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I sit near the edge of the fire, staring into the flames. Their orange glow pulls me back years, to the night I lit my father's pyre with trembling hands and swore I would never let myself break again. I drag myself back to the present. Grief has a place, and this isn’t it. 

Kane kneels over a rough map scratched into the dirt. Miller, Bryan, and Harper talk in hushed tones about patrol routes. 

A sudden burst of static cuts through the cave. I jerk my head to the sound. It’s coming from the pack. 

"...Kane... Kane, do you copy?" A voice whispers frantically. 

Harper is moving before anyone else. "Monty?"

The radio hisses. "Harper? Thank God." His relief is audible even through the interference. "Is everyone there?"

Kane crosses the cave in three long strides. "We're here."

"I heard," Monty says quietly. "I'm... I'm sorry."

Octavia lowers her head. Bellamy closes his eyes.

The silence stretches until Monty speaks again, this time faster. "You have to listen. Pike knows."

Kane's expression hardens. "Knows what?"

"He figured out I helped you escape." More static. "He had guards waiting outside my quarters. I barely got out."

Harper exhales sharply. "Are you hurt?" she asks.

"No." Another pause. "Not yet." I stop sharpening my blade.

"They're looking everywhere. Arkadia isn't safe anymore." Monty says. 

Kane exchanges a look with Sinclair. "Where are you now?"

"I'm hiding outside the walls." Monty's breathing comes through the speaker, quick and uneven. "I couldn't stay. If I go back, he'll kill me."

"He won't stop there," Miller mutters.

"No," Kane agrees. "He won't."

Monty's voice steadies. "I know where you are." Every head lifts. "I can meet you."

"Too dangerous," Sinclair says immediately.

"It's dangerous either way," Monty replies. "I can't survive out here alone."

Bellamy finally speaks. "The dropship. Everyone turns toward him."It's halfway between here and Arkadia," he continues. "Easy to defend."

Kane nods slowly. "Agreed."

"I can be there before dawn," Monty says.

"We'll meet you," Kane answers.

"...Bellamy?"  Monty asks quietly. 

Bellamy doesn't respond immediately. "I'm here."

Monty's voice softens. "I know this isn't the time, but..." He hesitates. "...I know you're trying to make this right."

Across the cave, Bellamy lowers his gaze. "I don't know if I can."

"You can," Monty says firmly. "You just have to keep choosing the right side."

The words hang in the air long after they're spoken. Bellamy says nothing. Kane reaches forward and switches off the radio. The cave falls silent once more. Kane lets his hand linger on the radio for a moment before rising to his feet.

"We leave now," he says. "If Pike sent patrols after Monty, every minute counts." 

“How do we know there’s not an ambush waiting for us?” I ask. 

Miller fixes me with a look. “We have to get Monty.”

I narrow my eyes. If Pike had discovered Monty's betrayal, he'd know exactly who would come looking for him. A desperate man makes reckless decisions, and Pike has never needed much of an excuse to spill blood.

Kane studies the rough map for another moment before looking up. "Which is exactly why only a few of us are going."

"I'll go," I say.

He nods once, as though he'd already made up his mind. "I was counting on it."

Miller straightens. "You're taking her?"

"Y/N can handle herself," Kane replies evenly. "If this is a trap, I want my strongest fighter with me." His gaze shifts to Bellamy. "And Bellamy comes."

Bellamy lifts his head but says nothing. His wrists remain bound, the rope wrapped tightly around them.

"You're trusting him?" Miller asks.

"No," Kane says. "I'm giving him an opportunity."

I glance toward Bellamy. He keeps his eyes on the floor, his expression unreadable.

Kane turns back to the others. "Miller, Harper, Bryan, Sinclair—you stay here. If we're not back before nightfall, assume we've been compromised and move the camp."

"What if Pike followed Monty?" Harper asks quietly. Stating exactly what I was thinking.

"Then we'll find out before he finds all of us," I reply simply. 

I sheath my knife and tighten the leather straps securing my sword across my back. My bow follows a moment later. Sinclair remains behind with Harper, Miller, and Bryan to protect the cave while Kane leads the smaller party through the forest. Bellamy walks between us, his wrists still bound behind his back. A strip of cloth is tied tightly across his mouth. Octavia doesn't look at her brother once. Neither do I.

The forest is quiet beneath a blanket of morning mist. Moisture clings to every branch and leaf, soaking our boots as we make our way through the undergrowth. 

The trees begin to thin. Ahead, the rusted frame of the old dropship rises from the clearing, its scorched hull blackened from the day it fell to Earth. Time has reclaimed much of it. Vines creep across twisted metal, and young saplings grow where fire once burned.

Bellamy slows. Kane raises a hand, signaling us to stop. The clearing is silent. I scan the tree line, every instinct prickling beneath my skin. Something is wrong.

A figure steps from the shadow of the dropship. Monty. A rifle presses against the side of his head. Pike follows him into the clearing. Six armed guards fan out behind him, rifles already trained on us.

"Damn it," Kane mutters.

Monty's eyes immediately find Kane. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice tight. "They followed me."

Pike smiles, though there's nothing warm about it. "Funny thing about traitors," he says. "They're usually easier to catch than they think." His gaze settles on Kane. "I figured you'd come yourself."

Kane steps forward. "Let him go."

"I don't think so." Pike presses the barrel harder against Monty's temple. "I've already lost enough people because of you."

My hand drifts toward the hilt of my sword. Immediately, half a dozen rifles shift in my direction.

Pike notices. "I wouldn't." I freeze. "If anyone reaches for a weapon, the boy dies first."

Octavia's fingers tighten around her sword. "No," Kane says quietly.

She glares at him. "We can take them."

"Not before he pulls the trigger," Kane says slowly. 

Pike smirks. "At least one of you still knows how to think."

His eyes slide to Bellamy, bound and gagged. 

"You, on the other hand..." He walks forward until he's standing directly in front of him. "I expected better," Bellamy says nothing. He can't. Pike rips the cloth from his mouth. Bellamy coughs once before lifting his head. "You've got one chance," Pike says. "Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you where you stand."

Bellamy meets his eyes. "I can take you to them." The forest seems to hold its breath.

Pike studies him carefully. "The others."

Bellamy nods. "I know where they're hiding."

Octavia takes a step forward. "Bellamy—" Kane catches her arm before she can say another word.

Pike never looks away from Bellamy. "You'd do that?"

"I made a mistake." Bellamy's voice is steady. "I chose the wrong side."

Pike's expression softens just enough to be believable.

"So you're ready to fix it."

Bellamy nods once. "I'll lead you to their camp."

Several long seconds pass. Finally, Pike reaches for the rope binding Bellamy's wrists and cuts it free. Bellamy rubs feeling back into his hands but makes no move to run.

Pike hands him his rifle. "Lead the way."

Bellamy glances toward Kane. The look lasts less than a second. Kane understands. So do I. Bellamy isn't leading Pike to the cave. He's leading him somewhere else. Somewhere Pike won't be expecting. Without another word, Bellamy turns and disappears into the trees.

Pike motions for his guards to follow. "Bring the prisoners." Two guards seize Kane. Another shoves Octavia forward. Monty is forced along at gunpoint. I step beside Kane as we're marched into the forest, my hands kept well away from my weapons. For now, there is nothing to do but wait.

If Bellamy's plan works, this will be the last time Charles Pike believes he's in control.

Bellamy doesn't look back. He leads Pike's men through the forest at a steady pace, his rifle hanging loosely at his side. Pike follows only a few steps behind, flanked by armed guards. Kane, Octavia, Monty, and I are forced along in the center of the formation, rifles trained on our backs.

The only sounds are boots crushing fallen leaves and the distant call of birds. I study Bellamy's posture. He's looking for something. A signal, I assume. 

We crest a shallow ridge before descending into a narrow valley. The trees close in around us, their branches forming a canopy that dims the afternoon light.

Bellamy slows. Pike notices. "Problem?" he asks.

Bellamy shakes his head. "They're close."

Pike gestures with his rifle. "Keep moving."

Another dozen paces. Bellamy stops altogether. "They're here."

Pike scans the trees. "I don't see anyone."

"You won't." The words have barely left Bellamy's mouth when a horn echoes through the forest. One long, piercing note. Then another.

Pike's head snaps toward the sound. "What the—"

Arrows rain from the trees. One of Pike's guards cries out as a shaft buries itself in his shoulder. Another drops before he can even raise his rifle.

"Ambush!" Pike shouts.

The forest erupts. Trikru warriors pour from every direction, faces streaked with war paint, swords and spears flashing between the trees.

I don't hesitate. The nearest guard turns toward me, distracted by the attack. I drive my shoulder into his chest, sending him sprawling before wrenching his rifle from his hands. A second guard lunges, but I draw my sword in one smooth motion and catch his strike, forcing him back.

To my left, Octavia rips free from the soldier holding her and joins the fight with a ferocity that borders on reckless. Kane ducks behind a fallen log with Monty as gunfire cracks through the clearing.

Bellamy is already moving. One of Pike's men swings the butt of his rifle toward Bellamy's head. Bellamy blocks the blow with his forearm before driving his elbow into the man's jaw. The guard crumples.

Pike sees him. "You set me up," Bellamy says nothing.

Pike charges. They collide hard enough to knock both men to the ground. Pike lands the first punch, splitting Bellamy's lip. Bellamy answers with one to Pike's ribs before rolling clear as another volley of arrows whistles overhead. The battle is over almost as quickly as it began. Pike's remaining guards are surrounded. One drops his rifle.

A sharp command rings through the clearing. "Enough." The fighting stills.

Indra steps from between the trees, spear in hand, surrounded by Trikru warriors. Her eyes never leave Pike.

He rises slowly, blood running from a cut above his brow. "You." He seethes.

Indra walks toward him with measured steps. "You murdered three hundred of my warriors." She stops an arm's length away. "You murdered Lincoln."

Pike lifts his chin. "I did what had to be done."

The crack of Indra's spear against his ribs doubles him over. Before he can recover, two warriors seize his arms and wrench them behind his back. He struggles, but four more Grounders close in, forcing him to his knees.

"Bind him," Indra orders. Leather cords are wrapped tightly around Pike's wrists.

He glares at Bellamy. "You betrayed your own people."

Bellamy wipes the blood from his mouth. "No." His voice is quiet. "I stopped betraying them."

For a long moment, no one says anything. Then Indra jerks the rope attached to Pike's bindings. "Move."

Surrounded by Trikru warriors, Pike is hauled to his feet and marched deeper into the forest.

Kane steps beside Bellamy. "You knew she'd be here."

Bellamy nods. "I knew she'd keep her word."

Kane studies him for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's a start."

Bellamy's gaze drifts to the bloodstained ground where the fighting had ended. "It doesn't change what I've done."

"No," Kane says softly. "But it's how you begin to answer for it."

The procession starts forward. I fall into step beside Indra as Pike is marched ahead of us, his wrists bound so tightly his hands have begun to pale.

"He should have died here," I say at last, my eyes fixed on Pike's back.

Indra's grip tightens on the rope. "Every part of me agrees."

"Then why doesn't he?" I growl. 

She is silent for a long moment. "Because vengeance and justice are not the same." Her voice is calm, though I can hear the fury beneath it. "Lincoln deserves justice."

I glance at her. "And what does justice look like?"

"He answers to the Commander," Indra replies simply.

I look away again. "That won't bring Lincoln back."

"No." Indra's expression hardens. "But if we become executioners whenever grief demands it, then Pike has already taught us how to rule."

The words settle heavily between us. After another stretch of silence, Indra speaks again. "You stood your ground today."

"I did what needed to be done."

"You always do." There is no praise in her voice, only fact. 

She studies me from the corner of her eye. "Do not mistake silence for healing, Princess."

My jaw tightens. "I won't."

"When this is over..." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "You will have to mourn him."

I stare ahead at the trail winding through the trees. "I know."

Indra gives a single nod. "Good." Pike stumbles ahead under the pull of Indra's rope while the forest slowly closes behind us.

I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t over yet. 

The procession slows where the forest path divides. One trail leads toward Polis, the other back toward Arkadia.

Indra turns to me. "You should come with us."

I glance at Pike, his wrists bound tightly behind his back as two Trikru warriors keep him moving. "To Polis?"

"He must answer for what he has done."

I nod. "I know."

I take a breath and look towards the eastern trail. "Arkadia still stands."

"So it does." Indra agrees. "But barely." Kane watches the exchange quietly.

"Pike is gone," I continue. "His followers are not."

"They have no leader now," Indra says.

"Which makes them dangerous," I say simply.  Bellamy shifts his weight but remains silent. "If the Coalition marches into Arkadia now," I say, "they will see an occupation, not justice. Pike may be in chains, but the hatred he fed is still alive."

Indra studies me carefully. "You believe your place is there."

"I do." 

"Why?" She questions. 

I draw a slow breath. "Because Lincoln believed our people could live together." The words are harder to say than I expect. "He died trying to protect that future."

My eyes drift to Bellamy, then to Kane. "If no one is there to hold the peace until you return... then everything he fought for dies with him."

The forest falls silent. Finally, Indra gives a slow nod. "You speak as a leader." The irony doesn’t escape me. 

"I speak as someone who is tired of burying good people." I sigh. 

For the first time since the battle, something almost like approval crosses Indra's face. "Very well." She steps closer. "Keep the peace."

"I will," I say, and I mean it. "And if Skaikru forgets what happened here..." My hand settles on the hilt of my sword. "I'll remind them."

A faint smile touches the corner of Indra's mouth. "I expected nothing less."

Kane steps forward. "We'll return as soon as Pike has answered for his crimes."

"I'll be waiting," I reply. 

Indra gives the rope attached to Pike's bindings a firm tug. "Move."

As the procession disappears down the eastern trail, I remain where I am, watching until the last of the Trikru warriors vanishes into the trees.

Only then do I turn toward Bellamy and the others. "Let's go home."

The word feels strange on my tongue. But for Lincoln's sake, I intend to make it true.

By late afternoon, the cave has settled into an uneasy silence. Most of the others occupy themselves with work. Harper quietly portions what little food remains. Sinclair and Miller inspect weapons near the entrance while Bryan repacks his dwindling medical supplies.

CW BEGINS

I retreat to the darkest corner of the cave. A small knife rests across my palm, its edge catching the firelight. Beside it lies a strip of clean linen.

I slip out of my tunic, leaving only the bandeau wrapped around my chest. Cool air brushes against my skin as I reach over my shoulder, trailing my fingertips down the back of my left shoulder to my bicep. Thin white scars crisscross my skin. Some are straight, though most are uneven. Every single one bears a name.

Azgeda warriors carry the dead with them—not those we've lost, but those we've taken. Every scar is earned. Every scar is a reminder that life has a cost. Life is sacred. Taking it should never become easy. That is why we scar ourselves. So we never forget.

My thumb traces the oldest ones. Faces I haven't thought about in years return without invitation. The last time I scarred my skin was before Mount Weather. I haven’t found the time since. 

One hundred and twelve scars already mark my body. One hundred and twelve lives taken in battle. Each one earned. Each one remembered. The newest wait unfinished.

The scars have begun to curl around the inside of my left bicep, leaving only a narrow strip of untouched skin. I'd spent the morning preparing the blade, honing its edge until it would cut cleanly.

I press the knife to my arm. The steel bites into my skin. I don't flinch. Blood wells around the blade as I drag it downward in one deliberate motion. The wound opens cleanly. It’s the longest of the eight I have yet to carve.

Queen Nia. My mother's face rises unbidden in my mind. The coldness in her eyes. The weight of the sword in my hand. The moment I drove it through her chest. I hold the knife there until the memory passes before wiping the blood away with a strip of linen. Seven more remain.

The tip of the knife settles against my skin. A familiar prickle crawls across the back of my neck. Someone is watching me.

I don't move at first. I simply listen. The cave is alive with its usual sound. The crackle of the fire, Harper speaking softly to Miller near the entrance, the rhythmic scrape of Indra's whetstone.

Slowly, I lift my head. Bellamy stands several yards away, half-hidden in the dim light. One shoulder rests against the stone wall, his bruised face cast in shadow. The cut on his lip is clean now, the swelling around his eye beginning to fade beneath the salve.

His gaze isn't fixed on the knife. It's on the scars. Every one of them. His expression is unreadable. I realize that he has never seen them before.

I hold his gaze for a heartbeat longer before turning back to my arm. The blade slices cleanly. Pain blooms beneath it. It is easier to bear than the look on his face.

When the eighth scar is finished, I set the knife aside. Blood runs in thin crimson lines down my arm, gathering at my fingertips before dripping onto the cave floor. I cup my hands beneath the wounds, letting the blood pool in my palms. Slowly, deliberately, I press both hands against my face.

The warmth smears across my skin as I drag my palms downward, from my forehead over my cheeks to my jaw, leaving two crimson streaks in its wake.

At home, this is where the white war paint would come next, layered over the blood until the markings were complete. Every warrior knew what they meant. Every warrior understood the promise they carried. I don't have the paint. Not here. Not in this cave. For the first time in years, the ritual remains unfinished. Somehow, that feels fitting.

I close my eyes. One hundred and twenty names and faces pass through my mind. Some faces are as clear as the day I met them. Others have faded with time. None are forgotten.

When the last name has been spoken in silence, I wrap a strip of linen tightly around my arm. The fresh wounds throb beneath the bandage, but the pain is familiar. The ritual is complete. Only then do I pull my tunic back over my shoulders.

