unspoken intuition that resonated deep within her. Yet, despite this awareness, she could also feel the familiar inferno of her own damn pride. Deep down, she knew that while Bellamy may not want her to assist, his wishes were outweighed by her own resolve. Nothing could dissuade her from standing at his side, poised to confront whatever trials awaited them, even if it meant defying his wishes.

        He could respect that.

        Kind of.

Bellamy's trust in the girl beside him ran deep, deeper than he dared to even admit to himself. Her prowess was untouchable, her skills simply unparalleled. It wasn't a lack of faith that unsettled him; it was the ever-present fear of losing her—again, and again, and again.

        Gone was the skeletal bliss they unearthed within his tent.

        But the love still remained, evident in the hand that guided her lower back through the shrubbery, in the protective arm that held branches aside to clear her path. Bellamy was keenly aware of Haven's aversion to the dark, so he silently allowed her to clutch onto the sleeve of his jacket. And if his free hand wasn't currently white-knuckling his rifle, eyes scanning the darkness for potential threats, he would've gripped her fingers in his.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Haven mumbled lowly.

Bellamy stole a quick glance to his right, only to find her gaze fixed on the dirt beneath their feet. "You and me both," he admitted, swiftly maneuvering around a fallen branch. "Talk me through it."

An apprehensive exhale escaped Haven's lips as she wrestled with her thoughts. "I wouldn't be as concerned if Myles made it back by now. Clarke and Finn are always sneaking off," she began cautiously, "But Finn's a tracker. If they ended up lost somewhere, he would've led them back a long time ago."

        It took a herculean effort for Bellamy not to scoff at the mention of the Collins boy. "You really care about what happens to him?"

        Haven shot him a sidelong glare. "Just because he's an ass, doesn't mean I want him to die."

        "I do," Bellamy huffed, the muscles in his jaw tensing in restraint, his fingers instinctively curling tighter around the handle of his rifle. "Don't look so surprised."

        "Not surprised." Haven voiced truthfully, though the typical vigor in her tone now echoed with a hollow resonance. "I just...I don't want to lose anyone else. He and Raven were all I had at one point." Her eyes softened as she glanced to the boy at her left. "Then came you."

        "Then came me." Bellamy's repetition was a mere whisper, accompanied by a smile so warm it threatened to banish all traces of twilight encompassing them. Then, he released a slow breath, a deliberate effort to set aside his personal disdain towards Finn. "I get it though—really. Just know that you don't have to be so...forgiving," he reasoned, "At least right away."

Forgiveness is a finicky thing.

Haven weighed his words for a moment. There had been countless moments since their landing where she swore she was more animosity than flesh, her resentment extending to Murphy, Finn, and even Bellamy. While only two of them had directly threatened her life—whether intentionally or not—it didn't diminish the depth of her rage. She had reconciled with Bellamy, perhaps even with Murphy to some extent. But Finn...the thought of forgiving him felt almost unbearable, a wound too tender to confront.

Truth be told, Haven was hardly even mad about the events that led to her heart stopping. She could rationalize it as a tragic accident; Finn hadn't tried to kill her. What truly stung were the barbed words he had hurled at her in the moments preceding the incident, and the tormenting notion that perhaps, amidst the chaos—he might have been right.

Weren't they just kids, not so long ago? Wasn't it only yesterday that Finn had darted after her through the echoing halls of Mecha in endless games of tag? Could they not have clung to that fleeting innocence, that pure, carefree joy, for eternity? Haven knew the answer to that, though she couldn't bring herself to admit it. Time's passage might have been inevitable, but she vowed to resist its pull, holding onto the memories of their youth until her hands bled, unwilling to let go of what once was.

        Even if it killed her.

"I don't recognize him anymore," Haven confessed flatly, her fingers curling around the locket, its worn surface a tangible link to the past. "But I don't think he recognizes me either. Maybe that's just how life works."

        Bellamy cast another thoughtful glance in her direction, effortlessly pinpointing the exact source of her dismay within seconds. "Jasper told me what he said," he ventured cautiously, "About Dax."

        Moonlight bestowed heavenly shadows upon Haven's features as she absentmindedly kicked at a rock. "Did he?"

        "If Finn doesn't recognize you for what you did in that moment—he's fucking blind." Bellamy's words burst forth with poorly restrained intensity, punctuated by a subtle clearing of his throat as he sought to regain composure. "Your intentions were clear. You because of did what you had to do to save our lives, and I..."

        He halted in the dirt beside her.

        "I have never loved you more."

