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The prophecy [Bellamy Blake Fanfiction]

One hundred delinquents. Survival seems almost impossible. But not all of them were sent for the same reasons.

Sentenced to set foot on a planet ravaged by radiation, Hannah knows the real threat isn’t always what lies outside. The fight for power, desperation, and the buried secrets among them threaten to tear them apart. And in the middle of the chaos, Bellamy Blake emerges as her greatest obstacle... and her only weakness.

What begins as a forced alliance slowly turns into a connection neither of them expected.

READ HERE

Wildflower [Glenn Rhee Fanfiction]

She lost everything... her home, her family, every reason to keep going.

Erin has been walking alone ever since her brother disappeared, clinging to the only promise she made: survive.

When the signs of Terminus offer hope, she follows them, only to walk straight into a nightmare.

But fate has a strange way of pulling people together.

The problem? He belongs to someone else.

And Erin refuses to be the reason something beautiful falls apart.

READ HERE.

You can also find the spanish versión or other stories here!!!!!:

Wattpad: softflowermoony

The night had fallen, but it didn't feel as heavy or oppressive as the nights before, those dark moments laden with memories of everything they had lost or could still lose. Those nights were steeped in a profound sorrow, haunted by the weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future on this unforgiving planet.

Yet, in that fleeting moment, everything felt like a comforting dream, a rare respite from their harsh reality. Boys and girls were laughing, dancing, and living with a freedom they had never known before. Born on the Ark, their entire lives had revolved around survival, rationing air, food, and water, always one mistake away from disaster. Even now, on Earth, with solid ground beneath their feet, survival remained their constant struggle, a battle against unseen dangers lurking in the wild.

Still, the scene before her was heartwarming, a quiet reminder that perhaps not all was lost. Despite everything they had endured, loss, betrayal, impossible choices, they were still young, brimming with hopes and dreams that refused to be extinguished.

Hannah sat on a weathered log in front of the crackling bonfire, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across her face. Her hands rested loosely on her knees as she scanned her surroundings, taking in the lively chaos of the camp. She wasn't having a bad time, not at all; she felt at ease in her own way, lost in her thoughts, her mind a quiet refuge amid the noise.

The Grounders were still out there, lurking in the shadows of the dense forest. They wouldn't pause their hostility just because it was Unity Day, this makeshift celebration meant to bring a semblance of normalcy to their fractured group. Someone had to keep watch, to ensure the camp remained safe. But Hannah wasn't alone in this duty. Clarke was also vigilant, perched near the crashed dropship, her sharp eyes scanning the perimeter. And Bellamy stood tall near one of the makeshift walls, his posture alert and unwavering, a sentinel against the unknown.

When Hannah's gaze settled on him, it was as if she'd summoned him somehow. His face turned toward her almost instantly, his dark eyes locking onto hers across the firelit clearing. After a moment of what seemed like quiet contemplation, he strode over, his boots crunching softly on the dirt until he stopped in front of her, the firelight casting his shadow over her.

"What's with that serious look, Miller?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone light but carrying a hint of concern. "You're missing out on the party."

She tilted her head slightly, her expression skeptical but not unkind.

"The Grounders aren't going to take a break just because it's Unity Day," she replied, her voice steady, grounded in the reality she couldn't ignore.

Bellamy nodded slowly, his features softening as he leaned against the log beside her, not sitting but close enough for her to hear him clearly over the crackle of the fire and the distant chatter.

"I know," he said, his voice low and thoughtful, almost intimate. "We've got people posted at every vantage point. The camp's secure tonight." His tone suggested she didn't have to carry the burden alone, a rare offer of relief. "Take a breath while you can, Hannah."

Her eyes drifted back to the fire, its flames dancing hypnotically. Her fingers loosened their grip on the polished wood of her bow, which she'd been clutching like a lifeline.

"I'm not sure I know how," she admitted softly but firmly, her gaze still fixed on the flickering flames. "It's not something I'm good at. Not when I know what's out there." She gestured vaguely toward the dark forest beyond the camp, where unseen threats loomed in the shadows.

That was how her mind worked, constantly churning, overthinking scenarios that might never come to pass but weighed on her like a persistent burden, a nagging fear she couldn't shake.