CW OVER

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Kane's voice carries from a respectful distance away.

I glance over to find him standing several paces back, hands clasped behind him. His eyes flick briefly to the blood smeared across my face before returning to mine. Whatever questions he has, he keeps them to himself.

"You waited," I say softly. 

"It seemed... important." He says slowly. 

“It was.” I reach for the strip of linen, rubbing the drying blood from my palms 

He nods once. "I won't pretend to understand."

"I don't expect you to." I nod my head. 

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth."I appreciate that." He gestures toward the empty space beside me. "May I?" I incline my head.

He lowers himself onto the stone, leaving enough distance between us that it doesn't feel intrusive. For a while, we simply sit.

Finally, Kane speaks. "I've been thinking about what comes next."

"So have I," I reply. 

"Pike believes he won yesterday," he says slowly. I nod in agreement.

Kane is quiet for a moment. "He won a battle."

I stare toward the mouth of the cave, where the afternoon light filters through the trees. "Then we'd better make sure he loses the war."

Kane studies me for a long moment before nodding. "I was hoping you'd say that."

We rise and join the others, except for Bellamy. He remains sitting, still chained. Harper sits cross-legged beside Bryan, absentmindedly tearing a piece of dried meat into smaller portions. Miller and Sinclair stand near the entrance, their attention shifting from the forest to Kane. Indra remains where she always seems most comfortable, with her back to the stone wall, sword resting across her knees.

Kane waits until every eye is on him. "We need to decide our next move."

"Our next move?" Miller asks. "We've barely survived the last one."

"Surviving isn't enough anymore," Kane says. "Pike is Chancellor. Every day he remains in power, more people are put at risk."

"He still has the Guard behind him," Bryan adds.

"And most of Arkadia," Harper says quietly.

Kane nods. "Which is why we can't afford to rush this." Indra leans forward.

"The warriors who survived the massacre have scattered. Trikru villages are hiding the wounded." Others have fled deeper into the woods." Her expression hardens. "My people need time to recover."

"They'll have it," Kane assures her.

"For how long?" she asks. "Pike has already proven he will kill those who cannot defend themselves." The words settle over the cave.

I study the rough map spread across the floor. "We can't defeat Arkadia by force."

"No," Kane agrees.

"We have neither the numbers nor the ammunition," Sinclair says.

"Then Pike has to lose his support," I say. Several heads turn toward me. "He rules because people believe he's keeping them safe."

"And if they stop believing that?" Harper asks.

"Then they'll stop following him."

Kane folds his arms. "Abby is still inside." 

I sit with my forearms resting on my knees, my thumb tracing the newest scar cut into my skin. The wound is still raised, still angry. It burns beneath my touch.

"Bellamy can still go back," Miller says before immediately regretting it. Bellamy’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. 

Kane lets the silence pass. "We still have friends in Arkadia," he says at last. "If there's going to be a chance to remove Pike, it'll begin there."

"No rash attacks," Indra says firmly. "No revenge." Her gaze sweeps across each of us before settling, briefly, on Bellamy. "We cannot become what Pike already is."

Bellamy's voice is barely audible. "He'll expect retaliation." Every eye turns toward him. "Pike thinks fear keeps people loyal." He swallows. "If we attack now... he'll use it." No one answers. But no one disagrees, either.

Kane kneels and folds the map closed. "We rest tonight."

Miller raises an eyebrow. "Rest?"

"As much as we can." Kane nods. 

"And tomorrow?" Harper asks. 

Kane's expression hardens. "Tomorrow we find our way forward."

One by one, heads dip in agreement. No one offers a plan. No one pretends to have answers. I tighten my grip around the hilt of my dagger. We have nothing except the certainty that standing still is not an option. If we do nothing, Pike wins without drawing another blade.

Indra is already awake. She sits near the fire, sharpening her sword with slow, deliberate strokes. Steel scrapes against whetstone.

Again and again and again.

The rhythm reminds me of home. I retrieve my own blade and sit across from her. The silence is welcome. We simply sharpen our weapons. It is an old ritual. One that every Grounder warrior understands. Prepare your blade. Steady your mind. Honor the fallen by surviving.

"You mourn him as one mourns blood." Indra's voice is quiet. It isn't a question.

I keep my eyes on the edge of my sword. "He was."

She nods once. Indra's sharpening stone stills. 

"When he first joined my warriors," she says at last, "I thought compassion would get him killed." She runs the whetstone the length of her sword one final time. "I was wrong." I look up. "He was stronger because of it." Neither of us speaks again. There is nothing left to say.

The cave slowly begins to wake. Harper feeds another log into the fire. Sinclair and Miller disappear toward the entrance to discuss watches while Kane joins Indra near the back of the cavern, their voices too low to make out.

No one acknowledges Bellamy. He remains where Octavia left him, one shoulder resting against the stone wall. Blood has dried along his split lip. His knuckles are scraped raw. The bruise beneath his left eye has darkened overnight, swelling until it's nearly shut. He doesn't seem to notice or care. 

I watch him longer than I intend to. Finally, I push myself to my feet. Near the medical supplies, a small basin of water sits beside a bundle of clean cloth and a jar of salve Jackson must have packed for us before leaving Arkadia. I pick them up.

Bellamy notices only when I stop in front of him. His brow furrows. "What are you doing?"

I set the basin on the ground. "Sit up." 

He doesn't move. "I am sitting."

"Properly," I order. A beat passes.

Without another word, he shifts until he's sitting straighter against the wall. I kneel in front of him. The space between us is suddenly very small. Close enough to see the purple swelling beneath his eye. Close enough to notice he hasn't shaved in days. Close enough to remember another time we'd sat like this after Roan stabbed him. I shove the memory away.

I soak the cloth in cold water. "You don't have to do this," he says quietly.

"I know." I huff. 

"Then why are you?" He asks softly. 

I wring out the cloth. "Because if that cut festers, Kane loses the only person who can still walk into Arkadia without being shot."

His jaw tightens. "So this is strategic."

"Everything is." I press the cloth against his split lip. He hisses. I fix him with a look."I said sit still."

"I wasn't moving." He says defensively. 

"You flinched," I say pointedly. 

"I think that's allowed." He argues. 

"It isn't," I state, rolling my eyes. 

For the first time since I sat down, his mouth almost twitches. "You rolled your eyes." I don't answer. "I almost forgot what that looked like."

"Get used to it." The hint of a smile disappears as quickly as it came. I rinse the cloth before lifting it toward his swollen eye. "This will hurt."

"I deserve it." He sighs. 

"I wasn't asking." I exasperate. 

The cold fabric touches the bruise. He sucks in a sharp breath. "You always did have gentle hands." My hand freezes. He closes his eyes. "...I'm sorry."

"I know." I hiss. 

"No." His eyes open again. "You don't."

I meet his gaze. "Then explain."

He swallows. "I..." His fingers curl against the stone. "I was angry."

"I don't care." I wring out the cloth in the basin. 

"I was scared." He corrects. 

"So was Lincoln," I put the cloth back up to his face, “So was I.”

His breathing catches. "Mount Weather changed everything."

"Not everything." I snarl. 

"It—"

"It didn't make you follow Pike," I state. 

Bellamy blinks. "I didn't know what else to—"

"Don't."

He stops. "I wasn't trying to—"

"Don't."

"I'm trying to explain." He sighs. 

"No." I lean back just enough to look him in the eye. "You're trying to survive this conversation." The words hit harder than I intended, or maybe exactly as hard.

His shoulders sag. After a long silence, he whispers, "You trusted me once."

I keep cleaning the dried blood from his lip. I hate that my hands know exactly how to care for him. Hate that they remember. Hate that some traitorous part of me is still gentle. I stay silent for a few moments. "That was my mistake."

He shuts his eyes. "What changed?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

A hollow laugh escapes me. "You're asking that?" I unscrew the tin of salve. The scent of pine fills the air.

"You didn't just betray Lincoln." I spread a thin layer across the split in his lip. "You betrayed every conversation we ever had."

His brow furrows. "I don't understand." I smooth another layer over the cut.

"Do you know how many warriors wanted your head the first time we met?" He says nothing. "Do you know how many times I argued against killing Skaikru?" He avoids my gaze."I stood in front of my people and defended yours."

"I told them there was a man named Bellamy Blake worth trusting." The salve tin clicks shut. "I told them when the moment came..." My voice almost breaks. "...you would choose what was right." I look at him for the first time since I knelt down. "They knew you better than I did."

The color drains from his face. "I never meant—"

"Intent doesn't resurrect the dead." I cut him off. 

His throat bobs. "I didn't think—" 

"Exactly." I hiss. 

His eyes fall to the ground. "I made you regret believing in me."

"No." I stand. "You made me question my own judgment."

The words leave him looking as though I've struck him. I almost wish I did. "I don't know how to fix this."

"You don't get to fix this, Blake," I say evenly. 

He looks up. "Y/N." I gather the basin beneath my arm. "Please." I turn away. I clench my fists, forcing myself not to do something I’ll regret. 

"Say something." I keep walking."Yell at me." He pleads. 

Bellamy leans his head back against the stone. "I can't fix this if you won't talk to me." 

I stop and let out a breath. The entire cave seems to hold its breath. Without looking back, I say quietly, "That's the point."

I leave him sitting against the wall. This time, he doesn’t call after me.

My boots carry me forward on instinct alone. The sound of the gunshot refuses to leave my mind. Everyone close to me faces death: my father, my mother, even Lincoln. I push the thoughts away. Warriors don’t relive moments; they survive them. 

"We're here," Sinclair says quietly. He parts a curtain of vines, revealing the narrow entrance to a cave hidden beneath the rock.

Everyone slips inside. I bring up the rear. I pause one moment, looking at the wilderness before finally entering. The air is cool. A fire burns low in the center of the cavern, casting long shadows against the walls.

Indra rises as we enter. The bandage around her thigh is stained through with dried blood, but she is upright, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes.

She looks first to Kane and then to me. Her eyes search the entrance behind us. When no one else appears, the whetstone stops. I hold her eyes. And give the smallest shake of my head. She understands. 

Across the cave, Bellamy Blake sits with his wrists still bound to an iron chain fixed to the rock wall. He looks exhausted. I’m surprised to see him, but I mask my face to not let it show. 

Confusion coats Bellamy’s features. “Where’s Lincoln?”

No one can bring themselves to answer. Bellamy looks to me first. I fix my gaze to the ceiling, effectively avoiding eye contact. 

Finally, Octavia lifts her head. Her voice is barely a whisper. "He stayed."

Bellamy's stomach seems to drop. "No." His eyes dart toward the cave entrance as though expecting Lincoln to walk through it at any moment.

Octavia's eyes land on Bellamy. Everything changes. Bellamy takes one cautious step forward. "O..." His voice catches. "Octavia."

She stares at him. Her face is blank. It is one of the most frightening expressions I've ever seen.

"I'm—" She moves before he can finish. Her fist crashes into his jaw. The crack echoes through the cave. Bellamy stumbles backward. He doesn't lift his hands. Another punch. His head snaps sideways. Blood sprays across the stone floor.

"You left him." Her voice trembles with barely restrained fury.

Bellamy wipes blood from his mouth. "I know."

She drives her knee into his stomach. He doubles over. "I said you left him!" Her attack is relentless. 

Bellamy falls to one knee. He makes no attempt to defend himself. He simply takes every blow. "I know." He pants. 

"Don't you dare." She grabs him by the front of his jacket and slams him into the cave wall. "Don't you dare say you know!"

Bellamy's head strikes the rock with a dull thud. "I tried to stop—"

"Liar!" Her fist connects again. "You stood beside Pike!" Another strike. "You watched him!" Another. "You let him die!"

Bellamy slides to the ground. He still doesn't fight back.

Kane steps forward. "Octavia." She doesn't hear him. Or simply chooses not to. She kicks Bellamy hard in the ribs. He grunts in pain.

"Enough," Kane says more firmly. He catches her wrist before she can strike again.

She tears free with surprising force. "Get off me!" She shoves Kane backward. His injured leg buckles beneath him.

Indra rises despite the pain in her wounded thigh. "Octavia." Her voice rings through the cave. "A warrior does not strike an unarmed man."

Octavia whirls on her. "He wasn't unarmed when Lincoln died!"

Indra doesn't flinch. "He is now."

"I don't care!" She lunges again.

This time, Bellamy doesn't even look up. He kneels where he fell, blood dripping steadily from his split lip. If she kills him, he will let her.

Indra catches Octavia's arm. For a moment, the two women struggle. Octavia twists free with a cry born of grief more than rage. She reaches Bellamy again. Her fist rises.

I move. My hand closes gently around her wrist.

She jerks against my grip. "Let me go!" I don't.

She turns on me, eyes blazing. "He killed him!"

"I know," I say calmly. 

"No, you don't!" She yells. 

"I heard Pike pull the trigger." The words leave my mouth quietly. "The bullet cut through the trees just like your scream did."

The cave falls silent. Octavia's breathing comes in ragged gasps. "I should've reached him."

"I should have too." I sigh honestly. 

Her anger falters."I was too late."

I swallow. "So was I."

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then I step closer. "So was Bellamy."

She looks over at her brother. He hasn't moved. Hasn't defended himself. Hasn't denied a single accusation.

"He will carry that for the rest of his life." My voice remains calm. "But this..." I glance at her raised fist. "...this isn't for Lincoln." Tears spill down her face. 

The fight drains from her all at once. Her hand falls limp in mine. "I couldn't save him."

"No." I release her wrist. "You couldn't."

She shakes her head over and over. "He smiled at me." Her voice cracks. "Even then..."

My chest tightens. "I know."

"He wasn't afraid." She sobs.

"No." I agree with her.

A sob escapes her. This time, she doesn't try to swallow it. "I don't know what to do."

Without thinking, I pull her into me. For a heartbeat, she remains rigid. Then she breaks. Her forehead presses against my shoulder as grief overtakes her. I wrap one arm around her back.

"I've lost my father," I murmur. “My mother,” I close my eyes. "And today..." My voice nearly fails me, "...I lost my closest friend."

I look toward the fire. "Blood has never decided who my family is." I take a breath. “He was.”

She cries harder. I let her. There are no words that can lessen a wound like this. Only someone willing to stand beside you while you bleed.

Across the cave, Indra lowers her head. "Lincoln belonged to us all."

The cave falls silent once more. The only sound is Octavia's uneven breathing against my shoulder and the soft crackle of the fire.

Across the cave, Bellamy slowly lowers himself until his back rests against the stone wall. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, but he makes no move to wipe it away. His eyes remain fixed on the flames.

Indra bends with a quiet wince, retrieving the knife Octavia had dropped. She runs her thumb over the worn leather grip before sliding it back into its sheath.

"When a warrior falls," she says, her voice carrying through the stillness, "we do not mourn the way they died." Octavia lifts her head. "We remember the way they lived."

He had seen the best in people. Even when they couldn't see it themselves.

My gaze drifts to Bellamy. Even him. The realization settles like ice in my chest. Lincoln died believing Bellamy could still find his way back. I wonder if he was right. 

Octavia's breathing finally begins to steady. She doesn't pull away, and neither do I. Outside, the wind stirs the vines covering the mouth of the cave. Somewhere beyond the trees, Arkadia still stands. Pike still breathes. The man who murdered Lincoln still wears the title of Chancellor.

I tighten my grip around Octavia's hand. This isn't over. The fire burns lower, its embers glowing red in the darkness. Octavia finally moves out of my grasp. Without a word, she exits the cage. Kane sits up to follow her. 

I raise a hand. “Let her go,” I command. Kane looks at me and nods. 

I walk to the opposite side of the cave. There is an empty space beside the fire. I feel as though Lincoln would have chosen it. It’s away from the entrance, where he could watch everyone. I sit there instead. Removing my sword from my belt, I lay it across my knees. My hands rest lightly on the hilt.

Kane and Indra converse in hushed tones. I catch the last parts. 

"Indra." The Trikru general tears her eyes away from Bellamy. "We need him."

"I don't." She growls. 

"You need someone who knows Pike." He reasons. 

"I need Pike dead." She argues. 

Kane's voice remains calm. "Bellamy may be the only reason any of us have a chance."

Indra's jaw tightens. For a long moment, she simply stares at Bellamy. Then she looks at me. I haven't moved since sitting down. Haven't spoken. Haven't even looked at Bellamy.

"Princess." Her expression eases. "What would you advise?"

Every eye in the cave turns toward me. Slowly, I lift my gaze. Bellamy is already watching me. I study him for several long seconds. Then I look away. 

I rise. I move towards the cave entrance without a word. I sense a presence behind me just as I reach the exit. 

Kane hesitates. “Would you speak to him?”

I glance at Bellamy again. "I have nothing to say to him." The words are quiet, measured. Far colder than anger. "I have nothing to say at all."

Bellamy's shoulders sink. Because anger can be answered. Hatred can be fought. But indifference… Indifference offers no path back.

The cave settles into an uneasy silence. The fire crackles softly in the center of the cavern, its light dancing across the stone walls. I doubt anyone sleeps tonight. 

Lincoln sits against the opposite wall, his head bowed, eyes closed. Whether he's asleep or simply conserving his strength, I can't tell. Kane rests nearby, one arm draped over a bent knee, watching the corridor through the bars with the patience of a man who has spent his life waiting for impossible things.