A fragile part of Haven trembled at the sincerity in his tone. Amidst her relentless battle with impostor syndrome, only a select few could truly remind her of who she was; glimpses of it surfaced in the presence of her friends every now and then. Yet, with Bellamy...it transcended mere recognition. He didn't merely see her, he knew her, understood her mind as if it were entwined with his own. When she was spinning, drifting, spiraling out—it was him who tethered her back to her body; it was him who illuminated even the darkest parts of herself, holding them up to the light without flinching.

Soon, Haven became excruciatingly aware of the stillness of her body beside his. "So...you only love me when I kill someone, huh?" she teased softly, pivoting on her heels and continuing her stride through the untamed wilderness. "What about now—?"

His mouth found hers in seconds.

All at once, Bellamy had seized her by the forearm, spinning her backwards and tugging her snugly against his torso. His lips were warm as they melded with hers, adjusting his grip from her forearm to cradle her jaw, his fingers tracing the contours of her face with a reverence that stirred her very soul. Despite the suddenness of his gesture, he kissed her softly, tenderly, each brush of his lips conveying a thousand tiny promises meant only for her to understand.

"Don't ask questions that you already know the answer to," he murmured lowly, a fervent strain underscore his words as he lowered her forehead against hers. "I mean it. We're gonna have to split up if you keep distracting me."

As Bellamy's lips lingered tantalizingly close to her own, Haven found herself swept away, her very essence adrift in the currents of time. Despite the bitter taste of his words, she couldn't deny their undeniable weight. With duty calling, lives poised on a knife's edge, and war looming closer by the second—she offered him a fleeting peck on the mouth, and somehow mustered the strength to move again.

"Fine," she conceded, "I'll walk ahead of you."

Bellamy swept a flustered palm across his features. "God, don't do that either," he grumbled, "I won't stop looking at your—"

"I thought you said we were heading west."

The intrusion of Monty's voice crackling over their walkies brought their exchange to an immediate halt.

"Where are you guys?"

         Haven hardly managed to stifle her laughter as Bellamy, visibly flustered, fumbled for his walkie-talkie, his muscles relaxing only when he realized his talk-button remained inactive. The thought of their conversation's tail end being broadcast to the entire group was horrifying, promising an onslaught of relentless teasing and jests. While the Smith girl had weathered her fair share of taunts, Bellamy had yet to face such scrutiny.

        At least, not yet.

        Orion's voice was the next to emerge from the static. "Ah, radio silence," she chimed in. "Looks like all of you owe me your rations now. They're probably busy screwing each other's brains out—"

        "Glad to hear you're still on task, Orion," Bellamy interjected, swiftly jamming his thumb over the talk-button and emitting a low curse under his breath. "Just keep the moon to your left, and you'll find us."

        A beat passed.

        "You can't see me, but I'm flipping you off."

Summoning every iota of her resolve, Haven drew in a slow, deliberate breath to realign her focus. Navigating the perilous depths of the foliage while maintaining their edge wasn't just important; it was vital. Clarke, Finn, and Myles all depended on it. The stakes were high, and the prospect of failure—driven by her own selfish impulses—was simply inconceivable.

Bellamy knew it, too.

        Silent as death and sharp as parallel blades, they stalked through the twilight like twin shadows. Haven, ever vigilant, pressed herself against the wall, her senses attuned to the slightest disturbance. Meanwhile, Bellamy prowled the edge of the treeline, his form a mere whisper against the darkened shrubbery. Each step was a calculated symphony of stealth, his rifle an extension of his arm, poised to unleash swift justice upon any threat foolish enough to reveal itself.

Suddenly, a faint wailing noise emanated from the walkies in their pockets, disrupting the silence with a distant cry.

Their eyes locked at once.

Monty's voice was the first to cut through the distortion. "Is anyone else hearing this signal?"

This time, it was Haven who reached for her walkie, her motions seamless as she retrieved it from her cargo pocket and raised it to her mouth. "We hear it too," she answered, keenly aware of the chill seeping into her bones. "What the hell is it?"

"Just keep your eyes open," Raven ordered.

"No..." Monty trailed off, his words barely audible against the unnerving crescendo of the signal. "Guys, I think it's the same thing we heard in the black box."

Immediately, Haven recognized what Monty was referring to. In the days following the Exodus ship crash, she had dedicated most of her time to tending to Orion, while Monty had busied himself with tinkering with the radio and salvaging parts from the wreckage. It was during this feverish pursuit that he unearthed something strange within the ship's data log—a cryptic signal that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly presence, just moments before they lost control of the ship entirely.