"You don't have to be good at it," Bellamy said, his voice serious yet warm, as if speaking from a place of hard-earned experience. "You just have to try. For one night, Hannah, let yourself breathe. The Grounders aren't going anywhere, but neither are we."

The sound of her name on his lips stirred a gentle warmth in her chest, unexpected and unsettling, different from the countless times he'd said it before in orders or casual remarks. She looked at him, her green eyes studying his face intently. The firelight played across his sharp jawline, softening the hard edges of his usual intensity. Bellamy always seemed so sure of himself, so ready to take charge, but now she saw a glimpse of something else, a shared burden, hidden behind his confident facade.

"The Exodus ship will be here in four days, with your parents on board," he added, his voice quieter now. "The party's over after that." He was right. Once the Ark came down, everything would change, for better or worse.

Her fingers relaxed further on her bow, the tension in her shoulders beginning to ease, like a tightly wound spring slowly unwinding.

"Okay," she said softly, nodding. "Just for one night..."

Bellamy flashed a small, genuine smile, a spark of sincere relief in his eyes.

"Good," he said with a nod of approval. He didn't offer to stay, though. With a brief dip of his head, he turned and walked back toward the shadows near the wall, his silhouette fading into the darkness, leaving her with the flickering glow of the bonfire and the lively hum of the celebration.

Hannah lingered on the log for a few more minutes, savoring the newfound lightness in her chest. It was almost comforting, a welcome change after so much strain. Staying still, missing out on the rare moment of joy, suddenly felt wrong.

Let yourself breathe, she told herself, echoing his words.

With a deep sigh, she stood, carefully propping her bow against the log, trusting it would be safe there. She began to wander through the camp, her steps lighter than before.

She saw groups of kids sharing stories and laughter, the air thick with the savory scent of roasting meat and the sharp tang of Monty's homemade moonshine. It was chaotic, but vibrant, utterly foreign to the sterile, controlled life she'd known on the Ark.

"Hannah! Over here!"

She turned to see Jasper waving at her enthusiastically, his face lit up with a wide grin. Monty stood beside him, holding a metal cup, his expression more reserved but still warm. Around them was a small group: Harper, Monroe, and Sterling, each adding to the lively atmosphere.

"Finally decided to join the living?" Jasper teased, his movements loose and carefree, clearly influenced by the moonshine. He thrust a battered metal cup toward her. "Here, take this. You need it more than I do."

Hannah took the cup hesitantly, eyeing it with suspicion. The smell was strong, acidic, unmistakable, Monty's moonshine. Under the playful pressure of their expectant gazes, she brought it to her lips and took a cautious sip. The liquid burned her throat, making her cough slightly. The taste was... awful, like something scraped from the bottom of a fuel tank.

"Ugh," she grimaced, shoving the cup back at Jasper. "How do you guys drink this stuff? It tastes like rocket fuel."

Monty let out a mock-offended groan, clutching his chest dramatically.

"Hey! I worked hard on that batch," he protested. "Give it a few sips, it gets better, I swear."

"It's an assault on every sense," Hannah shot back, though a small smile tugged at her lips, betraying her amusement.

Sterling laughed, a warm, easy sound that cut through the group's banter. He was sitting on an overturned crate, looking relaxed and approachable, someone Hannah had barely spoken to before.

"Don't listen to them. It's an acquired taste, especially if you've never had anything decent." He raised his own cup in a casual toast. "But it does the job."

"And what job is that?" Hannah asked, genuinely curious, leaning against a nearby crate to join the circle.

"Making you forget you're stuck on a radioactive planet surrounded by people who want to kill us," Monroe chimed in bluntly, taking a hefty swig from her cup.

"Temporarily," Harper added with a wry smile, her tone light but pointed.

"Temporarily's better than never," Jasper declared grandly, raising his cup in a toast that only a few joined, clinking their cups together. "To forgetting, temporarily!"

The group erupted in laughter, and Hannah found herself smiling along with them, the sound infectious. The tension in her shoulders began to melt away, just a little, as the warmth of the group enveloped her.