A metallic clang echoes somewhere outside. Another follows. Then hurried footsteps.

Kane's eyes sharpen. "They're up early."

The footsteps grow louder until they stop outside our cell. Keys rattle and the lock clicks. The heavy iron door swings inward. Six guards file inside, rifles already raised.

"On your feet." The guard in front commands. 

I exchange a glance with Lincoln before pushing myself upright. My muscles protest after spending the night on stone. Kane rises beside me with a quiet grunt.

One guard steps forward and unlocks the chains securing Lincoln to the wall, only to replace them with heavier shackles around his wrists. Another does the same to me. Cold metal bites into my skin.

The guard jerks my arms behind my back harder than necessary. "You Grounders never learn."

I bite back the urge to drive my elbow into his ribs. Only because I wouldn't make it three steps afterward.

"Move." He commands. 

The morning air is cold. I shiver involuntarily. A thin layer of mist hangs over Arkadia, drifting between the buildings like restless spirits. People have already begun gathering, abandoning their breakfasts and chores to watch as we're marched across camp. Every pair of eyes follows us. Some stare with open hatred. Others look uncomfortable. A few refuse to meet my gaze altogether.

I recognize several faces. People I had helped in Mount Weather. People I'd spoken with months ago. Now they stand in silence while rifles point at my back. Funny how quickly fear changes people.

Lincoln walks beside me with the same calm dignity he carries into everything. His chains rattle softly with every step.

Kane leans closer without looking at either of us. "They're making a spectacle of this."

"They want everyone watching," I murmur.

Lincoln nods once. "So no one questions what comes next."

We stop in the center of the camp. Pike waits on the platform outside the administration building. His hands are clasped behind his back. Bellamy stands several feet to his right. His eyes find mine almost instantly. I look away before he can mistake my expression for forgiveness. There isn't any.

Pike surveys the growing crowd before speaking. "People of Arkadia." His voice carries effortlessly across the square. "We've endured loss."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. "We've buried our friends." His gaze sweeps over the people assembled below. "We've been attacked in our homes."

A few nod in agreement. "And yet..." He turns toward us. "...there are still those among us who would side with our enemies."

He gestures toward Lincoln first. "This man is a Grounder." Lincoln doesn't react. "He aided in attacks against our people."

Pike steps toward Kane. "This man betrayed his own people." Kane keeps his head high. "He released dangerous prisoners."

Then Pike stops in front of me. His eyes narrow.

"And this..." He speaks louder. "...is Princess Y/N of the Ice Nation."

Whispers spread immediately through the crowd. Pike allows the murmurs to continue before raising a hand for silence.

"The war chief of Azgeda. She entered Arkadia under the protection of Commander Lexa." His lip curls around Lexa's name. "Then turned against us."

I laugh quietly. Several heads turn.

Pike notices. "You find something amusing?"

"I do." I lift my shackled hands as much as the chains allow. "You keep saying 'turned against us.'"

His expression hardens.

"I was never one of your people." The words land like a stone dropped into still water. Several Sky People exchange uncertain looks. "I came here to keep the peace," I continue.

"You declared war." Pike steps closer until only a foot separates us. "You helped twenty-eight enemy combatants escape."

"I helped twenty-eight innocent people survive," I say evenly. 

"They were Grounders." He snarls. 

"Yes. But they were also prisoners.” I reply calmly. The camp falls silent.

Pike studies me for a long moment before speaking again. "I expected better from a princess."

I smile without warmth. "And I expected better from a teacher."

Something flashes across his face. Anger. The crowd shifts uneasily. Bellamy stares at the ground. Pike straightens.

"For crimes against Arkadia..." His voice rings across the camp. ".. .I, Charles Pike, acting Chancellor, hereby sentence Marcus Kane, Lincoln, and Princess Y/N to death." The words echo through the square. Even the wind seems to stop.

I glance sideways at Kane. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Lincoln simply closes his eyes.

Pike continues. "The sentence will be carried out today."

A ripple of surprise spreads through the crowd. Today? Well, this complicates things. 

Even Bellamy looks up sharply. "Pike," he says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

Pike doesn't acknowledge him. "The executions will serve as a reminder." He looks over the people gathered before him. "Anyone who aids our enemies shares their fate."

My gaze drifts back to Bellamy. For just a second. His face has gone pale. He hadn't known. Well, let him feel, for one moment, what helplessness tastes like. Before I can look away, our eyes meet. Regret and desperation stare back at me. Bellamy takes half a step forward, almost without thinking.

Pike notices. "Guard them until it's time."

The spell breaks. Bellamy's shoulders stiffen. He doesn't move again.

The guards escort us back to the prison. The corridor is damp and dim, the air thick with mildew and rust. A guard shoves Lincoln through the cell door first. Kane follows. I stumble after him as another pair of hands tears the shackles from my wrists, only to fasten them to the ring bolted into the wall. The iron bites into my skin. The cell door slams shut, and the lock turns with a heavy click.

"There," one of the guards mutters. "Won't be long now." Their footsteps disappear down the corridor.

I sink against the wall, rubbing absentmindedly at the raw skin around my wrists. Across from me, Kane exhales slowly through his nose.

"So," I say, forcing a dry smile, "that could have gone better."

"It could have gone worse," Kane replies.

I arch an eyebrow. "I'm curious how."

"They could have done it immediately."

I huff a humorless laugh.

Lincoln remains standing near the bars, staring into the empty corridor. "They're nervous," he says quietly.

Kane joins him. "About what?"

"They announced the execution publicly." Lincoln doesn't look away. "Now they have to wait for the crowd."

I frown. "They want witnesses."

He nods once. "Fear spreads faster with an audience."

Minutes drag by. Or perhaps an hour. Time loses meaning when you're counting the breaths before your own execution. Somewhere farther down the block, a guard coughs. Water drips steadily from a cracked pipe overhead. The prison seems to breathe around us.

Many footsteps sound outside the door. Not the heavy, careless stride of Pike's guards. Kane straightens almost instantly. Lincoln's hand curls around one of the bars. The footsteps stop outside our cell.

A familiar voice whispers through the darkness. "Kane." Abby.

Kane closes his eyes for the briefest moment, relief flickering across his face. The lock clicks, and the door eases open. Abby slips inside first, followed by Octavia, Monty, Harper, and Miller.

Octavia doesn't hesitate. She crosses the cell in three strides and throws her arms around Lincoln. He catches her easily despite the chains, burying his face against her hair.

Monty is already fumbling with a ring of stolen keys.

"Hurry," Harper whispers, glancing over her shoulder. "We've only got a few minutes before the guards change shifts."

Miller kneels beside Kane, unlocking his shackles. "We've got a route through the maintenance tunnels," he says. "The cameras are down."

One by one, our chains fall to the floor with dull metallic clanks. I rub feeling back into my wrists as Abby presses a small knife into my hand. "We're getting you out."

I nod in thanks. Harper passes me a small knife, and I take it graciously. Within a few minutes, we’re ready to move.

I step out first, knife held low against my thigh. I have an odd sense that something is wrong. I take a breath to push down the feeling. The prison block stretches in both directions, lit only by the weak yellow glow of flickering bulbs.

"Clear," Miller whispers.

One by one, we slip into the hallway. Harper takes the lead. Monty follows close behind, clutching a radio he'd stripped from one of the guards. Abby stays near Kane, occasionally glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to come barreling around the corner.

Lincoln reaches for Octavia's hand. She takes it without hesitation. The sight twists something in my chest. I look away.

We reach the maintenance hatch and climb down one after another. The tunnels beneath Arkadia are cold and damp, barely wide enough for two people abreast.

"So this is your grand escape route?" I murmur.

Monty manages a nervous grin. "Not exactly what I pictured either."

"It's better than the front gate," Kane says.

"Low bar." I huff. A faint chuckle passes through the group before silence claims us again. No one wants to admit we're beginning to believe this might actually work.

The tunnel bends sharply to the left before opening into a wider utility corridor. Thick pipes snake along the ceiling, dripping steadily onto the concrete below. Every drop seems impossibly loud.

Miller raises a fist. We stop. Above us, muffled footsteps cross the ground. A truck engine rumbles somewhere in the camp before fading into the distance.

"Keep moving," he whispers.

The farther we get from the prison, the easier it becomes to breathe. Hope settles over the group in cautious silence. No alarms. No shouting. Just the steady rhythm of boots against damp concrete.

I glance over my shoulder. The prison entrance has long disappeared into darkness.

Monty checks the small handheld radio clipped to his belt. "So far, so good," he mutters. "The cameras are still looped."

Harper shoots him a look. "Don't jinx it."

"I didn't—" A burst of static interrupts him.

Everyone freezes. The radio crackles again. "...Sector Three..."

Monty frowns, turning the volume down. "They're checking in."

"Ignore it," Miller says.

"I am." He argues. 

Another burst of static. "...respond..."

Monty's face drains of color. "They're calling the prison guards." No one answers over the radio. The silence stretches for far too long. 

Harper looks at him. "How much time?"

"I don't know," Monty says. 

Kane's voice remains calm. "Then we assume none."

The tunnel narrows, forcing us into a single file. Abby stays close to Kane while Octavia refuses to let go of Lincoln's hand, as though releasing it would somehow make him disappear. I understand the feeling.

A rusted ladder rises toward a maintenance hatch overhead. Miller points toward it. "That's our exit."

Relief floods my chest. Monty reaches the base of the ladder. The tunnel erupts with the shrill scream of an alarm. Every light overhead flashes red.

"No," Monty breathes.

Static explodes from the radio.

"They found the guards," Harper gasps.

"They found the prison," Miller corrects grimly.

A heartbeat later, Charles Pike's voice echoes through the camp's loudspeakers, carried even into the tunnels beneath our feet.

"Attention. Security breach." His voice reverberates through the concrete walls. "All personnel report to your assigned sectors immediately." My pulse pounds in my ears.

"Go," Miller snaps.

We break into a run. The tunnel fills with pounding footsteps and ragged breathing. The hatch above grows closer with every stride.

Then Pike speaks again. "Lincoln." The single word cuts through the chaos like a knife. Lincoln slows. Only for an instant.

"If you continue this escape," Pike continues, his voice cold and deliberate, "the remaining Grounder prisoners in Arkadia will be executed."

My stomach drops. I look at Lincoln. His stride falters.

“He’s talking about the sick,” He states. Octavia grips his hand tighter.

"Keep running," she pleads.

He doesn't answer. He simply stares ahead, his expression unreadable.

"They're prisoners," I say, refusing to slow. "Pike needs them alive."

Lincoln's jaw tightens. "You've seen what he's capable of." I have. So has everyone else.

Another blast of static crackles overhead before Pike's voice returns. "You have one minute." The tunnel seems to shrink around us.

Octavia moves in front of Lincoln, forcing him to stop. "No."

He meets her eyes. "Move."

"No." Her voice breaks. "I'm not letting you do this." She grabs the front of his jacket with both hands. "You heard him," she whispers. "He's lying."

"Maybe," Lincoln says softly. 

"He is," Octavia argues. 

His hand rises to cradle her cheek. "Maybe."

"Lincoln." She says sternly, though her eyes fill with tears that betray her. 

Kane steps forward. "Lincoln."

Lincoln looks at him. "I've known men like Pike my entire life," Kane says evenly. "He wants leverage. Don't give it to him."

"And if I'm wrong?" Lincoln questions. Kane doesn't answer. None of us can.

The loudspeakers crackle once more. "Thirty seconds."

My heart pounds. I step toward Lincoln, grabbing his forearm. "We're almost out."

He looks at me. "I know."

"You don't owe Pike anything," I state. 

"I don't." He agrees with a sad smile. 

"You don't owe anyone your life." I say. 

His expression softens. "I owe my people everything." The words hit me like a blow. I understand what he means perfectly.

Behind us, Miller reaches the ladder. "We have to move!" he shouts. No one does.

Lincoln slips his hand from Octavia's grasp. She clings tighter. "Please." It isn't a command anymore. It's a prayer. "I can't lose you."

His thumb brushes away a tear that has escaped down her cheek. "You already found me."

Before anyone realizes what he's doing, he reaches into the pouch at his belt. A reaper stick flashes in his hand. He presses it against Octavia's neck. She gasps, and her grip loosens instantly. Her grip loosens almost instantly. Lincoln steadies her long enough to place her gently in Kane’s arms. She fights the sedative with everything she has.

Her fingers strain toward him. "Don't..." Her voice is barely audible. He kneels in front of her, resting his forehead against hers. He stands.

I step forward. "Lincoln." He turns to me. I see acceptance in his eyes. It makes my blood run cold.  "You don't have to do this." I plead. 

A small smile touches his lips. "Yes." His gaze softens. "I do."

I swallow hard. "We can still make it."

"No." He reaches out, resting both chained hands against my shoulders. "You've spent your life protecting your people," 

"So have you," I argue. I feel my throat tighten.

"You still have people who need you." His eyes search mine. "Roan." The name alone is enough to steal the air from my lungs. "Echo…”

I don't answer. I can't. Lincoln clasps my forearm, and I return the gesture. "I'm proud of the woman you've become."

My eyes burn. "I should've gotten here sooner."

"You came." His voice is gentle. "That was enough."

He steps back. Turning to Kane, he nods once. "Take care of her."

"I will," Kane answers quietly.

Lincoln gives me one last nod and retreats down the hallway. Every instinct screams at me to follow, to take his place, but I know that neither he nor Pike would ever allow that. 

One by one,  we climb up the ladder. Miller goes up first and takes Octavia from Kane’s arms. Everyone follows until it’s just Kane and me left. 

My feet are rooted to the stone. I can’t force myself up the ladder. 

“Y/N.” Kane says gently. “We have to go.”

I tear my gaze from the hallway to Kane’s face. I shake my head and climb up the ladder. Sunlight blinds me; it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Our group retreats into the treeline. Octavia is lying on her horse. 

The forest swallows us whole. Branches whip across my face as Sinclair leads the way with Miller at his side. Kane is only a few steps behind him, favoring his injured leg but refusing to slow.

I can't breathe. We’re running, and Lincoln isn’t. Every instinct screams at me to turn around. I do.

"Y/N!" Kane calls. 

Miller reaches me in no time. He lunges toward me and grabs my wrist.  I wrench my arm free from his grasp. "I'm not leaving him!"

"You can't go back," Miller calls out. 

"The hell I can't?" I shove past him.

His hand catches my wrist. "He made his choice."

"So did I." I rip free. "He doesn't get to decide whether I leave him behind." I bark.

Kane steps between us. "He stayed so we could live." His voice is calm despite the urgency. "Don't waste that."

My jaw clenches. "I've already buried enough people."

"I know." Kane rests a hand on my shoulder. "But Lincoln understood something we don't want to." I look at him. "He'd rather die standing by his convictions than spend the rest of his life wondering who else paid the price for his escape."

The words hit like a blade. Because they're true. They sound exactly like something Lincoln would say.

A single gunshot echoes through the trees. I freeze.

One shot. Pike hadn't even given him the dignity of a warrior's death.

The sound wakes Octavia. She tumbles off her horse onto the ground. Her eyes are searching for the one person who is not here. 

I feel something inside me snap. A strangled sound escapes my throat. A flash of my Father’s lifeless body is at the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t help Lincoln just like I couldn’t help my father. 

Octavia's scream shatters the world. It echoes through the trees, raw enough to make my knees give out beneath me. 

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” I whisper. 

Silence settles over us beside the sounds of Octavia’s heartbreaking sobs. A single tear threatens to spill. I blink it away.

“What now?” Harper whispers to Monty. Exhaustion and grief are evident on both of their faces. 

I close my eyes. Hard resolve coats my face. I force my gaze back to the direction of the cave. "The only thing left now..." I swallow. "...is to make sure his sacrifice meant something."

Octavia's cries continue behind us. They follow us into the forest. Long after the clearing disappears from view. Long after the gunshot fades. I can still hear her. And I know I always will.

One of them laughs. "Thought Ice Nation warriors were harder to knock down."

I don't dignify him with a response.

The farther down the hallway we descend, the quieter it becomes. The noise from the camp fades until the only sounds left are our footsteps and the occasional drip of water somewhere in the darkness. We stop outside a heavy iron door. One guard unlocks it.

The other gives me a rough shove between the shoulder blades. "Inside."

I catch myself before falling. The door slams shut behind me with a deafening clang. For a moment, I don't move. My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness.

"Y/N?" The voice is hoarse, but familiar. I turn toward the corner of the cell. Lincoln pushes himself to his feet.

His face is bruised, one eye swollen nearly shut, dried blood staining the collar of his shirt. Heavy chains wrap around his wrists and ankles, limiting every movement. Despite it all, he smiles

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "You look terrible."

"So do you." He chides. 

I cross the room in three quick strides and pull him into a careful embrace, mindful of the chains.

"We thought you were dead," he murmurs.

“It’ll take a lot more than Pike to get rid of me." I joke. 

Lincoln chuckles, though it quickly turns into a wince. "I've missed your optimism."

Another voice cuts through the darkness. "I was wondering how long it would take before one of you started insulting the other."

I turn. Kane sits against the far wall, one leg stretched out in front of him. His face is a patchwork of healing bruises. A split lip mars his otherwise composed expression, but his posture remains as straight as ever.

I smile despite myself. "You look terrible, too."

Kane sighs dramatically. "I see imprisonment hasn't improved your manners."