        Of course, Monty insisted on sharing his unsettling discovery with the Mecha station girls. Haven had initially toyed with the notion of the signal being deliberately jammed, considering the vessel's navigation system freaked shortly afterwards, though she opted to keep her theory to herself. Raven's apparent lack of interest in the enigmatic noise further dissuaded them from delving deeper into their unease, prompting Haven and Monty to dismiss their concerns with a quick shrug.

        There was no time to entertain the theory any further once Haven had, y'know—died.

However, presently, every lingering prick of dread that had haunted them a few days prior surged back with a vengeance. Because the recording Monty had played then was identical to the signal emanating from the walkies...right now.

        But, that wasn't possible—it couldn't be. The data log recounting the Exodus ship's demise had been disrupted by a signal originating miles away, near the crash site nestled in the mountains. The idea of that same signal reaching this far seemed absurd, unless there was a colossal transmitter tower magically concealed within the depths of the forest...unless...

        Her stomach flipped.

        Unless whatever, or whomever, had jammed the signal was lurking dangerously close—right within their vicinity.

        "Damn it, Monty. Pay attention," Bellamy ordered, his eyes widening with alarm as Haven visibly paled before him. Something wasn't right—they could feel it in their cells. "Do you see anything? Report."

        The walkie roared with static.

        And then . . .

        "Monty—what the hell are you doing?!"

        Horror held Haven in a death grip. At once, she recognized the shrill voice cutting through the speakers as Orion's. "What's going on?" she demanded, clutching her walkie in one palm and instinctively withdrawing her blade with the other. "Orion? Orion!"

"He split off from me!" Orion's panicked shriek flooded the airwaves. "I-I have no idea where he went! I'm trying to find him!"

Faster than the speed of sound, Haven exploded into a frantic sprint, heedless of Bellamy's violent cursing as he thundered after her. "I'm coming!" she radioed back, "Keep looking! Monty—answer your fucking walkie!"

        Another beat passed.

        "...oh my god..."

        Monty's whisper barely pierced through the cacophony of static and the deafening thud of Haven's racing heart. Garnering every ounce of her strength, she willed her legs to propel her faster, faster, faster—ripping through the darkness like a bullet fired into the void.

"Monty?!" she cried out, "MONTY!"

"HAVEN—!"

The night wickedly devoured Monty's scream, its darkness swallowing his cry and masking his location in its abyss. Blinded by fear, Haven staggered into the unknown, her heart slamming against her ribcage as though trying to escape its confines. All around her, the trees loomed like twisted phantoms, their gnarled branches clawing at the suffocating twilight. Though she couldn't see Bellamy hurtling through the shadows behind her, she felt the gravity of his presence, urging her onward in their frantic bid to reach their friends.

"Meet at the west gate!" Bellamy thundered through the radio, "Meet at the west gate! NOW!"

        "We're here!" Raven answered, "There's someone in the bushes!"

         Suddenly, an abrupt screech wailed from the walkies, halting the hum of the ominous signal and freezing Haven's blood in its tracks. Though the sound was fleeting, the gravity of what it meant was permanent.

        Monty's connection was lost.

        There was no time to dissect the panic congealing in her lungs. There was no time to think, to breathe—Haven's only recourse was to simply move faster. With every labored breath, she could feel the weight of unseen eyes watching her, their presence lurking just beyond the edge of perception. Grounders? Animals? Delinquents? Distinguishing between human and nature became an impossible task; every limb extended from the shrubbery seemed to taunt her with uncertainty.

        Bellamy wasn't taking any chances.

        As a shadow, sinister and indiscernible, slithered towards Haven's ankle, he unflinchingly fired two shots into the dense undergrowth. The thunderous echoes reverberated through the night, a stark warning to the lurking danger. He didn't bother to check if his aim reigned true.

He knew it did.
       
        "Myles?"

        Haven's momentum abruptly halted as she smacked face-first into Octavia's back, the impact jarring her senses as she staggered backwards, gasping for oxygen. Bellamy skidded to a stop beside her in the heartbeat that followed, his hand instinctively steadying her lower back. Orion materialized shortly after. With a collective exhale, they attempted to regain their bearings, but the twilight only seemed to twist and warp around them, amplifying their sense of unease.

        Each member of the group was accounted for—except for Monty.

        "Shit," Orion panted, "Shit, shit, shit!"

        In that harrowing moment, Haven's gaze descended upon the figure crouched at her feet. Raven knelt beside the anguished form of Myles; his pallid face contorted in a mask of unrelenting agony, each feature twisted with the raw torment of his suffering. Trembling, the mechanic's hands hovered above the wound that marred his chest, scarlet rivulets staining her fingers as she fought against the torrent of blood pouring from the arrow lodged within him.