"So, Miller," Jasper said, his eyes glinting mischievously in the firelight. "We're playing a game. Truth or... well, just truth, to keep it simple. But if you refuse to answer, you've gotta drink."

Hannah raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued.

"Sounds like a flimsy excuse to get drunk," she said dryly.

"That's the whole point" Monty laughed, his grin wide.

"Fine, I'm in," Hannah said, crossing her arms defiantly. "But I'm not touching that moonshine again. Ask your question."

"Your loss," Monty said with a shrug, while Hannah rolled her eyes, a smile creeping onto her face.

Jasper's eyes sparkled with a familiar mischievous glint that told Hannah he was up to no good.

"Alright, Miller. Truth..." He paused for dramatic effect, leaning forward as the group leaned in with him, hanging on his words. The small circle of friends, Monty, Harper, Monroe, and Sterling, focused their attention on her, their faces warm and eager in the fire's glow.

Hannah rolled her eyes again, though she couldn't suppress a small, resigned smile.

"Okay, fine. Hit me with it," she said, bracing herself.

Jasper didn't hesitate, his grin widening like he'd just won a bet.

"Alright, here it comes. Have you ever... you know... had a crush on someone?"

It was such a cliché, childish question that she should've seen it coming a mile away. Her first instinct was to scoff, a dismissive sound meant to brush off the topic.

"Seriously? That's your big question?" she asked sarcastically, but a traitorous warmth crept up her neck, giving her away. Her eyes flicked away from the group for a split second, seeking escape.

"She's blushing!" Monty crowed, pointing at her with a gleeful laugh.

"I am not," Hannah shot back, her voice sharper than intended, betraying her discomfort. She crossed her arms tightly, a defensive move she instantly regretted as it only drew more attention.

"Oh, you have to answer now," Harper said, her smile kind but insistent. "Rules are rules."

"Your rules are stupid," Hannah muttered, but the damage was done. They'd all seen her reaction. She sighed, giving in to the inevitable. Telling the truth was easier than choking down another sip of Monty's concoction.

"Fine. Yes. Once," she admitted.

The group leaned in closer, practically vibrating with curiosity.

"Who was it?" Jasper pressed, his curiosity genuine and unrelenting.

Hannah bit her lip, her gaze dropping to her hands, fidgeting slightly.

"It's not a big deal. It was a long time ago, back when we were kids." She shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Nathan."

A brief silence was followed by a collective, knowing "Ooooh" from the group. It wasn't a shocking revelation; it made sense. They'd grown up together on Alpha Station, their parents were best friends, and they'd trained side by side for years.

"Miller and Miller," Monroe teased with a dry chuckle. "That's adorable."

For a moment, memories of those simpler years flooded back. Nathan was the only boy she'd been close to growing up, so it was only natural that she'd developed feelings for him at some point. It had been innocent, pure. She was just a kid, never thinking about acting on those feelings. She simply liked being around him, basking in his attention, knowing he cared about her as much as she cared about him.

That not-so-small crush had lasted a little over a year, a quiet secret she kept to herself. Even if she'd said something, it probably wouldn't have mattered, because a few months later, Nathan confided in her that he had a crush on a boy from Farm Station named Bryan.

"It was a long time ago," Hannah repeated firmly, her tone signaling the topic was closed. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, glancing away from the group briefly. "We were twelve. It lasted, like, a week."

Jasper, ever the persistent one, wasn't fully satisfied.

"And? What happened? Did he break your heart?" he asked, leaning forward with exaggerated drama.

Hannah rolled her eyes, but a soft, genuine laugh escaped her, a rare sound, even to her own ears.

"No, Jasper, he didn't break my heart," she said, her tone dry but amused. "We were twelve. I never told him. End of story."

They laughed, and the game moved on, much to her relief, shifting the focus away from her. Hannah let herself be swept up in the conversations, the laughter, and the playful debates, some lighthearted, some heated, about everything from the moonshine's taste to old Ark gossip.

For a while, she allowed herself to be just a girl at a party, the weight on her shoulders feeling a little lighter, the burden of survival momentarily set aside.