"It hasn't improved yours either." I retort. 

He rises with a groan, brushing the dust from his trousers. "I'm glad you're alive."

"I imagine Pike isn't." I huff. 

"No," Kane agrees quietly. "He isn't."

Heavy silence settles over the three of us. Lincoln breaks it first. "The others?"

"They made it," I inform.  Relief floods both their faces. "All twenty-eight," I continue.

"Octavia?" Lincoln asks. 

"Safe," I answer. 

"Kane's people?" He asks again. 

"Safe."

Lincoln closes his eyes. "Then it was worth it."

I nod once. "It was."

Hours pass. Or maybe minutes. It's impossible to tell with the lack of windows.

Lincoln tells me about the interrogations. How Pike demands the locations of Grounder villages. How every refusal earns another beating.

Kane speaks little. Instead, he watches us with quiet understanding.

Eventually, footsteps echo down the corridor, heavy and measured. Three guards stop outside our cell. One unlocks the door. Another remains outside. The third is Bellamy.  My stomach tightens before I can stop it.

He steps inside, carrying a bucket of water and a small sack of bread. None of us moves. "I brought food," he says.

Lincoln laughs bitterly. "How generous."

Bellamy ignores him. His eyes find mine instead.

Finally, I break the silence. "I didn't realize jailers delivered meals personally."

His jaw clenches. "I'm making sure you eat."

"I'd rather starve." I roll say, rolling my eyes. 

"You don't mean that," he argues. 

"No?" I ask. 

I take a slow step toward him. The chains around my wrists scrape softly together.

"You stood there." He says nothing. "You watched Pike throw me in here. You watched them put chains on Lincoln." Silence. "You watched Kane get beaten in front of the entire camp."

Lincoln quietly looks away. Kane says nothing.

Bellamy finally speaks. "I didn't want this."

I laugh once. A hollow, humorless sound. "You keep saying things like that."

"I mean it." He presses. 

"Do you?" I sigh. 

I stop only a few feet away. Close enough to see the exhaustion beneath his eyes. Close enough to notice he hasn't slept much either. "Because from where I'm standing..." I glance deliberately at the shackles around my wrists. "...it looks an awful lot like you chose this."

His expression falters. "You don't understand."

"No." My voice is calm, far calmer than I feel. "I understand perfectly."

The words hit harder than shouting ever could. "You believe you're protecting your people." I say. His eyes widen slightly. 

"I remember the man beneath Mount Weather." Bellamy stills. "He would've burned this camp to the ground before letting innocent people end up in chains." I shake my head slowly. "I don't know who you are anymore."

Bellamy recoils as if I’d struck him. He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. The silence stretches unbearably.

Bellamy's shoulders sag. "I can still fix this."

I shake my head. "No." He looks up. "You don't get to fix this."

For the first time since I've known him, Bellamy Blake has no answer.

A guard clears his throat from the doorway. "Time." Bellamy doesn't move. The guard repeats himself more firmly. "Blake."

Bellamy finally sets the bread and water on the floor. As he turns to leave, he pauses beside me. "So you really hate me now."

I don't look at him. "I don't hate you."

He turns back, surprised. Hope flickers across his face. I extinguish it.

He hesitates. "Then what?"

I hold his gaze. "Nothing." Confusion crosses his face. "That's worse, isn't it?" I don't answer. I don't have to.

I lower my eyes to the floor. Indifference isn't supposed to hurt. Yet something twists painfully in my chest as Bellamy turns away. I hate that I feel it at all. He lingers for another second before quietly leaving the cell. The heavy door slams shut behind him.

Lincoln lets out a low whistle. "You certainly know where to stick the knife."

I sink against the wall, pressing my knees into my chest. "No." I stare at the closed door long after Bellamy disappears. "I just told him the truth."

The silence stretches between us, broken only by the steady drip of water somewhere deeper in the corridor.

Finally, Kane exhales. "You got through to him."

I shake my head. "I don't think I did."

"You did," Kane insists quietly. "Whether he's willing to admit it or not."

I let out a humorless laugh. "I don't care anymore." The words leave my mouth easily. Too easily.

Lincoln studies me for a long moment before looking away. "You don't believe that."

Before I can answer, hurried footsteps echo through the corridor outside. Several guards. Voices overlap, too muffled to make out the words, but the urgency in them is unmistakable.

The three of us exchange a glance. Kane slowly pushes himself to his feet. "Something's happened."

The footsteps stop outside our cell for only a moment before continuing farther down the corridor. Doors slam. Someone shouts an order. Metal scrapes against stone. A heavy silence follows. The kind that settles over a battlefield just before the first arrow is loosed.

Lincoln leans his head back against the wall. "Pike's planning something." No one argues. Because we all know he's right.

I close my eyes, listening to the prison breathe around us. An uneasy feeling settles deep in my chest. I don't know what Pike is planning, but I know men like him. They don't let victories slip away without demanding something in return. And I have a sinking feeling we're about to pay the price.

Octavia is waiting where we agreed. "This way." She doesn't waste another word.

Together we weave between cabins, sticking to the deepest shadows until we reach an abandoned maintenance shed tucked behind the machine shop.

Octavia knocks twice. A pause. Then the door creaks open. Three people wait inside.

A young woman with blonde hair tied back in a loose braid studies me with open curiosity. Beside her stands a young, broad-shouldered man, his expression cautious, one hand resting near the pistol at his hip. The oldest of the three has silver beginning to creep through his hair, grease staining the sleeves of his work jacket.

The room falls silent.

"She’s with us," Octavia assures the group before anyone can speak.

She nods toward the young woman. "This is Harper." Harper gives me a small, uncertain smile.

Then to the broad-shouldered man. "Nathan Miller." He offers a curt nod. "And Sinclair."

The older man extends a weathered hand. "I've heard stories."

"I hope not all of them," I answer honestly. 

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I imagine the truth is more interesting."

Octavia shuts the door behind us. "Kane got word out before Pike locked him down completely." She spreads a rough map of Arkadia across the workbench. "We don't have much time."

Miller points toward the maintenance building. "The prison."

"I've watched it," I say.

His eyebrows lift. "I figured."

I step beside the table. "Two guards remain outside at all times. A third patrols the perimeter every few minutes."

Miller nods. "That's consistent with what I've seen."

"Food deliveries happen twice a day," I continue. "Water three."

"And shift change?" Sinclair asks.

"Forty seconds," I answer. 

Harper blinks. "You timed it?"

"For three days." I nod. Silence settles over the room.

Miller lets out a low whistle. "Damn."

Octavia folds her arms. "She knows Arkadia almost as well as we do."

"Better," Harper mutters.

I ignore the comment. "The problem isn't getting in." Four pairs of eyes turn toward me. "It's getting twenty-eight prisoners out before Pike realizes they're gone."

Sinclair taps another section of the map. "We've got ropes hidden outside the eastern wall."

Miller nods. "I can get the keys."

"I'll create the distraction," Harper says.

Octavia looks at me. "And you?"

I study the map one last time."I stay between the prisoners and anyone trying to stop them."

No one argues. Because they all know what that means. If things go wrong, I'll be the last one to leave.

The camp doesn't sleep. It only grows quieter. Clouds drift across the moon, plunging Arkadia into darkness before allowing silver light to spill across the settlement once more. We wait beneath the cover of the trees, each of us listening for the same sound. The changing of the guard.

Miller crouches beside me, his eyes fixed on the prison.

"Forty seconds," he murmurs.

"I know," I whisper sharply. 

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I figured."

Across the clearing, Harper adjusts the satchel slung over her shoulder. Sinclair waits farther back near the breach in the eastern wall, where thick ropes have already been secured beneath the damaged palisade.

Octavia kneels beside me. "You ready?" I ask her. 

"No." She answers honestly. 

"Good," I say. She almost laughs. For the first time in days, I return the smile.

Then the bell rings. The guards at the prison straighten before one pair begins walking toward the square. Another pair rounds the corner to replace them.

Miller is already moving. He slips between the buildings with practiced ease, disappearing into the darkness. A heartbeat later, one of the replacement guards stiffens. "Hey!" He looks down. His key ring is gone. Miller is halfway across the square before the man realizes what happened.

"Stop him!" The guard gives chase. Exactly as planned.

Harper darts from the opposite direction, knocking over a stack of supply crates. Wood crashes against the ground. Glass shatters. Another shout echoes through camp. "Over here!"

Within seconds, half the nearby guards are running toward the commotion.

Octavia looks at me. "Now."

We sprint across the open ground. Only one guard remains outside the prison door. He barely has time to raise his rifle. I knock the barrel aside and drive the pommel of my sword into his jaw. He collapses without a sound.

Miller appears from the darkness, slightly out of breath, tossing the stolen keys toward Octavia. "Nice catch," he mutters.

She unlocks the heavy door. Iron groans against stone. Weary faces emerge from the darkness. One by one, they step into the cool night air.

Several recognize me immediately.

"Osir." An older man speaks. 

I shake my head. "No titles."

A young warrior struggles to stay on his feet. I catch him before he falls. "We're getting you out."

Another prisoner grips my forearm. "Heda..."

"Still lives," I assure. Relief washes over his face.

"Move," Octavia urges. “No stopping."

The line begins to flow toward the eastern wall. Sinclair is already waiting, helping the weakest prisoners over the damaged section of the palisade. Harper covers the rear, constantly glancing over her shoulder.

Twenty-eight. I count every single one. No one is left behind.

A horn suddenly blares through the camp. My stomach drops. Someone found the unconscious guard. Lights flicker to life across Arkadia. Voices erupt from every direction.

"They're escaping!"

"Prisoners!"

"To the east wall!"

Miller curses under his breath. "They're faster than I thought."

"They're scared," I answer. "Fear makes people run."

Gunfire cracks through the night. The first bullet splinters the fence beside me. Another whistles overhead. The prisoners begin scrambling over the ropes.

"Hurry!" Harper shouts.

I glance toward the wall. Half are already over.

A squad of armed guards rounds the corner. Too many.

"If they reach the wall—" Miller begins. 

"They won't." I cut him off.  I step into the middle of the path, drawing my sword.

Behind me, Octavia hesitates. "Y/N—"

"Get them out." I order. 

"We're not leaving you." She pleads. 

"You are." I command. 

Another volley of rifle fire erupts. I charge. The first guard barely raises his weapon before I knock it from his hands. The second swings the butt of his rifle toward my head. I duck beneath it and drive my shoulder into his chest. He crashes into two more soldiers, sending all three sprawling. My goal is to incapictate not leave bodies in my wake, as much as i would like to. 

More guards pour into the clearing. I don't stop moving. Steel flashes and a rifle clatters across the ground. Another guard falls.

Behind me, I hear ropes creaking. More prisoners are escaping. "Move!" Octavia shouts from the wall. Only a handful remain inside. The plan is working.

"Hold your fire!" The command cuts through the chaos. Every guard hesitates.

I know that voice. Bellamy.

He pushes through the line of soldiers, breathing hard, rifle slung across his shoulder.

His eyes widen in recognition. "Y/N."

"So we finally meet again." I sneer. 

"What are you doing?" He barks. 

I glance toward the wall, where the last of the prisoners disappear into the forest. "What does it look like?"

His jaw tightens. "I can’t let you do this." His expression is torn. 

"I know." 

"Then leave." The words catch me off guard. He's giving me a chance.

Around us, the guards exchange confused glances. One of them looks toward Bellamy. "What are you waiting for?"

Bellamy doesn't answer. Our eyes remain locked. For one impossible heartbeat, the world narrows to the space between us.

Then Pike's voice shatters the silence. "Blake!"

Bellamy turns instinctively. It's enough.

A guard lunges from my blind side. I spin too late. The butt of a rifle slams into my shoulder, knocking me off balance. Another crashes into my ribs. Hands seize my arms. I wrench one free and strike the nearest soldier across the face. He falls. Three more replace him. I fight anyway. Someone catches my leg from behind. I hit the ground hard. My sword skids across the dirt.

Bellamy reaches me first. He grabs my wrist before another guard can. For a second, his grip is surprisingly gentle.

"Don't." He pleads. 

I meet his eyes. "I don't surrender."

"I know." He sighs. 

“I thought you were better than this, I guess I was wrong.” I snarl. Bellamy looks away and doesn’t answer. I note the way his shoulders fall in shame. 

Another soldier tears my other arm behind my back. Metal cuffs snap shut around my wrists. I stop struggling. Over Bellamy's shoulder, I catch sight of the eastern wall. The ropes sway gently in the breeze. The last Grounder disappears into the trees. They're free. A small smile finds its way onto my face.

A familiar voice cuts through the chaos. "Stand her up."

The guards wrench me to my feet. I don't resist. Pike pushes through the crowd, his expression darkening the moment our eyes meet. 

"Princess." His tone drips with disdain.

"Chancellor," I reply evenly.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd show yourself." He says. 

I flash him a humorless smile. "You aren't worth the effort."

His jaw tightens. "You came a long way just to lose."

I glance toward the eastern wall. The ropes still sway gently where the last of the Grounders disappeared into the forest.

"No," I correct. "I came a long way to make sure they won."

For the first time, Pike follows my gaze. The realization settles over him like a storm cloud. The prison is empty. Every Grounder is gone. His face twists with fury.

"You let them escape," he snarls at the guards. No one answers. 

Pike turns back to me. "I should execute you where you stand."

"You've threatened me before." I hold his gaze without blinking. "I'm still here."

For a heartbeat, I think he might do it. Instead, his anger gives way to something colder.

"No." A cruel smile spreads across his face. "Dead, you're a martyr." He steps closer until only inches separate us. "Alive..." he says quietly, "you're leverage."

The smile fades from my face. Pike looks to the guards. "Lock her up." He commands. 

Strong hands shove me forward. As they drag me toward the council building, I catch Bellamy in my peripheral vision. He's still standing where I left him. He doesn't try to stop them. He doesn't even meet my eyes. Somehow, that hurts more than the shackles around my wrists.

I’ve been scouting Arkadia for three days. Unfortunately, this mission has taken more time and patience than I had hoped. 

The inside of Arkadia is quiet at this hour. A faint mist hangs over the settlement, softening the living quarters and the watchtowers looming above them. Most of the camp still sleeps.

I move unseen between buildings, sticking to the spaces where moonlight can't quite reach.

By now, I've memorized every patrol. The northern tower changes guards every four hours and the western wall every six. The men assigned to the eastern perimeter spend more time talking than watching the tree line.

I stop behind the corner of an empty supply shed. Two guards stand outside the old maintenance building across the yard, rifles hanging lazily from their shoulders.

I've watched enough to know there are twenty-eight Grounders in the cells. None of them is Lincoln. The first night, I'd crawled beneath a narrow cellar window and whispered through the iron bars.

A prisoner recognized my accent before he recognized my face. The word had spread through the darkness until nearly every prisoner knew someone from Azgeda had come.

Hope. It can be a dangerous thing.

They'd told me Lincoln had been moved. No one knew where. Only that Pike considered him too valuable to keep with the others. I haven't stopped looking since. 

The settlement slowly comes alive as the sun climbs above the trees. I can almost forget where I am until i see the rifles. Armed guards walk about patrolling the camp. 

Peace built on fear isn't peace at all.

I will admit, I haven't been as careful lately. I've had one too many close calls, and eventually luck runs out.

The sound of a familiar voice carries across the square. Instinct takes over before I can think. I slip into the shadow of the mess hall, keeping myself hidden as I listen.

"...Pike made the right decision." Bellamy.

I peer carefully around the corner. He's standing beside two guards near the armory, his rifle hanging across his back. He looks tired. The easy confidence I remember has been replaced by something harder.

He says something I can't hear. One of the guards laughs. Bellamy doesn't.

Instead, his eyes drift across the camp, scanning rooftops and alleyways with practiced instinct. For one terrifying second, I think he's looking directly at me. I melt farther into the shadows. His gaze lingers. Then moves on. Only when he's gone do I allow myself to breathe again.

By midday, the camp buzzes with activity. I've learned which buildings sit empty during the day. Which roofs offer the best vantage points. Which storage buildings no one bothers to lock. The old machine shed near the eastern wall has become my favorite. Its roof overlooks nearly half the settlement.

From here, I watch everything. Kane leaves the Chancellor's residence under heavy guard. His hands aren't bound. Yet. I’ve picked up on the heavy surveillance that Pike has placed on him others that he believes are involved. 

Two armed men escort Kane toward the Chancellor’s office. Pike is already waiting outside. Even from this distance, I can see the tension between them.

The meeting lasts less than twenty minutes. When Kane emerges, his jaw is tight. Negotiations aren't going well, it seems. I huff and push away from the wall I was leaning against.  

The afternoon passes slowly. I spend most of it circling the outer edge of camp. On my fourth pass, something catches my attention. A girl. Dark hair. Small frame. Something about her seems familiar, but I can’t place what. 

She isn't walking anywhere in particular. She's watching.  Watching… Me. I curse mentally and keep moving as though I haven’t noticed.

If she's only curious, disappearing now confirms suspicion. I round the corner of a supply cabin before ducking into a narrow alley between two buildings. Silence follows, but it’s short-lived. Seconds later, light footsteps follow. She's following me. Interesting.

I wait until the footsteps are nearly beside me. Then I move. One hand grabs her wrist, the other clamps over her mouth. In a single motion, I pull her into the empty building beside us, kicking the door shut behind us.