Octavia sank to the ground beside Raven, her azure eyes shrouded in the depths of her dread. "Myles, what happened?"

"Where are they?" Raven pressed. "Clarke and Finn—where are they?"

Myles squirmed against the rough bark of the tree he was slumped against, miserably clutching at his chest. With every word, crimson stained his tongue and lips, the metallic taste of blood mingling with his raspy breath. "Grounders..." he choked out, "...took...them."

        Haven went rigid.

        Despair slammed into the group with the force of a freight train. There was no undoing the devastation that tore through them, no mending the cavernous void that had unearthed itself in their chests. Two more of their own were gone, most likely dead. It was a bitter realization, a harsh truth that only stretched the black holes within them. All because of their inaction, all because they had simply taken too damn long to search for them.

They failed.

Repeatedly, relentlessly, it felt like that was their only legacy—failure. Earth, with its unyielding cruelty, seemed determined to crush every glimmer of hope they dared to clutch onto. It snatched their dreams from their trembling hands, rending them to tatters before hurling the fragments back with a derisive sneer. Even if they had acted faster, the outcome would likely have remained unchanged. Death loomed over them like a ravenous beast, its hunger insatiable, its presence inevitable.

        As Myles strained to lift himself off the trunk, Bellamy's response was swift, his hand gently but firmly halting the effort. "Take it easy," he cautioned, casting a weighted glance towards the rest of the group. "We have to get him back to camp."

"Bell..." Octavia began, "What about Clarke and Finn?"

In an instinctual gesture, the Blake boy's gaze gravitated towards Haven's, the whites of his eyes haloed by a mournful shroud of sorrow. They held each other's stare for a fleeting eternity. Uncertain of exactly what he sought or intended to convey, all Bellamy knew was that his defeat couldn't hold a candle against the enormity of her grief.

        "We need to make a stretcher," Raven decided, fiery tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she squared her shoulders and moved towards the edge of the treeline. "Orion, help me out."

        Soundlessly, Orion nodded, shakily entwining Raven's fingers with her own as they ventured into the thicket.

        "Monty, we're heading home." Bellamy's voice was a quiet murmur as he keyed the walkie-talkie once more, pleading for a response from the boy on the other end of the airwaves. "You copy?"
       
Silence.

"Monty, can you hear me?"

Haven's chin began to wobble.

"Monty," Bellamy insisted, gripping the walkie in his palm with a force that threatened to shatter it. "Monty—where the hell are you?"

        Every member of the group stood motionless, anticipation thick in the air as they waited, ears straining for even the faintest murmur of life through the walkie's speakers. Chests rose and fell in sync with each taut breath, eyes clouded, jaws clenched tight with dread. They hung onto every sound, every whisper of movement, desperate for any indication of Monty's presence.

        Nothing.

        "Damn it, Monty," Bellamy swore. "Report."

        Defenseless against the onslaught of her tears, Haven stormed off into the distance, balling her hands into fists with her feet lashing out at the dirt beneath her. If there was a higher power somewhere in the universe, it certainly didn't exist—not down here, not anywhere, its supposed benevolence nothing but a cruel illusion. Not when all of her friends had become unwitting martyrs to the merciless whims of fate. Not when everything and everyone she held dear seemed destined for the clutches of death.

        Nobody was safe. Nobody.

And as her feet collided with something hard, something metallic, she released a gasp that could've halted the world on its axis.

Monty's radio lay abandoned in the dirt.

Right beside a gas mask.

• •

ANDDDD we're back to the main plot!! ngl i kinda dont like this chapter lol its basically filler to catch us back up to the shows plot. i think i love writing intense action & emotions sooo much that whenever a chapter is more ~calm~ im like damn does this SUCK?? buttt we move, next chapter we back in ACTTTTIONNN i promise its a good one ✊ i literally cant believe we're about to be on the last 2 episodes of s1. time literally isnt real at all 😭

AND HOW CUTE R HAVEN AND BELL LITERALLY I WAS SCREAMING INTO MY PILLOW ...it feels SOOOO great to write them with the open acceptance of loving each other :,) usually im so against love interests getting together in book 1 because i die for a good slow burn.. but i feel like the timing is appropriate for them because they have known each other SOOOO long. there is so much shared history & it just works for them ✨  a part of me wants to write a prequel of their time on the ark, like their FIRST ever interaction in detail. maybe ill include it in a future chapter ;)

I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK A THOUSAND TIMES OVERRR! <3