But her eyes, as they often did, wandered across the camp, scanning the chaotic joy until they landed on the one steady figure at the perimeter: Bellamy. He was still at his post, occasionally chatting with someone nearby, but his gaze never strayed far from the tree line, always vigilant. The leader. The protector. His burden was different from hers, heavier in its own way, but it was there, a tangible force even from across the clearing.

He must have sensed her watching, because he turned his head slowly, his dark eyes finding hers through the crowd. For a long moment, they just looked at each other. The raucous laughter of her friends faded into a distant hum. He didn't smile, but his gaze wasn't hostile. It was... something she couldn't quite decipher. A silent check-in. I see you. You see me. We're still here.

Hannah gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. I'm okay.

The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest hint of a reaction, before he turned back to the dark forest, his stance ever-watchful.

The moment was shattered by a loud cheer from Jasper beside her, pulling her back to the present. But the feeling lingered. The party carried on around her, but part of her remained anchored to that quiet exchange, a new and confusing warmth settling in her chest—a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with the boy standing guard in the shadows.

That warmth vanished when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. It wasn't Jasper, or Monty, or Bellamy. Instead, she found Finn Collins standing beside her, his expression unreadable, a strange mix of urgency and forced calm that felt entirely out of place amid the revelry.

"Hannah," he said, his voice low enough to be private amidst the noise. "Can I talk to you for a second? It's important."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. She and Finn weren't close, barely acquaintances. They'd exchanged only a handful of words since landing on Earth, their paths rarely crossing.

"What's this about?" she asked, matching his cautious tone.

"Not here," Finn said, glancing at the smiling faces around them. He forced a weak, unconvincing smile at the group, who were now watching curiously. "Just borrowing her for a minute, guys."

Jasper nodded absently, his attention already back on Monroe, who was spilling the real reason she'd been arrested on the Ark.

Finn didn't wait for further approval, guiding Hannah away from the fire's warm glow and into the quieter shadows deep in the forest. When he deemed they were far enough from prying ears, he stopped. The forced calm melted from his face, replaced by a raw, earnest intensity.

"What's going on, Finn?" Hannah asked, crossing her arms. The lightness she'd felt moments ago crumbled, replaced by a suffocating unease. Finn's expression was anything but calm.

"I did it," he said, the words rushing out in an excited, hushed whisper. "I set a meeting with the Grounders."

Hannah stared at him, certain she'd misheard.

"What?" The statement was so outrageous, so monumental, that her mind struggled to process it. "How?"

"The Grounder. Lincoln," Finn explained, as Hannah raised an eyebrow, wondering how he'd even learned the man's name. "Octavia helped him escape. I found them. I talked to him."

Slowly, the pieces started to fall into place, but her mind was still reeling, a flood of questions swirling.

"You talked to him? And he just... agreed? Does he even speak english?" she asked, her voice thick with skepticism.

"Yeah, he does. But the thing is... he doesn't want this war any more than we do," Finn insisted, his tone pleading for her to believe him. "He says his leader will listen. They'll meet us at a neutral spot, a bridge east of here. But there's one condition." He paused, fixing her with a grave look. "They want our leader to come."

A cold knot tightened in Hannah's stomach. She could already see where this was going.

"Finn... Clarke and Bellamy will never go for this. You know that. They think the only thing Grounders understand is violence," she said, recalling Bellamy's hardened expression, Clarke's pragmatic despair. "They'll say it's a trap. And they might be right."

Finn shook his head firmly.

"That's the thing. He doesn't want Clarke or Bellamy."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Hannah held her breath, a part of her already dreading the next part.

"He said it has to be you."

Hannah shook her head, rejecting the idea outright.

"No."

"Hannah..."

"No, Finn. I'm not a leader, and I don't want to be in charge," she cut in, her voice firm.

"He trusts you," Finn said, almost desperately. "I don't know why or how, but he trusts you. And this is our only shot."

The weight of his words was crushing. Advocating for peace in the Ark's council was one thing; representing their group in a secret meeting with a deadly enemy was another entirely. An enemy that, from all they knew, speared kids and slit throats without hesitation.

What was she supposed to say? What did they expect her to do?