She reacts instantly. An elbow slams toward my ribs. I twist aside. She tears free, producing a knife almost faster than I can track. My sword is in my hand just as quickly. A few seconds pass as I wait for her to make the first move. Dust hangs in shafts of afternoon light spilling through gaps in the wooden walls.

Then recognition flashes across her face. "...You," she breathes, disbelief evident in her expression.

I raise a brow, my grip on my sword unwavering. "Do I know you?"

She hesitates before slowly sheathing her knife. "My name's Octavia," she says carefully. "Octavia Blake."

The name lands a heartbeat before the connection does. Blake. Bellamy.

I study her face again, this time seeing the resemblance and concluding what was familiar about her. The same dark eyes and the same stubborn set of the jaw.

"Bellamy's sister," I murmur. She gives a single nod.

"Kane mentioned you would be here," she says. "I just didn't expect to find you first."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" I ask, my sword still poised between us.

"You don't," she admits. "But if I wanted to hand you over to Pike, I would've brought guards instead of coming alone."

I search her expression for any sign of deceit and find only exhaustion and something else. Resolve. Satisfied, I lower my blade an inch. "So," I say evenly, "you're harder to lose than I expected."

Octavia almost smiles and then her eyes flick briefly toward the door before returning to me. "We shouldn't stay here."

"I agree," I say. I ease my sword back into its scabbard, though my hand lingers near the hilt. Octavia notices but says nothing. Together, we slip from the abandoned cabin and wind through the narrow alleys between buildings until the sounds of the camp begin to fade.

She leads me to the edge of the eastern wall, where the forest threatens to swallow the settlement whole. A weather-beaten metal panel, mottled with rust and nearly concealed by tangled undergrowth, creates a narrow alcove hidden from prying eyes.

"I found it a few weeks ago," Octavia says. "No one comes out here."

I give the space a quick once-over before nodding. "Good."

Silence settles between us. Neither of us seems eager to be the first to speak. Finally, Octavia breaks it. "Kane said you'd come."

"I told him I would." I say sharply. 

"He also said you'd have a plan." Octavia says. 

"I do." I tell her. 

She raises an eyebrow. "Then why haven't you acted?"

I glance toward the walls of Arkadia, barely visible through the trees. "Because I don't have an opening."

She studies me for a moment. "How long have you been inside the camp?"

"Three days."

Her eyes widen ever so slightly. "You've been sneaking in and out every day?" I nod.

"I know every patrol route inside those walls. I know when the guards change shifts, which watchtowers are manned by the same soldiers, and which ones get careless before dawn."

I crouch, drawing a rough outline of Arkadia into the dirt with the tip of my dagger.

"The prison's here." I mark a square near the eastern wall. "Two guards outside at all times. A third circles the perimeter every few minutes. Food comes twice a day. Water three."

Octavia kneels beside me, watching silently.

"I've counted twenty-eight Grounders in that building." I inform her. 

"But not Lincoln." She says sadly. 

"No." I drag the blade across the dirt, erasing the prison. "I've searched every place that makes sense."

"So have I," Octavia says quietly. I look up.

"They're keeping him separate," she continues. "Pike thinks he'll eventually give up the locations of Grounder villages."

"He won't."

"I know." She agrees. 

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

"I've watched Kane, too," I say. "Every day they escort him from the living residence to the Chancellor’s office. Every day he comes back looking worse."

Octavia's jaw tightens. "They moved him this morning."

My head snaps toward her. "What?"

"He's not under house arrest anymore."

A knot forms in my stomach. "They imprisoned him." I guess. I must have missed this while I was outside of camp attending to Faye. 

"He refused Pike's orders in front of everyone," Octavia explains. "Pike called him a traitor."

I close my eyes briefly. Of course he did. Kane would never stand by while innocent people suffered.

"He expected this," I murmur.

"He still walked into it." Octavia studies the ground before meeting my eyes again. 

"That's who he is." I comment. Octavia nods. For the first time since we met, some of the tension between us begins to ease.

"What about Bellamy?" I ask.

Her expression hardens almost instantly. "What about him?"

"I've seen him with Pike." I state. 

"He's with him all the time." There's hurt in her voice, raw and unmistakable.

"I've tried talking to him. Kane tried too." She shakes her head. "He won't listen."

I think back to the man I met beneath Mount Weather. The man who risked everything to save his people. The man patrolling Arkadia's walls wears the same face. I'm not convinced he's the same person.

"I've been waiting," I say at last.

"For what?" Octavia asks. 

I brush away part of the map I'd drawn. "The moment Pike makes a mistake."

Octavia looks toward the prison. "You think he will?"

I meet her eyes. "Everyone does."

For a moment, the only sound between us is the wind rustling through the pines beyond Arkadia's walls.

Octavia studies the crude map I'd scratched into the dirt. "So we wait."

"No," I correct. "We prepare."

She looks at me expectantly.

"When Pike slips, we move before he realizes he's fallen." I say. 

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "You really have thought this through."

"I've had three days." I tell her. 

"And if he doesn't make a mistake?" She asks fiddling with her hands. 

I sheathe my dagger and brush the dirt from my hands. "He already has."

She tilts her head.

"Kane." I state. 

Realization flashes across her face.

"He arrested the former Chancellor." I explain.  "He arrested the man half this camp still respects." I glance toward the walls. "Fear keeps people obedient... until it doesn't."

Octavia is quiet. I can almost see the pieces falling into place.

"If Pike keeps tightening his grip," she says slowly, "someone will push back."

"They already are." I state. 

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I've watched the camp." I look toward the settlement, where smoke curls lazily above the rooftops. "People don't look at Pike the way they used to."

"The guards?" She aks. 

"The civilians." I correct.  I think of hushed conversations cut short whenever soldiers passed. Of wary glances exchanged across the square.

"They're afraid." Octavia states understanding. 

"And fear breeds resentment." I tell her. 

A bell rings from somewhere inside Arkadia. Once. Twice.

The guards we'd been watching abandon their posts, hurrying toward the center of camp.

My brow furrows. "That's not routine."

"No," Octavia says, already moving toward the edge of the brush. "Come on."

We crouch behind a thicket overlooking the square, careful to keep the undergrowth between us and the settlement.

Nearly everyone in Arkadia has gathered. Civilians stand shoulder to shoulder outside the council building, whispering amongst themselves. Armed guards form a perimeter around the crowd. 

Then the doors open. Two guards emerge first. Kane follows between them. His wrists are bound in front of him, his face marked by fresh bruises I hadn't seen this morning. Despite it all, he walks with his head held high.

Pike steps out behind him.

"The former Chancellor has refused repeated lawful orders," he announces, his voice carrying across the square. "He has chosen to side with our enemies over his own people."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Some nod. Others stare at the ground.

Pike steps in front of Kane. "One last chance."

Kane meets his gaze without flinching. "I'm not your enemy, Charles."

Pike's jaw tightens. For the briefest moment, silence settles over the square. Then Pike rips a shock baton from the belt of the guard beside him. The crack of electricity splits the air. Before anyone can react, he drives the baton into Kane's abdomen. Kane's body seizes violently. He crumples to his knees, every muscle locking as the current courses through him.

Octavia surges forward. I catch her forearm. "Don't," I whisper urgently.

She reluctantly stills. 

Kane struggles back to his feet without assistance. His breathing is ragged. His knees threaten to give out.

Pike stares at him for a long moment before nodding to the guards. "Take him back."

The soldiers drag Kane toward the prison. As he disappears inside, I catch one last glimpse of him. He hasn't surrendered.

The heavy door slams shut. The crowd begins to disperse in uneasy silence. Fear has won another day.

I finally release Octavia’s arm.

"I've never seen him do that before," she says quietly.

I keep my eyes fixed on the prison door long after the square empties. Pike wanted to make an example of Kane. He's shown me exactly what kind of man he is.

I turn toward Octavia. "We don't wait any longer."

She studies my face for a moment. Then she nods. "Tomorrow?"

I shake my head. "No." I glance back toward the prison one last time. "Tonight."

I wasn’t necessarily overjoyed that Kane would be accompanying me on the journey to Arkadia. But it does make sense. We need each other for this to work. 

The gates of Polis disappeared behind us hours ago, swallowed by towering pines and winding trails. Every breath carries the scent of cedar, damp earth, and rain that had fallen sometime during the night.

Kane rides a few lengths ahead of me. He doesn't rush our pace. There is no reason to. Arkadia isn't expecting us, and after Pike's massacre of the Coalition army, neither of us is eager to announce our arrival.

I shift in my saddle, rolling my shoulder until it gives a satisfying pop. Some mornings, the scars ache before the sun has even risen. Others, I barely notice them. Today falls somewhere in between.

The trail bends around a narrow stream. Our horses slow, carefully picking their way across smooth stones worn flat by years of rushing water. When we reach the opposite bank, I glance back out of habit. Checking for any movement. 

"You've checked behind us six times." Kane’s voice cuts through the quiet. 

"I've checked behind us six times that you've noticed." I correct. 

He chuckles. "I stand corrected."

I shrug. "Someone has to pay attention."

"I wasn't aware I had stopped," Kane responds with a small smile. He looks at me with a contemplative expression. "You remind me of Indra."

I raise an eyebrow. "I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one." That earns him the faintest smile.

Indra has always been one of the fiercest warriors I've ever known. To be compared to her… There are worse things.

The forest thickens as afternoon settles around us. Sunlight struggles to reach the ground beneath the dense canopy, painting everything in muted greens and golds. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cries overhead.

Eventually, Kane breaks the silence again. "Do you miss it?" 

I glance over at him. "Azgeda?"

He nods. I let the question settle between us before answering.

"I miss parts of it," I say honestly. 

"Such as?" He prods. 

I look back at the trail ahead.  "The mountains, the winters. The sound of snow beneath your boots before dawn." I pause. "I suppose every place is made up of good memories and bad ones."

Kane is quiet for a moment. "And which outweighs the other?"

I think about it longer than I expect. "When I was younger, I would've said the bad." I brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Now, I think home is the people you leave behind."

I picture Roan standing in the throne room after Mother's death. Echo leaning against the war table, pretending not to worry. Varen’s steady presence at my right hand while riding into battle. 

"They're the reason I'd go back."

Kane nods slowly. "I understand that better than you might think."

"I imagine you do," I tell him. 

"I've spent months trying to rebuild Arkadia into the home I believed it could become." His gaze stays fixed on the trail. "I'm no longer certain it exists."

The sadness in his voice catches me off guard. 

"Pike changed it." I offer. 

"He did." Kane agrees. 

"You blame yourself." I guess. 

His horse slows almost imperceptibly. "I was Chancellor."

I don't answer immediately. Because I understand the question. I have asked myself similar ones. Regret is an endless road, one with no destination.

"You can only answer for your own choices," I finally say. "Not someone else's."

He glances back at me. "I've heard the Commander say something similar."

"I probably stole it from her," I smirk. 

That earns a genuine laugh. The sound surprises both of us.

By the time the sun begins its descent, we leave the trail in search of higher ground. A small clearing overlooks a narrow valley, sheltered on three sides by stone outcroppings that break the wind.

"It'll do," I say.

Kane nods. 

We work without discussing it. I gather firewood. He tends to the horses. By the time darkness settles across the forest, a small fire crackles between us. Silence settles over us as we eat.  The flames dance across Kane's face as he studies the fire.

"You've traveled like this before," Kane says. It's less a question than an observation.

"My father believed warriors should know every road through Azgeda," I say, wiping remnants of dried venison on my pants. 

"So he took you with him." Kane prompts. 

I nod. "From the time I was eight."

"That seems..." He searches for the word. "Young."

"In Azgeda, if you're old enough to hold a sword, you're old enough to learn," I say offhandedly. 

"And were you?" He asks. 

I look into the flames. "No." He waits. "I wanted to chase rabbits through the snow." A quiet smile finds its way onto my face. "I wanted to climb trees. I wanted to race Roan down frozen rivers." I poke at the fire with a stick. "My father let me."

Kane looks up. "Despite the training?"

"He said childhood wasn't weakness." The smile fades. "He said it was something worth protecting."

The silence that follows is heavy. Because we both know how mine ended.

Finally, Kane speaks. "He sounds like he was a good man."

"He was." I nod. 

I stare into the flames. The fire crackles. Somewhere beyond the clearing, wolves begin to howl. I listen until the sound fades into the wilderness. 

"You know," Kane says quietly, "before all this...  the Ark wasn't so different." I look at him. "There were children running through the ship every morning." His eyes soften with the memory. "They'd complain about school. Sneak extra desserts from the mess hall. Pretend not to listen when their parents called them home." He smiles to himself. "I used to think they were too loud."

"And now?" I ask. 

"I'd welcome the noise." He answers sadly. 

For a long moment, I picture it. Children laughing. People arguing over chores instead of territory. A home where no one has to carry a sword. It's difficult to imagine.

Kane notices my expression. "You've never lived in peace." It isn't a question.

I shake my head. "No."

He looks back toward the fire. "I hope one day you do."

I don't answer. Because I don't know what peace would look like anymore.

The flames burn lower. One by one, the sounds of the forest quiet around us. Kane retires first, unrolling his bedroll a few feet from the dying flames. Within minutes, his breathing evens, though I doubt he's truly asleep. I volunteer for the first watch without discussion. I tighten my cloak around my shoulders and lean against a weathered pine. Sleep never comes easily anymore. I opt for resting my eyes instead. 

We break camp shortly after sunrise. The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine needles warmed by the growing light. Dew clings to the grass, soaking the hems of my trousers as I tighten my horse's saddle.

"You don't sleep much," Kane comments. 

"I sleep enough." I gruff. 

"I don't think you do." He says, almost concerned. 

I busy myself tightening a strap across my saddle. "We should keep moving." He doesn't argue.

The morning passes with little conversation. Just before midday, the trees begin to thin. The trail climbs steadily upward until the forest suddenly falls away. I pull my horse to a stop.

Arkadia stretches before us. Wooden walls rise from the valley below, reinforced with sharpened stakes and watchtowers. Smoke curls lazily from chimneys inside the settlement, disappearing into the clear blue sky. Even from this distance, I can make out figures moving along the walls, rifles slung over their shoulders as they patrol the perimeter.

If I didn't know better, I could convince myself it was simply another village. Instead, I know those walls hold prisoners.

Kane finally breaks the silence. "This is where we separate."

I nod. "I know."

I swing down from my horse, my boots sinking into the soft earth. Looping the reins around a low-hanging branch, I retrieve my bow and quiver before fastening the straps across my shoulders. My sword hangs at my hip, worn leather wrapping the hilt smooth from years of use. I give it a habitual tug to ensure it sits loose in its scabbard before adjusting the dagger strapped to my thigh. I'm a walking armory, every weapon exactly where muscle memory expects it to be. I only hope I won't need to draw a single one.

"If they see me with you," I say, "you'll never make it through the gate."

Kane nods. 

"They'll see Ice Nation before they see diplomacy." I finish. 

He reaches into his saddlebag and removes a folded piece of parchment. "I drew this from memory."

I unfold it. A rough map of Arkadia. Along the eastern wall, a broken fence has been circled twice.

"If it's still accessible," Kane says, tapping the charcoal marking, "it's the least conspicuous way inside."

I study it for a moment before committing the layout to memory. Then I tuck the parchment beneath my bracer. "It'll be enough."

Kane exhales slowly. "If Pike arrests me—"

"He probably will," I interject. 

A weary smile crosses his face. "I appreciate your confidence."

"I'm being realistic," I argue, rolling my eyes. 

His smile lingers another moment before fading. "If I'm taken..."

I look down toward the walls of Arkadia. "I'll find another way in."

For the first time since leaving Polis, Kane extends his forearm. I clasp it without hesitation.

"Bring them home," he says quietly.

"I intend to."

He mounts his horse once more. Without another word, he turns toward the winding road leading to Arkadia's gates.

I wait until he's well out of sight. Then I slip into the trees. From here on, I'm a shadow.

I spent years convincing myself I hated this city. It was too warm. Too loud. Too alive. The streets overflowed with people who laughed too easily and smiled without reason. It felt foreign to me. Nothing like Azgeda. In the Ice Nation, joy was a rare thing. The cold had a way of settling into your bones, hardening people long before life ever could. Smiles were few and far between, and laughter was quieter still. 

I have begun to understand why Lexa loves this place. It is alive.

I throw the furs aside and sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from my eyes.My shoulder throbs with the familiar ache of an old injury. I roll it carefully, trying to work the stiffness free. A sharp pop echoes through the quiet room, and I wince as the joint settles back into place.

A servant left fresh water outside my chambers before sunrise. I carry the basin inside and splash the cold water across my face. It shocks me awake.

I catch my reflection in the polished bronze mirror leaning against the wall. Dark circles still shadow my eyes. The scar across my cheek catches the morning light. I trace it gently with my fingertips. Bellamy gave me that one, not intentionally.  A piece of shattered concrete during the explosion in Mount Weather. Funny. It’s one of the few scars I don't resent. I snort quietly to myself. If he heard that, his ego would never recover. 

I braid my hair slowly. My father taught me never to rush something you'll wear into battle. I smile before I realize I'm doing it. The smile disappears almost as quickly. I realize that remembering him doesn't hurt the way it used to. Perhaps healing isn't forgetting. It's finally allowing yourself to remember the good alongside the bad.

I fasten the last leather tie around my braid before reaching for my sword. The familiar weight settles against my hip.

The tower is already awake. Servants hurry through the corridors carrying baskets of fresh bread. Novices weave between them with stacks of scrolls balanced precariously in their arms. Somewhere below, I hear warriors laughing.

As I descend the spiral staircase, more than one guard greets me with a respectful nod. I return each one.

I step into the courtyard just as the training grounds begin to fill. Young warriors pair off with wooden staffs while veterans bark corrections. Without thinking, I drift toward them.

An instructor notices me immediately.

"Princess." He greets with a nod. 

He tosses me a wooden practice sword.

I catch it one-handed without thinking. The weapon is laughably light. I unbuckle the sheath at my hip and set my own blade against the bench. Only then do I give the practice sword my attention, rolling the hilt through my palm before spinning it once between my fingers. 

A nervous young recruit steps forward. He cannot be older than sixteen.

His eyes widen. "I have to spar with her?"

The instructor claps him on the shoulder. "You wanted experience."

The poor boy looks ready to faint. I almost tell him I'll go easy. Instead, I settle into my stance.

My father would never have allowed anyone to take pity on me because I was younger. Why should I insult this boy by doing the same?

"Come on," I say, twirling the wooden blade once. "I promise not to embarrass you too badly."

His ears turn bright red. He charges anyway. He's learning already. The recruit lasts less than two minutes. 

By the time I leave the training yard, the morning drills are still in full swing. The clash of wooden blades and barked commands fade behind me as I make my way through the palace halls toward the council chamber. The morning meeting has just ended, and the chamber has long since emptied. 

The echoes of departing ambassadors fade down the stone corridors of the tower, leaving behind an almost unsettling silence. Only the steady crackle of the braziers remains.

I linger near the great map table, absentmindedly pushing one of the carved wooden clan markers back into place.

Azgeda. Roan had nearly forgotten it when the meeting dissolved. Typical.

"You've been staring at that piece of wood for quite some time." A voice calls out. 

I glance over my shoulder. Marcus Kane stands in the doorway. He looks exhausted.

The journey from Arkadia has left dust clinging to the hem of his dark coat, and the lines around his eyes seem deeper than I remember. He carries himself with the same quiet dignity he always has, but something about him has changed. Perhaps it is guilt or maybe desperation. 

"What brings Skaikru's ambassador back so soon?" I ask.

"I was hoping to speak with you." He says. 

"What about?” I ask skeptically. 

He hesitates and looks around the room. "Privately."

My eyes narrow. "What is it that Lexa and my brother cannot hear?"

"It concerns Arkadia." He answers. 

"Then she should hear it," I state. 

"It concerns Bellamy Blake." Kane corrects. 

The name catches me off guard. I recover quickly enough that Kane may not even notice. Or perhaps he does. He seems to notice everything. 

"I'll walk," I concede. 

The gardens are nearly empty. Afternoon sunlight filters through towering pines planted generations ago, casting long shadows across winding stone paths. Somewhere nearby, water trickles softly from one of Polis' ancient fountains.

Kane walks beside me in silence until we're far enough from the tower that no guards linger within earshot.

"You've spoken with Bellamy before," he says eventually.

"I have," I say with a nod. 

"He trusts you," Kane comments.

I laugh once. "I think you've mistaken tolerance for trust."

"He respects you." Kane urges. 

"Respect." I taste the word. "He respected me enough to march beside Charles Pike while three hundred sleeping warriors were butchered."

Kane doesn't argue. "I know."

"You know?" I stop walking. "No, Marcus. You only know of it."

Kane's shoulders sag. "I know there is nothing I can say that justifies what happened."

"No." I look at him pointedly. "There isn't."

For several moments, neither of us speaks. Finally, Kane draws a slow breath. "Bellamy is not Charles Pike."

My jaw tightens. "He may not be, but he follows him."

"He believes he's protecting his people."

"And that excuses murder?" I laugh bitterly. 

"No." His answer comes immediately."It explains it."

I stare at him. "You still believe he can come back."

"I do." He says earnestly. 

"You have more faith than I ever could." I huff. 

"I've seen who Bellamy is." He defends. 

"So have I." I sneer. 

Neither of us continues. The silence stretches between us. Then Kane says quietly, "There are Grounders imprisoned inside Arkadia."

That gets my attention. "Who?"

"Grounders who came to seek shelter and medicine." Kane explains. My expression hardens. "And Lincoln." He says. 

For a long moment, I simply stare ahead at one of the fountains. My eyes blur not because I cannot see it, but because my mind has already drifted years into the past.

Polis. I hated those gatherings.

Hours spent standing behind Nia while ambassadors argued over borders, tribute, and honor. Every conversation felt like another lesson in how easily peace could be traded for power.

The only part I ever looked forward to was slipping away to the training grounds. That was where I met Lincoln.

A Trikru boy with too much patience and an irritating habit of never rising to my insults.

I had challenged him to a spar before I even knew his name. He beat me. Barely. I demanded another match, then another.

By the end of the week, we were bruised from head to toe and arguing over whose victory actually counted.

The next gathering, we sought each other out before anyone else. An odd friendship. One my mother never would have approved of.

Lincoln never cared that I was Azgeda royalty. To him, I was simply another warrior trying to prove herself.

He laughed when I fell. Congratulated me when I landed a clean hit. He never bowed. Never feared me. It was... refreshing.

Somewhere along the way, our conversations stopped being about fighting. We talked about our clans, about duty, about what kind of warriors we wanted to become. 

I used to think he was naïve. He believed people could choose to be better than what they had been taught. That violence wasn't inevitable. I told him he would grow out of that fantasy. Now I wonder which of us was right.

The older we became, the less often we saw each other. Duty replaced childhood. He became one of Trikru's finest scouts. I became Azgeda's sword.

Every meeting felt shorter than the last. Our conversations turned cautious. He questioned the raids my mother ordered. I defended them because I believed I had to. Because questioning Nia meant surviving her first. Eventually we stopped trying to change each other's minds. But we never became enemies. 

I still remember the day I heard the Commander had banished him. I hadn't agreed with the decision, but I understood it. Lincoln had chosen to aid the Sky People. In the eyes of the Coalition, he had betrayed his own.  And now he sits in a cell beneath Arkadia. A prisoner. I close my eyes.

"Pike imprisoned him after declaring him a traitor to humanity." Kane explains. 

My hands curl into fists. "What has he done to him?"

"He is alive." Kane pauses. "For now."

Cold anger settles deep in my chest. "What are you asking of me?"

"I need your help." He confesses. 

I almost laugh. "You want the Ice Nation’s war chief and princess to stroll into Arkadia?"

"I want someone Pike won't expect." Kane meets my eyes. "He won't expect one woman."

"One woman who carries enough political weight that he cannot simply make her disappear." I raise an eyebrow. "You have more confidence in Charles Pike than I do."

"I have none." Kane says. 

"Then why send me?" I ask, raising my brows. 

He hesitates. "Because Bellamy may listen to you."

There it is. The real reason. I shake my head. "You give me too much credit." I sigh. 

"I don't." Kane says simply. "He respects your judgment."

"He respected it enough to ignore every warning I ever gave him." I say rolling my eyes. 

"He respected you enough to argue with you." I blink. Kane continues. "Bellamy does not argue with people he dismisses."

I don't answer. Because he's right. Bellamy never ignored me, only challenged me much to my annoyance. 

"I need you to remind him who he is." His words hang in the air.

"And if I can't?" I ask sharply. This sound like a suicide mission. 

"Then free Lincoln." He reaches into his coat. A small leather pouch lands gently in my palm. Inside rests a metal key. “He’s in the cell block.” 

I study it.

"The rest of the Grounders are in there too. The guards rotate every six hours." Kane explains. 

"You've planned this." I say waringly. 

"I've had to." Kane says letting out a sigh. 

"Why not do it yourself?" I ask. 

A bitter smile crosses his face. "Because Pike watches me."

I close my hand around the key.

"I won't lie to you." Kane's voice grows quieter. "If Pike discovers why you're there..."

"He'll kill me." I cut him off. 

"I fear he'll do worse." Kane says grimly. 

—

Lexa refuses before I finish speaking.

"No." The word echoes through the war room, leaving no room for discussion. "I am not sending one of my generals into Arkadia."

"It isn't a military operation." I urge. 

"It becomes one the moment Pike sees you." Lexa argues. 

Roan folds his arms across his chest. "I agree with Lexa."

I look between them. "So your solution is to leave Lincoln there?"

“He is no longer our problem.” Lexa states. She silently reminds me of his banishment from the Coaliton. 

"He belongs to Trikru!" I exclaim. "If Pike executes Lincoln..."

She closes her eyes briefly. "I know."

"No." I step closer. "You don't."

"He fought for Skaikru, Y/N." She warns. 

"He fought for peace." I feel my voice rising despite myself. "And we're going to leave him there because it's inconvenient?"

Lexa studies me. Long enough that I begin to think she's already made her decision. 

"You intend to go." She says, finally. It isn't a question.

"Yes." I concede. 

"You understand Pike may imprison you." She states 

"Yes.” I answer.

"He may execute you."

"I know."

"He may use you against Roan."

"I know."

"He may use you against me."

"I know." I grunt out. 

The room falls silent. Lexa exhales slowly. "I cannot order you to do this."

"You don't have to." I tell her. 

Roan shakes his head. "This is reckless. You could die."

"I almost did in Mount Weather." I say hotly. 

"That isn't an answer." Roan says sharply. 

"No." I meet his eyes. "It's a reminder."

Lexa walks toward me. She stops only inches away. "You leave at first light."

I let out a breath. "You'll let me go?"

"I'm not letting you." She meets my eyes. "I'm trusting you."

She grabs my forearm and I grab hers. "Come back." She commands. 

"I intend to." A smile slowly makes its way across my features. “With Pike in tow.”

The people lining the streets bow their heads in silence as Lexa rides through the city. Clarke keeps pace beside her, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion. I follow a few lengths behind with the Commander’s guards, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing between the stone buildings.

By the time we reach the tower, stable hands are waiting at the foot of the steps. My horse snorts as I hand over the reins, eager for rest after days on the road.

I watch Lexa disappear inside without slowing. She has barely crossed the threshold before duty calls her back. Some things never change.

The throne room is quieter than usual. The council has not been summoned. Only a handful of guards line the walls, their spears planted against the worn stone floor. The evening light filtering through the high windows does little to warm the vast chamber.

Roan stands near one of the great pillars. He looks up as we enter.

"I take it Arkadia was less than accommodating." He guesses. 

Lexa doesn't answer. She silences him with a single look before continuing towards the throne.

Roan exhales a quiet laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

I shoot him a glare. The only sound is the soft echo of our footsteps across the stone floor.

Roan watches the Commander climb the shallow steps toward the throne before speaking again, this time with far less amusement.

"So Pike refused." He infers. 

"He did," Lexa replies simply.

"I expected nothing else." He says. 

"So did I." Lexa agrees. There is no anger in her voice.

Roan studies her for a long moment. "And now?"

Lexa turns to face him. "The blockade remains."

"Until?" He questions. 

"Until Pike answers for his crimes," Lexa answers. 

Roan nods slowly, considering her words. "He won't surrender."

"No." Lexa agrees. 

Roan tilts his head. "You know that, though."

"I do," Lexa states. 

A faint smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, though there is little humor behind it. "Then eventually you'll be forced to make a choice."

The room grows noticeably quieter. Even Titus pauses his task of sorting scrolls. 

Lexa holds Roan's gaze without wavering. "I already have."

For the first time since we entered the chamber, Roan's expression falters slightly. He understands what she means. She has already chosen peace. If Pike refuses it, whatever follows will not be on her conscience.

“Heda,” Titus begins. “Several ambassadors have requested a meeting.”

Lexa lets out a breath. “They can wait until morning.” She orders.

“Yes, Heda.” The flamekeeper bows his head. Only once he disappears through the side doors does she finally exhale. It was quiet enough that I almost missed it. Clarke noticed too.

"You should eat," she said gently. My brows raise in response to the softness in Clarke’s voice. 

"In a moment," Lexa replies. 

"You've barely slept." Clarke comments. 

"There will be time," Lexa assures her with a soft smile. 

Clarke opened her mouth to argue.Then thought better of it. I exit the throne room without waiting to be dismissed. 

The palace grows quieter as evening settles over Polis. The halls of the palace are empty. Most of the servants have retired for the evening, leaving only the occasional guard standing watch beneath flickering torches. I stop on one of the open balconies overlooking Polis. The city glows beneath the night sky. 

I hear footsteps behind me and Roan comes to join me on the balcony, resting his forearms on the stone railing. 

"So," he says after a long silence. "How long?"

I glance at him. "How long what?"

He keeps his eyes on the city. "How long was she like that?"

I take a deep breath. "I don't know."

"You have to." He says pointendly. 

I shake my head. "I don't."

He finally looks at me. "When did she stop being our mother?"

I let out a slow breath."I don't think she ever stopped being yours." His expression falters. "But she never really started with me," I look back over the city. "Any sense of a relationship died between us the same day Father did."

Loaded silence settles between us. I can tell that Roan wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. 

"The day Father died..." I say quietly. "I don't remember much after the battle." 

~ Flashback~

Crimson rivers wind through the snowbanks, weaving between fallen warriors and discarded steel.

The battle rages around us, steel ringing against steel as Azgeda warriors crash into the enemy line. Horses whine. Men shout. The wind carries the smell of blood and smoke across the frozen valley.

I can barely hear Father's orders over the chaos.

"Hold the left!" His voice cuts through the storm. "Drive them back!"

The warriors obey without hesitation.

I struggle to keep pace beside him, my legs burning as I weave between fallen bodies. 

Father glances over his shoulder. "Stay with me."

"I am." I gruff. 

"No farther." He orders. 

I roll my eyes. "I know."

"You don't." He almost smiles. Even in the middle of battle. He still finds time to smile at me.

A horn sounds somewhere ahead. The enemy surges forward.

"Shields!" Father commands. 

The world erupts into violence. Steel crashes against steel.

An Azgeda warrior falls beside me, clutching his throat as blood spills between his fingers. Father pushes me behind his shield.

"Stay back." He orders. 

"I can fight." I argue. 

"I know you can." His sword cuts through an enemy before the man can reach us. "But today..." He blocks another strike. "...you're staying with me."

I hate it. I hate that he still treats me like a child. I duck beneath another swinging blade and drive my sword into a man's side exactly as he taught me. My father notices.

"Good." He praises. It fills me with pride.

The fighting shifts uphill. Snow flies beneath our boots as we climb. The enemy begins to retreat.

"We're winning!" I shout, turning back to look at my father. 

He doesn't answer. His eyes are searching. He sees something I don't. His expression changes.

"Y/N!" He yells. 

I turn. Too slowly. An enemy warrior bursts through the fighting. He isn't looking at Father. He's looking at me. 

The axe in his hands is already swinging. Everything slows. I freeze. I know I should move. My body won't listen. Father is shouting. I can't hear the words.

The only thing I see is the blade. It's coming straight for my neck. I close my eyes. 

A hand slams into my shoulder. The force throws me sideways into the snow. I hit the ground hard. The air rushes from my lungs. For a heartbeat, all I can see is white.

I hear a squelching sound coming from my left. Father is standing where I was. The axe is buried deep between his shoulder and chest. His sword slips from his fingers.

"No!" I scream. The word leaves me before I realize I've spoken.

The warrior tries to pull the axe free. Father doesn't let him. With one last burst of strength, he grabs the haft with both hands, trapping the weapon in his own body.

Our soldiers reach them. The enemy falls beneath a dozen blades. I don't even see who kills him. I'm already crawling through the snow.

"Father." I cry out. Tears blurring my vision. 

He drops to one knee. Blood pours down the front of his armor. Bright against the white.

"No, no, no,” I sob, grabbing his arm. "We have to go."

He looks at me. Not at the wound or at the battle. At me.

"You're safe." His voice is strained.

"I don't care!" I yell, trying to pull him up. "Get up!"

He doesn't move.

"Please." I beg. 

Around us, the battle continues. It sounds far away now. Like it's happening in another world. 

"Medic!" I shout, whipping my head around wildly. 

Father lifts a shaking hand. He cups my cheek. His thumb brushes away tears I hadn't realized were falling.

"You did well." He breathes. 

"No." I sob. 

"You listened." He says with warmth. 

"I didn't." I cry, shaking my head. 

"You survived." His breathing catches. "That's enough."

"It isn't!" I shake my head violently. "You promised we'd finish my lessons."

A faint smile touches his lips. "I know."

"You promised." I sob. 

"I know." His hand slips from my face. I catch it before it falls.

"No." My voice cracks. "No, no, no..."

I pull at his shoulders. He doesn't move. "Please!"

Someone reaches for me. I shove them away. Another pair of hands grabs my arms. I fight. Kick. Scream.

"Let go!" I demand. My body thrases wildly. 

Father lies motionless in the snow. Blood spreads beneath him. His eyes remain open. Staring at the gray winter sky. I wrench free for half a second before more warriors seize me. I claw at the snow, trying to reach him.

"I have him, Princess," one of them says.

"No!" I sceam. 

"We have the King." The same guard says solemnly. 

"No!" I sob instead. 

They drag me backward. My fingers leave trails in the snow. The ice bites at my fingertips. I never stop reaching for him.

The last thing I see is my father's body lying where mine should have been.