"Finn... whatever he said, I'm not the leader," she said, her voice growing stronger, though a tremor of doubt crept in. "We have rules for a reason. We have to tell Clarke. She needs to know."

"Clarke won't listen!" Finn hissed, his voice sharp with urgency. "You know that. She's so focused on keeping us safe that she can't see a way forward without fighting. And Bellamy, if he finds out, he'll storm in with every weapon we've got and ruin any chance of making this work. This has to stay quiet. Just us. The terms are clear: no weapons. Just talk."

Her mind raced, spinning through possibilities. He was right about how Clarke and Bellamy would react, she could picture it vividly. They'd call it a reckless, dangerous idea, a suicide mission or a trap, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong.

But it was a massive decision. Going behind their backs felt like betrayal. It was betrayal.

She looked at Finn, meeting the desperation in his eyes. He truly believed this was their only path to peace. And a part of her wanted to believe it too.

But the Grounders were so unpredictable. So far, they'd given her group nothing but reasons to distrust and fear them.

She closed her eyes for a moment, wrestling with the conflicting truths battling within her.

When she opened them, her expression was resolute.

"Okay. I'll do it."

Finn's shoulders slumped with visible relief, as if he'd been holding his breath.

"Thank you. I'll be waiting at the east gate. We need to move now."

"But I'm telling Clarke," Hannah said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "I'm not leaving this camp without her knowing. If this goes wrong, and it might, someone needs to know where we went." Someone needs to know we tried, she thought, but didn't say aloud.

Finn's jaw tightened, as if he wanted to argue, but he saw the unyielding determination in her eyes and knew there was no changing her mind. He nodded reluctantly.

"Fine. Tell Clarke. But only Clarke. Meet me at the gate. And, Hannah..." He paused, his gaze intense. "No weapons. That's their condition. It's the only way they'll agree to talk."

She nodded, her expression solemn.

Without another word, Finn turned and headed toward the east gate, disappearing into the shadows where he'd wait. Hannah took a moment to process the flood of new information, her heart pounding. Then, her emerald eyes began scanning the camp for Clarke.

The sun shone brighter than usual that day, its radiance casting beams across the skin of the delinquents gathered attentively before the two figures in front of them.

Hannah stood beside Bellamy in the small clearing they'd designated as a training field. Her wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail, loose strands dancing in the breeze that brushed her face. Her emerald eyes scanned the group of about twenty delinquents lined up with their new weapons: rusted but functional rifles, held awkwardly by inexperienced hands. There weren't enough guns for everyone, so they'd had to be selective about who got one.

Beside her, Bellamy paced with purposeful steps, a rifle cradled in his hands. He glanced at her and nodded, a faint smile crossing his face before he turned to address the group.

"Alright, listen up," Bellamy called, his voice authoritative but steady, cutting through the murmurs. "These aren't toys. They're the difference between living and dying. First rule: treat every gun like it's loaded, even if you think it's not. Safety on until you're ready to fire; it's this switch here." He demonstrated with his own rifle, flipping the safety with a click that echoed in the silence. "Hold it firm, but not too tight. Feet shoulder-width apart, like this. Aim through the sight, exhale slowly, and squeeze the trigger; don't yank it."

The delinquents nodded, trying to mimic his stance with varying degrees of success. As they adjusted their positions, Bellamy, Hannah, and Nathan moved among them, correcting those struggling the most.

Hannah paused beside Harper. "Spread your feet more," she said gently, nudging Harper's boots with her own. "That's it. Keep your shoulders relaxed; it'll help with the recoil."

Harper nodded quickly, her face flushed from the heat. "Thanks."

Moving on, Hannah stopped next to Connor, whose rifle was aimed too low. "Up," she instructed, tapping the barrel lightly. "Keep it aligned with your line of sight."

Connor nodded. "Got it, boss."

She continued down the line, circling back to Bellamy's side. He watched her, his dark eyes unreadable but softer than they'd been weeks ago.

"Want to take over from here?" Bellamy asked, his voice low, just for her. "You're better at this than I am."

Hannah shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she crossed her arms. "No, you're doing fine. They're listening to you." She tilted her head toward the group, where several delinquents were already adjusting their grips based on his demonstration. "Keep going. I'll check their form." After all, she wasn't great with words, not like Bellamy or Clarke.

He smirked, nodding as he turned back to the group. "Alright, let's see what you've got. On my count, aim at those targets we set up: empty cans on the logs over there. Safeties off, one shot each. Remember: exhale and squeeze."

The delinquents raised their rifles, the air filling with the metallic clicks of safeties disengaging. Bellamy counted, and a ragged volley of shots rang out.

Hannah observed the results, her weight shifted onto one foot, hands on her hips. Some hit their targets, sending cans flying with satisfying clinks; others missed, kicking up dirt or splintering background trees.

"Not bad for a first try," Bellamy called, his tone encouraging but firm. "Reload if you need to: magazine release button here, slide it in smooth. We'll go again in a minute. Hannah, Nathan, check their stances."

Hannah nodded, moving along the line again. She paused at a few delinquents, adjusting their positions or grips, offering quiet tips on breathing and silently encouraging those whose shots had gone wide.

As she moved down the line, she stopped beside Jasper, who hadn't fired yet, staring at the rifle like it might bite him. "Jasper," Hannah said softly, stepping closer. "You okay? Need help with that?"

Jasper looked up, letting out a nervous laugh. "Uh, yeah... or no? Look, Hannah, I appreciate the confidence or whatever, but... you sure this is a good idea? Me with a gun?" He gestured vaguely at the rifle, his voice low, as if afraid the others would notice how much he was struggling. "Come on, I'm the guy who got speared on day one. They should've given this to someone else, someone who's, you know, actually useful in a fight..."

Hannah sighed, gently pulling him aside, her emerald eyes meeting his with that quiet intensity she always carried. She wasn't good with words, let alone motivational speeches, but she could see the doubt and nerves eating at him, the same feelings he'd carried since the spear.

"I suggested you" she said.. 

His eyebrows shot up, surprise crossing his face. "Wow, thanks?" he said sarcastically.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes slightly. "Bravery is getting speared, hanging from a tree for days, and still getting up every morning to help the sick, to hunt for food... You survived that, Jasper. Most would've given up. That's why I think you can handle this." She tapped the rifle lightly. "It's not about being the best shot right away. It's about being ready when it counts. And I believe in you."

She meant it. She'd suggested Jasper because she trusted it was a good idea to arm him, because he, more than others in the camp, had shown he truly cared.

Jasper blinked, processing her words, his grip on the rifle tightening just a bit. "Guess I shouldn't let you down, huh? Alright, let's do this." He sighed, stepping back into line, positioning himself as Bellamy had shown.

Hannah straightened, giving him a nod. "Just breathe, aim, squeeze. You've got this."

Finally, Jasper raised his rifle, his hands trembling slightly, but he fired. The bullet grazed the edge of a can, and Hannah smiled in his direction, giving his shoulder a light tap of congratulations before moving on.

Her eyes caught Clarke approaching, her breath slightly heavy from running. "The broadcast is about to start," she announced.

Today was Unity Day, the day all the space stations, each representing a different nation, decided the best chance for humanity's survival was to unite and form the Ark. The day the twelve nations chose to destroy the thirteenth station, though that part of the story was rarely spoken of...

Bellamy glanced at Clarke, then at the delinquents before him. "Alright, training's done for today."

The delinquents began gathering near the dropship, where Raven had set up an improvised screen to relay the broadcast from the Ark.

As the group dispersed toward the screen, Hannah hung back, her bow slung over her shoulder, her gaze drifting to the crowd forming around it. Bellamy stayed by her side, his rifle still in hand, his expression unreadable but calmer than usual.

The crackle of static filled the air as the screen flickered to life, revealing Chancellor Jaha's face. His voice carried the weight of authority, but there was an undercurrent of hope that silenced the delinquents and compelled them to listen.

"My friends," Jaha began, his tone firm and resonant, "this is a historic Unity Day. Every year, we celebrate the moment our ancestors from the twelve stations came together to form the Ark, but this will be the last time we do so aboard it. The next one will be from Earth."

Hannah bit her lip as she heard the applause from those still orbiting in space.