~ Flashback ends ~

"I remember trying to pull him back up." I swallow. "I kept telling him to get up."

Roan lowers his eyes.

"I don't remember the ride home." I confess.  "Or most of the funeral." I let out a slow breath. "I remember the pyre."

His head lifts. "So do I."

I shake mine. "No, you remember a funeral." My eyes water. "I remember a sentence."

The words leave us in silence.

"Mother told everyone it was my privilege." I laugh bitterly. "'The child he died protecting will honor him.'"

I can still hear her voice. As if she were speaking of tradition instead of punishment.

"The clans called it an honor." I stare down at my hands. "They said no one else should light the fire." My fingers curl into my palms. "I didn't want to."

Roan's expression softens.

"I couldn't even look at him." My voice cracks. 

The image is burned into my mind. Father laid upon the timber. His armor cleaned. His hands folded over the hilt of his sword.

"He looked like he was sleeping." My voice catches. "I kept thinking if I waited long enough..." I shake my head. "...he would wake up."

The wind whistles across the balcony.

"Mother put the torch in my hands." I can still feel its weight. "I couldn't move." My throat tightens. "I just stood there."

Roan says nothing.

"Everyone was watching." I choke. "The generals, the warriors. The people Father had spent his life protecting."

I close my eyes.

"I remember Mother leaning down." Her voice is as clear now as it was then. "’Finish what you started.’"

My breath catches. "I didn't understand. Not then at least."

"I thought she meant..." I stop. "I thought she meant I was supposed to be brave." A tear slips down my cheek.

"It wasn't until later..." I look at Roan. "...that I realized she meant Father was already dead because of me."

Roan's face hardens. His right fist clenches by his side. 

"She made me light the pyre. I watched the flames catch. They spread through the wood, until I couldn't see him anymore." For years, I dreamed about that fire.

"I hated that everyone called it an honor." My voice is barely above a whisper. "It wasn't. It was punishment."

I blink away tears. "I wasn't saying goodbye to my father."

I stare out over the lights of Polis. "I was being taught that his blood was on my hands."

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Roan quietly says, "I always thought Mother gave you that duty because Father chose you."

I shake my head. "So did I."

A bitter smile crosses my lips. "It took me years to understand." I look at him. "She didn't give me the honor. She gave me the guilt."

Roan's jaw clenches. "He died protecting you."

I nod my head. 

"He chose that." Roan places a hand on my shoulder. "You didn't kill him."

My eyes fill with tears. "I know."

The words come slowly.

"As War Chief..." I place a hand against my chest. "I know."

I look down at my trembling hands. "But there's still a part of the sixteen-year-old girl standing in front of that pyre..." I swallow hard."...who thinks if she'd just been faster… Father would have come home."

Roan pulls me to him. Tears run down my face silently. I see a single tear escape Roan’s eye but pretend not to notice. He kisses the top of my head, just like Father used to do. I shut my eyes. 

"She started training me as a spy when I was ten."

Roan's hand stops abruptly. "I knew she started you young."

"You didn't know how." I don't wait for him to answer. I step out of his embrace. 

I stare straight ahead. “The first lesson was obediance."

His brow furrows.

"She took me to the prison beneath the keep." I can still smell the damp stone. "There was a man chained to the wall."

Roan's expression slowly changes. "No..."

"She put a knife in my hand." The memory makes my stomach twist. "I wouldn't take it."

I laugh quietly. "I thought it was a test."

I close my eyes. "It was."

My voice drops. "She told me if I couldn't kill one prisoner..." I force the words out. "...I would never be strong enough to protect Azgeda."

Roan doesn't interrupt.

"I was ten." The wind whistles through the balcony. "When it was over..."

I look down at my hands. "I couldn't stop shaking."

My thumb rubs unconsciously across my palm. "I washed my hands until they bled."

Roan's eyes never leave me.

"I kept telling myself there was still blood on them."

He swallows hard. "Did Father know?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Why?" He sighs. 

"Because he would've stopped her."

"Good." He huffs. 

"No." I look at him. "He would've challenged her."

Understanding dawns across his face. "And they would've fought." He concludes. 

I nod. "I couldn't risk losing him."

A sad smile crosses my face.

"I was so afraid of getting him killed." The irony hangs between us. "He died protecting me anyway."

Neither of us speaks. For a long time, the only sound is the wind.

My brother tugs my forcefuylly back to his chest. 

"I can't change what she did." His voice is quiet. "I can't change what you lived through."

"No." I agree. 

"But..." He hesitates. "...you don't have to carry Father's death the way she made you carry it."

I look at him. I see my father's son. The weight feels a little lighter.

The wind carries the sounds of Polis up to the balcony, but they feel impossibly far away.

"I hated you for a while." Roan's admission is so quiet I almost miss it.

"I know." I say comfortingly. 

"I hated looking at you." He keeps his eyes on the city.

"Every time I did..." His jaw tightens."...I saw Mother lying on the stone."

I don't answer.

"I hated you because I hated myself more." His voice barely rises above a whisper. "You did what I never could." He looks down at his hands. "You saved my life... and I've hated myself ever since for letting you pay the price."

My throat tightens.

"I should've seen it." He growls. 

"You couldn't have." I assure him. 

"I was your brother, Y/N.” Roan argues. 

"You were a child, Roan.” I say. 

"So were you." He argues. 

The words hang between us. For the first time, neither of us has an answer. Roan steps closer until we're standing shoulder to shoulder against the railing.

"I used to be jealous," he says. 

I glance at him. "Of what?" I laugh. 

"Father." A sad smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "He always said you fought like him."

"He said I thought like him." I reminiscence with a small smile. 

"You did. And you still do.” He says, laughing softly.  "I wanted him to say that about me."

"He was proud of you too." I nudge his shoulder. 

"I know." He nods once. "I know that now."

Silence settles again.

Roan finally reaches over, not to pull me into an embrace, but to take my hand. His fingers close around mine.

"You don't have to believe Nia anymore." Roan says. 

I look down at our joined hands. For the first time since Father died, someone else is carrying the weight with me.

Neither of us says another word. We watch the city in silence.

Roan has always been my brother. He has always loved me. Nothing has ever changed that. Though after tonight, he finally understands why I have never been able to forgive myself.

A/N: This scene between Reader and Roan has been one of my favorites to write!!! Their relationship is so special to me and I finally wanted to unpack everything Reader went through at the hands of Nia. The flashback was especially painful to write but I’m so happy with how it turned out!

I ride a few lengths behind Lexa. She sits tall in her saddle. Clarke rides beside her. 

A wave of guilt washes over me. Had it not been for my mother’s wish to break from the Coalition, the Trikru army never would have been stationed outside of Skaikru’s camp. It seems even in her death, she still reeks of destruction. 

The forest abruptly gives way to a wide clearing. The remnants of the space station stick out horribly against the swaths of blue and green in the surrounding land. 

I give Faye a gentle nudge, guiding her alongside Clarke and Lexa.

A handful of men and women stand to meet us at the gate. Guns pointed at the ready. The rifle barrels glint in the afternoon light. 

Our escort doesn’t react. We come to a stop about fifty feet away from the main gates. The only sound is the wind brushing through the tall grass between us. 

The Commander nudges her horse forward. The move is small and deliberate. She stops several horse lengths ahead of the rest of us, sunlight catching the Commander symbol burned into her forehead.

Her voice carries easily across the clearing. "I am Lexa, Commander of the Coalition."

Silence answers. 

A dark-haired woman steps forward. She keeps her gun tight in her grip. “State your purpose!”

"I have come to speak with your Chancellor," Lexa replies coolly. The words drift across the open field. 

I watch as the guards look at one another. A request, not a demand. It seems they weren’t expecting diplomacy. And by the looks of my fellow warriors, neither were we. 

The heavy doors remain closed for several long moments. Then the gate groans as it opens. A man with a weathered expression steps out. A rifle hangs across his chest. Pike, I guess. He stops several yards from us, boots planted firmly in the dirt. Behind him, Bellamy steps into the sunlight.

For a heartbeat, his attention belongs only to Clarke. Relief softens the hard lines of his face. Then he notices me. Our eyes meet across the clearing. He eyes me with an unreadable expression. 

Duty had pulled us in opposite directions. Nothing has changed.

A woman I recognize as Abby pushes past Pike before anyone can stop her.

"Clarke!" She yells, relief evident on her face. 

Clarke is already sliding from her horse. She barely lands before Abby throws her arms around her.

Abby's shoulders shake as she buries her face against Clarke's hair. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay," Clarke assures. 

Abby pulls back just enough to cup her daughter's face. "No." Her voice cracks. "You're alive."

A small smile breaks across Clarke's face. "I'm alive."

The reunion hangs over the clearing like sunlight after a storm. Pike clears his throat. His gaze shifts from Clarke back to Lexa.

"Commander." The title carries no respect.

Lexa inclines her head. "Chancellor."

"What exactly are you doing outside my gates?" He snarls. 

"I came to prevent another war." She replies. 

A humorless laugh escapes Pike. "You should've thought about that before abandoning my people at Mount Weather."

The words strike like an arrow. My shoulders tense. Lexa remains perfectly still.

"I made a choice for my people," Lexa replies. 

"And mine paid the price." Bellamy's voice is quieter than Pike's.

Pike's gaze drifts from Lexa to me. It lingers on the blue-and-black crest embroidered across my cloak. Recognition flashes in his eyes. Then disgust. "And you brought an Azgeda princess into my camp."

The clearing goes still.

I meet his stare without flinching. "My title doesn't concern you."

"It concerns every person standing behind these walls." He takes a deliberate step forward. "Your people started the chain of events that destroyed Mount Weather."

The words hang in the air. A murmur spreads along the battlements overhead. Bellamy stiffens. I hold Pike's stare. He takes a slow step forward, boots crunching against the gravel.

"My people have done many things," I say slowly. 

His expression hardens. "One of your people blew up the damn mountain!"

Silence settles over the clearing after his outburst. Pike’s eyes burn into mine. "50 are dead." He pauses. “Families, our elderly, and our children.” He adds quietly. 

The memory flashes across Bellamy's face. Clarke lowers her eyes. I draw a slow breath.

His gaze burns into mine. "Everything that has happened began with Azgeda." The accusation hangs in the air.

I keep my voice level. "My mother made that choice."

"Your people murdered hundreds!” He shouts.

My jaw tightens. "And Mount Weather spent decades bleeding mine." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Pike's eyes narrow. "So that's your justification?"

"No." I shake my head once. "It's the truth."

I glance toward Clarke, then Bellamy.

"The Mountain Men imprisoned Grounders for generations. They harvested our blood. Turned our people into Reapers. They butchered entire villages long before Skaikru ever came to Earth." My voice remains calm, but every word lands with purpose. "My mother sought revenge."

"She got it," Bellamy says quietly.

His voice carries more weight than Pike's shouting ever could. 

“And while I can try to understand her need for vengeance, I never would have sent out the order,” I say truthfully. 

Pike barks a humorless laugh. "Don't pretend that changes anything."

"I wasn't. My mother ordered it. And now she is dead," I sneer at the last sentence. 

Pike folds his arms across his chest. "But you wear her crest."

"I wear my people's crest." I correct. 

"They're the same thing." He argues. 

"No." The word comes sharper than intended. "My mother and Azgeda are not one and the same."

His jaw tightens. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect nothing from you." The breeze stirs between us, tugging at the fur lining my cloak. The heat beats down my back, but I refuse to remove it. 

"My mother believed fear kept people in line." I glance briefly toward Lexa. "I don't."

Pike scoffs. "That's convenient."

"It happens to be true."Bellamy's voice cuts through the silence.

I turn toward him, caught off guard. Of everyone standing here, he is the last person I expect to come to my defense.

"Echo followed Azgeda orders," he says. "She followed Queen Nia's orders." His gaze meets mine for only a moment before returning to Pike. "There's a difference."

Because he knows the distinction matters. Even if it doesn't make the dead any less dead.

Lexa steps forward, placing herself beside me. 

"Queen Nia is dead." She reiterates. Her calm voice cuts through the growing tension."The woman responsible for that attack no longer rules Azgeda."

Pike doesn't look convinced. "And now her daughter does?"

"I don't." The answer leaves my mouth before anyone else can speak. "My brother is King."

For the first time, Pike hesitates. His eyes narrow. "So why are you here?"

I meet his stare without flinching.

"Because if another war begins, it won't matter who destroyed Mount Weather." I gesture toward the walls surrounding Arkadia. "It will happen again."

The clearing falls silent. Because everyone standing there knows exactly what another war would cost.

Pike folds his arms across his chest. "So what happens now?"

Lexa's gaze never leaves him. 

"I came to Arkadia hoping this could end without further bloodshed." She replies calmly. 

"You've got a funny way of showing it." He sneers. 

"You murdered three hundred of my warriors," Lexa states. "They were waiting for the order to protect your people."

Pike scoffs. "They were waiting to invade."

"They were keeping the peace we negotiated." Lexa says calmly. 

"The only peace I trust is the kind I can defend myself." Pike snarls. 

Lexa studies him for a long moment before speaking again."I offered Skaikru a place in the Coalition. I offered peace between our people."

"And now?" He questions, fists clenching. 

"And now I have come to demand justice," Lexa informs. "I will ask only once." Her voice remains calm."Surrender Charles Pike, at the mercy of the  Coalition."

Every rifle along Arkadia's wall seems to tighten.

Pike laughs. "You think I'm handing myself over?"

"I know you are responsible for the deaths of three hundred Coalition warriors." She says. 

"They were my enemy." He says defensively. 

"They were your allies," Lexa corrects. 

Pike shakes his head. "They stopped being allies the moment they camped outside my walls."

Lexa inclines her head once. "Then you leave me no choice."

She turns slightly in her saddle."Luca." The Trikru scout steps forward. "Sound the horn."

A deep horn blast rolls through the forest. Another answers in the distance. Then another. The blockade had begun.

"No one enters," Lexa declares. "No one leaves."

"The blockade will remain until Charles Pike is surrendered to Coalition justice." Lexa states. 

Pike's jaw clenches. "You'll never have me."

Lexa's expression never changes. "That," she says quietly, "is now up to your people."

No one moves. The only sound is the breeze stirring the tall grass between us and the rhythmic stamping of restless horses.

Across the clearing, Bellamy stands beside Pike. His jaw is set.

A few weeks ago, he stood beside me in a cave, trusting me enough to hand me his back in a fight. We had escaped Mount Weather together. Bled together. Survived together.

Now there is an entire battlefield between us.

Our eyes meet for the briefest moment. His expression is impossible to read. Regret, resentment, duty. Perhaps all three. Whatever understanding had begun to form between us has been buried beneath politics, loyalty, and war. He belongs to Skaikru. I belong to Azgeda. Some distances cannot be crossed.

Lexa turns her horse without another word. "Our business here is finished." She declares. The Coalition escort follows immediately.

I linger for only a heartbeat longer. Bellamy is still watching. For a moment, I wonder if he's remembering our last conversation as clearly as I am. The silence between us says enough.

I turn Faye after Lexa. Behind us, the gates of Arkadia groan shut. The sound echoes through the clearing like the closing of a tomb. Ahead, the forest waits. Behind us, thousands of Coalition warriors begin taking their positions around the camp. Whatever fragile trust had existed between our people slipped a little further out of reach.

The Commander stands at the head of the table, one hand resting on the worn wood as she listens to Titus read through the latest reports from the ambassadors. Trade agreements. Border disputes. The tedious parts of leadership I have never had the patience for.

Roan stands opposite Lexa, his posture relaxed but attentive. Though the crown on his head is still new, he wears it as though it has always belonged there. Every so often, he asks a question or offers a suggestion, his voice calm and measured. It is strange hearing him speak as king instead of prince.

I remain at his side, arms folded across my chest. My eyes wander from the map to the windows overlooking Polis before settling on the carved wolf marking Azgeda's territory.

Titus unrolls another parchment. A request of some sorts from Podakru.

The afternoon meeting is interrupted by frantic footsteps pounding through the tower. The doors to the war room fly open. A young Trikru scout stumbles inside, nearly collapsing as he drops to one knee.

"Commander." He pants. 

Lexa immediately looks up from the map spread across the stone table.

"What happened?" She barks. 

"The army outside Arkadia." His voice catches," has been attacked."

The room falls silent. Roan straightens beside me.

"What do you mean, attacked?" She questions. 

The scout lowers his head. "It seems there are no survivors." He informs still catching his breath. 

Lexa doesn't ask another question.

"Ready my horse." She commands.

The scout bows and hurries from the room. Titus follows to alert the guard. Within moments, only Lexa, Roan, and I remain.

"I'll gather my warriors," Roan says.

Lexa shakes her head. "No."

He frowns.

"If three hundred Trikru warriors have fallen, you may need every clan." He continues. 

"You are needed here." Lexa orders. 

Roan's jaw tightens. "I've been king less than a week."

"Exactly." She says. 

Lexa steps closer.

"Azgeda has accepted your crown, but not everyone has accepted your rule. If you leave Polis now, others may see an opportunity."

He doesn't argue. Because he knows she's right. Lexa turns to me.

"I want you to ride with me." She says. 

I nod without hesitation.

"When do we leave?" I ask. 

"Immediately."

The ride is almost entirely silent. Lexa leads, I follow behind her. A third rider joins us before we leave the city gates, Clarke. She says nothing as she falls into step beside us. A few of Lexa’s guards take the rear. 

The farther north we ride, the quieter the forest becomes. No birds. No insects. Only the sound of horses pushing through the trees. The smell hits us first. The unmistakeble smell of blood and death. 

Lexa pulls her horse to a stop. I follow.

The clearing stretches before us. Bodies, hundreds of them. Grounder warriors lie exactly where they slept. Blankets stained crimson. Swords still sheathed. Some never even woke.

My stomach turns.

Three hundred warriors. Executed.

Lexa dismounts without a word. Clarke follows. I take a deep breath and dismount.The only sounds are boots against frozen earth. A weak groan cuts through the silence.

"There." Clarke points. 

Lexa is already moving.

Indra leans against a fallen log, one hand pressed tightly against a wound in her side. Blood covers her armor. She looks up as Lexa kneels beside her.

"Commander." Indra breathes. 

"You survived." Lexa states 

"Barely." Indra says with a grimace. 

Lexa grips her forearm. "What happened?" She gruffs out. 

Indra's eyes sweep across the dead surrounding us. "They came before dawn." Her voice is hoarse. "My warriors were asleep." She closes her eyes. "They never had a chance."

Clarke's face pales.

"Who?" She whispers. 

Indra looks directly at her. "Skaikru."

The word hangs in the air.

"They fired into the camp while my people slept." She swallows. "There was no warning. No battle, only slaughter."

I stare across the clearing. Three hundred Coalition warriors. Gone.

Images flash through my mind. Bellamy fighting beside me beneath Mount Weather. Bellamy watching me ride away as I left for Polis. I push them down before they can take hold. No. The man I’ve come to know couldn’t do this. Could he?

Lexa slowly rises to her feet. Her eyes remain fixed on the field of the dead. Then she speaks. "We ride for Arkadia."

There is no anger in her voice. No grief. Only resolve.

No one moves. For a long moment, we simply stand among the dead.

The wind stirs the banners scattered across the camp, carrying with it the metallic scent of blood. Fires that should have been warming sleeping warriors have burned down to smoldering embers. Bowls of untouched stew lie overturned in the dirt. Shields remain stacked where they had been set the night before.

They hadn't expected a battle. They had expected dawn.

Lexa finally breaks the silence.

"Search the camp." Her voice is calm. "If anyone still lives, find them."

The guards immediately scatter.

Clarke kneels beside one of the fallen Trikru warriors, checking for any sign of life before slowly closing his eyes.

I walk farther into the camp. The deeper I go, the worse it becomes.

Some bodies are tangled in blankets. Others lie facedown where they had tried to flee. Most never made it more than a few steps.

I stop beside a young warrior. He can't be much older than sixteen. His sword is still strapped to his side, untouched. I crouch beside him. For a moment, I simply stare. Then I reach out and close his eyes. "Yu gonplei ste odon," I murmur.

The words disappear into the silence. There are too many. 300 names and faces and no prayer can carry all of them. 

Behind me, Indra forces herself to sit straighter. Lexa kneels once more at her side.

"Tell me everything."

Indra's breathing is labored. "They struck before first light." Her gaze remains fixed on the bodies surrounding us. "My sentries never sounded the alarm. By the time we woke..." She trails off. "It was already over."

Clarke swallows. "It was Pike?"

Indra nods once. "Pike gave the order." She looks toward Clarke.  "But he wasn't alone."

The words send a chill through me.

"There were Skaikru soldiers." Indra continues. 

Clarke's shoulders stiffen.

Indra closes her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "And Bellamy Blake."

The world seems to stop. My breath catches. 

The man I knew fought to save lives. The man Indra speaks of ended them. I don't know which one is real anymore.

Lexa rises to her feet. Her expression is unreadable.

"Send riders to Polis." She orders. 

One of her guards steps forward.

"Tell them to prepare funeral rites for three hundred warriors."

The guard bows. "Yes, Commander."

Lexa looks across the clearing one final time. "So much death." Her voice is barely above a whisper. Then she turns toward Clarke. "Arkadia will answer for this."

Clarke lowers her head. "They will." She says looking at the fallen. 

I cannot tell whether she believes it.

Lexa mounts her horse. "I will demand Pike." She states. 

"And if they refuse?" I ask.

For the first time since we arrived, Lexa meets my eyes.

"Then they will force the Coalition to decide what comes next."

No one speaks after that. One by one, we mount our horses.

As we ride from the clearing, I glance back over my shoulder. Three hundred warriors remain where they fell, waiting to be carried home. My thoughts drift to Bellamy. The man beneath Mount Weather had stood beside me against impossible odds. Now I ride toward Arkadia to face a man I no longer recognize.

I stand beside him through every meeting, watching ambassadors test him in ways they never dared test our mother. He never raises his voice. He never resorts to threats. Instead, he listens. Then he speaks. It's strange. For the first time in years, I don't feel like I'm waiting for someone to die.

By midday, I've had enough politics.

I make my way toward the training yard, hoping to clear my head. The sound of steel striking steel reaches me long before I arrive.

Echo stands in the center of the yard, effortlessly disarming another Azgeda warrior. His sword clatters across the dirt.

She doesn't even look impressed.

"Again," she orders.

The warrior mutters something under his breath as he retrieves his weapon. When Echo notices me, she raises an eyebrow.

"I was wondering when you'd escape." She jokes. "I was beginning to think council meetings were more painful than combat."

"They are." I groan. 

Echo tosses me a practice sword.

"Then stop complaining." She says. 

I catch it easily.

"You're challenging me?" I question, raising a brow. 

"I'm trying to improve your mood." She corrects. 

"By hitting me?" I question while my lip quirks up.

She smirks. "It usually works."

We circle one another. The first strike comes from me. She blocks it with ease. I shove her backward.

"There you are," Echo says with a grin.

"What?" I ask.

"That look." She states

"What look?" I huff in annoyance.

"The one that says you're about to hit me harder." She says with a laugh. 

"I was trying to," I grunt out. 

"I know." She twirls the practice sword through her fingers.

"These last few days have been... strange."

I lower my blade.

"They have." I agree. 

"You keep looking over your shoulder," she states. 

I frown.

"I do not," I argue. 

"You do." Echo insists. 

She steps closer.

"You spent years waiting for Queen Nia to change her mind. Waiting for her to turn on Roan... or on you." She says. 

I don't answer.

"There isn't another order coming," she says quietly. "There isn't another punishment waiting."

My grip tightens around the hilt. Echo studies me for a long moment.

"You don't have to be ready for a fight every second anymore." She says. 

A dry laugh leaves me.

"I'm a warrior, Echo," I say. It’s in my blood to be ready to fight at any given moment. 

"So am I." She says. She gestures around the training yard. "But this..."

Her voice softens. “This feels different."

I follow her gaze across the courtyard. Roan walks with two advisers at his side. One speaks while the other gestures toward a map. Roan doesn't interrupt. He listens. Actually listens.

"I've spent my whole life protecting him," I say quietly.

Echo nods.

"And now?" she prompts.

I watch my brother disappear into the Tower.

"Now I help him protect Azgeda." I finish. 

A small smile tugs at Echo's lips.

"I think your father would be proud." She says. 

The words catch me off guard. A smile finds its way onto my face.

"So do I." I respond. 

Later that afternoon, I find myself wandering through one of Polis' gardens. It's quiet. Almost unnervingly so.

Clarke sits beneath a tree, absentmindedly rolling a small flower between her fingers. She notices me before I can turn away.

"I didn't think you liked gardens," she calls.

"I don't," I reply. I much prefer the cold. Snow doesn't ask anything of you. It doesn't pretend to be kind. It simply demands that you survive.

She smiles. "Then why are you here?" she asks. 

"I got lost," I say offhandedly. 

She laughs.

"I don't believe you," Clarke states. 

"You shouldn't," I say with a smirk. 

For a moment, we simply stand there.

"You've been staying close to Lexa," I say.

Clarke's shoulders tense ever so slightly. "I have." She says, finally. 

"You trust her." I guess. 

She considers the question before answering.

"I trust that she's trying." Clarke corrects. 

I fold my arms.

"That's not the same thing," I tell her. 

"No." She looks out over Polis. "But sometimes it's enough."

I think about Roan. About Echo. About Bellamy. About Mount Weather. About my mother. Maybe she's right. Maybe trying is all any of us can do.

—

As I'm making my way back toward the Tower, I spot Kane standing alone on one of the balconies overlooking Polis.

So much for finding a moment to myself. 

He notices me almost immediately.

"Princess." Kane greets.

"Chancellor." I nod in response. 

"I wanted to thank you."

I stop beside him.

"For what?" I question skeptically. 

"For giving the Coalition another chance." He clarifies. 

I rest my forearms on the stone railing.

"I didn't do it for the Coalition," I tell him.

"No." He nods knowingly. "You did it for your brother."

I don't argue. He's right.

Below us, merchants haggle in the market while children weave between crowded stalls. Warriors from different clans pass each other without reaching for their weapons. It's peaceful for now.

"I hear Lexa intends to make Skaikru the Thirteenth Clan," I say, despite having been in the room when she announced it.

Kane nods.

"I hope she does." He says. 

"You really think it'll work?" I question. 

"I think it has to." He says honestly. 

I study him for a moment.

"You sound certain," I state. 

A small smile crosses his face.

"I'm hopeful." He corrects. 

I let out a quiet breath.

"Hope gets people killed," I murmur. 

Kane turns to face me.

"So does fear, Your Highness." He says. 

I stiffen at the title. I've never cared much for Princess. I hate Your Highness even more. I've always been more comfortable as Chief than royalty.

Kane notices my expression. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts." He says. 

He inclines his head before walking away.

I rest my hands on the railing once more, watching Polis carry on beneath me. Merchants barter. Children laugh. Life continues.

As I watch the city move through another ordinary afternoon, I can't help but wonder which will win in the end, hope or fear. 

If not for the fresh scorch marks in the square below, no one would have guessed a queen had died there less than a day ago.

I stand on the balcony outside my chamber, resting both hands against the cold stone railing. 

Workers scrub the last traces of blood from the square. 

Life moves on. It always does.

A knock echoes from behind me.

"My Princess." An Azgeda guard stands in the doorway, his fist pressed against his chest.

"What is it?" I turn.

"The ambassadors of the Coalition have requested an audience with the King." He says. 

I nod once.

"And?" I question. 

"The Commander has summoned both His Majesty..." He hesitates. "...and you."

That is unexpected.

"You may go," I order with a flick of my wrist. 

The guard bows before disappearing down the corridor.

I take one last look over the waking city before turning back inside.

—-

Roan's chamber is only a short walk away. The guards outside immediately step aside.

"Your Highness."

I push open the door without waiting to be announced.

Roan is already awake.

Maps cover the large table in the center of the room. Rolled scrolls lie scattered across it, each bearing the seal of a different clan. His crown rests untouched near the edge of the table. He wears armor instead. He looks up as I enter.

"I was beginning to think you'd slept through the morning." He comments.

"I haven't slept," I say. 

A faint smile crosses his face.

"I didn't think so," Roan says. 

He looks back down at one of the scrolls.

"They've already begun." He complains. 

I step closer.

"What have they sent?" I ask.

"Requests." He picks up one parchment before tossing it back onto the table."Trade, border disputes, oaths of loyalty, and complaints."

He sighs. A quiet laugh escapes me.

"Congratulations," I smirk. 

Roan looks up.

"I've been king for less than a day." He says. 

"I know." I chide. 

"They're already expecting me to solve every problem in the Coalition." He huffs. 

"They always were." I remind him. 

His shoulders relax slightly.

"You sound remarkably calm." He comments. 

"I don't have the crown," I say with a smile. 

"No." He smirks. "You only helped put it there."

A comfortable silence settles between us.

Finally, Roan folds another scroll shut.

"Any challenges?" He questions.

I lean against the table.

"None openly," I say. 

His expression doesn't change.

"That means they're waiting." He says, finally. 

I nod.

"They'll test you first," I warn.

"They'll test us." He corrects. 

Before I can answer, another knock sounds.

"Enter." Roan barks.

The door opens to reveal one of Lexa's guards.

"The Commander requests the presence of King Roan and Princess Y/N in the council chamber."

Roan exchanges a glance with me.

"We'll come." He says. 

The guard bows before leaving.

Roan reaches for the Ice Nation crown. He studies it for a long moment before placing it carefully upon his head. It still looks unfamiliar.

"You ready?" he asks.

I adjust the sword at my hip.

"As I'll ever be." I smirk.

The council chamber is already full.

Ambassadors from every clan stand beneath their banners, speaking in hushed voices that die away as Roan enters.

I take my place one step behind his right shoulder. Echo remains near the entrance with the other Azgeda guards.

Across the room, Indra watches us with unreadable eyes. Beside her stands Kane. The Sky People's ambassador offers a respectful nod. I return it.

Lexa enters last. The room immediately falls silent.

"The Coalition recognizes Roan Kom Azgeda as King of the Ice Nation." Her voice carries effortlessly through the chamber.

"May today's council mark the beginning of peace between our people." She steps back.

The floor belongs to Roan. He scans the room before speaking.

"My mother believed strength came from fear," his voice is calm. "She was wrong."

A murmur ripples through the ambassadors.

"Azgeda remains strong." Roan says. He rests one hand on the pommel of his sword."We will defend our borders." His gaze sweeps across every clan. "We will honor our alliances."

Silence follows. Then an ambassador wearing the colors of Broadleaf Clan steps forward.

"Words are easily spoken, Your Grace." He challenges

Roan inclines his head.

"They are." Roan agrees. 

"How are we to believe Azgeda has changed after yesterday?"

Before Roan can answer, another Shadow Valley ambassador speaks.

"The Princess executed a queen before the entire Coalition." She says. 

Several heads turn toward me. I clench my fists.

“Not just the queen, but her own mother!” The Sangedakru ambassador yell.

I take a deep breath. 

"The Princess," the ambassador continues, "is feared more than the woman she killed."

The room grows still. Roan starts to answer. I place a hand lightly against his arm. He glances at me. I step forward.

"If you fear me," Every eye fixes on mine. "...then understand why."

No one speaks.

"I killed Queen Nia because she threatened the coalition.” My voice echoes through the chamber. "Had she succeeded, every clan represented here would have returned home preparing for war."

The ambassadors exchange uneasy glances.

"I did not draw my sword for power." I say with warning. "I drew it because someone had to."

Silence. The ambassadors look at each other than at me. Lexa stares curiously. 

Then Indra speaks.

"I was there." She says. "The Princess speaks the truth."

She folds her arms.

"Had Nia lived another minute," She looks toward Lexa. "the Coalition would not have."

No one challenges her. Lexa watches the room carefully before speaking.

"Then let this matter end here." Lexa orders. 

Her gaze settles on each ambassador.

"We have survived because twelve clans stand together." She says. 

She looks toward Roan.

"We will continue to survive only if we remember that." Lexa finishes. 

One by one, the ambassadors bow their heads.

"The matter is settled." Lexa declares. No one objects. For a brief moment, the chamber is silent.

"There is one final matter before this council." Lexa announces. 

The ambassadors look back toward the Commander. Lexa steps forward.

"The destruction of Mount Weather ended a common enemy."

Several heads nod.

"But peace is not secured by victory alone." Her eyes sweep across the room. "It is secured by unity." She pauses. "Skaikru has fought beside us. They have bled beside us."

Kane straightens where he stands but remains silent.

"They have proven themselves allies." She says.. 

A low murmur spreads through the chamber.

"I intend to offer Skaikru a place within the Coalition." Lexa states. 

The room erupts.

"They are not Grounders."

"They're unpredictable."

"They slaughtered everyone inside the Mountain."

"They also freed our people," another ambassador counters.

Voices overlap until Lexa raises a single hand. Silence returns.

"The decision will not be made today," she says firmly. "Each clan will return to its people. You will consider what I have proposed."

She looks around the chamber. "When this council meets again, every ambassador will cast their vote."

My eyes drift toward Kane. He says nothing, but relief flashes across his face.

"The Coalition has endured because its clans chose unity over division," Lexa continues. "Ask yourselves whether denying Skaikru serves that unity... or threatens it."

No one answers.

Lexa inclines her head.

"This council is dismissed."

The ambassadors begin filing from the chamber in small groups, their conversations hushed but urgent. They're talking about Skaikru.

I step beside Roan as we watch the room empty.

"They'll fight this," I murmur.

Roan keeps his eyes on the departing ambassadors.

"They will." He agrees. 

"You support it?" I ask.

He is quiet for a long moment.

"I support peace." He says finally. 

I glance toward Kane.

"They're dangerous." I warn. 

Roan finally looks at me.

"So are we." He smirks.

Only months ago, they were strangers who fell from the sky. Then they were enemies. Then uneasy allies against the Mountain. Now the Commander wants to make them one of us.

I glance toward Kane as he leaves the chamber with the rest of the Skaikru delegation. Hope softens his features.

He believes this can work. I wish I shared his certainty.

The Sky People fight differently than we do. They think differently. They move too quickly, trust too easily, and when they fear something, they destroy it before they try to understand it. Mount Weather proved that.

They also stood beside us against the Mountain Men. Bellamy risked his life to free Grounders he had never met. Clarke ended the Mountain to save her people and ours alike. Perhaps that is what makes Skaikru so dangerous. Their unpredictability.

If they become the Thirteenth Clan, they will no longer be someone else's problem. Maybe that is not the worst thing that could happen.