"For ninety-seven years, we've survived on the bare minimum, hoping one day our descendants would return to Earth. To our sons and daughters on the ground hearing this message, we'll see you soon. The first Exodus ship will launch in less than sixty hours, bringing the reinforcements you need. So stay strong. Help is on the way."

The camp erupted in murmurs—some hopeful, others skeptical. But Hannah felt a hopeful knot in her chest, her thoughts racing to her parents and Jaha's promise to secure their place on the first ship from the Ark.

She glanced at Bellamy, whose jaw was tight, his dark eyes fixed on the screen. The mention of the Exodus ship seemed to hit him differently, hardening his stance.

"Sixty hours," Hannah said quietly, her voice cutting through the murmurs. She leaned against a tree, arms crossed, her emerald eyes studying Bellamy. "Everything's about to change, isn't it?"

Bellamy let out a short, bitter laugh, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Yeah..." He looked at her, his expression a mix of resignation and defiance. "The Council's coming to take control. The Bellamy and Clarke show is over. They'll bring their rules, their guards, their way of doing things."

Hannah tilted her head, her loose strands catching the breeze. "Guess you're not thrilled about that."

He shrugged, his gaze drifting to the forest. "Nope. Up there, they decided who lived and who died. Down here, we've made things work, our way. Clarke, you, me... we've kept these kids alive. The Council shows up, and suddenly we're back to being told what to do."

Hannah nodded slowly, her fingers brushing the worn wood of her bow. She understood his frustration; she felt it too, in a way. The Ark's rules had sent her here, torn her from her parents, and now they were coming to impose order on a world they'd fought to survive in, with unfair and inhumane rules.

"Maybe it's for the best," she said, her voice calm but not entirely convinced. "They'll bring resources, medicine, doctors, people who know how to build things right. We can't keep living like this forever, half-starved, fighting Grounders, hoping the next storm doesn't wipe us out."

Bellamy's eyes met hers. "You really believe that? That they'll show up and make everything okay? You know how they are, Hannah. You saw what they did to you, to Clarke. They sent you here to die."

She held his gaze, her jaw tightening slightly. "I know what they did. But I also know my parents are up there, and so are a lot of other people who don't deserve to die because we can't get it together down here." Her voice was steady, not wanting to slip back into the dynamic they'd shared just days ago. "The Council's not perfect, but neither are we. We've made mistakes too, big ones."

Bellamy's lips curved, almost into a bittersweet smile. "You're talking about the Grounder, aren't you?"

Hannah sighed, looking away for a moment, her thoughts drifting to the journal still tucked in her backpack, to the words the Grounder had said that she still didn't understand. "I'm talking about everything. The way we keep losing people. Maybe the Council's arrival is a chance to do вещи differently. Not just for us, but for everyone."

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "You're too optimistic, Miller. Always have been."

She rolled her eyes. "And you're too cynical, Blake. Always have been."

He snorted, the tension between them easing just a bit. For a moment, they stood there, the sounds of the camp, voices, laughter, fading into the background.

"Do you think they'll listen to us?" Bellamy asked, his voice lower now, almost vulnerable. "When they get here, do you think they'll care what we've been through? What we've built?"

Hannah considered his words, her fingers tightening on her bow. "They'll have to," she said firmly. "We've survived without them. We've fought, bled, lost people. They can't just show up and act like none of that matters. And if they try..." She paused, her green eyes shining with determination. "We'll make them listen. Together."

Bellamy looked at her, his expression softening. "Together, huh?" he said, his voice low, testing the word like it was new.

"Yeah," Hannah replied, her smile small but genuine. "Don't get used to it. I still think you're a headache sometimes."

The morning light filtered through the branches, casting golden gleams on the soaked ground, where puddles of water reflected the sky, and the mud still held the footprints from the storm that had swept through the camp the night before. The air smelled of wet earth, a dense aroma that enveloped everything, as if nature itself wanted to remind Hannah that this world, though cruel, was alive.

Seated on an improvised bench made of logs and planks, Hannah watched the tent where Raven had managed to repair the communication system to talk with the Ark. The entrance flap fluttered with every step of the delinquents entering and exiting, each one clinging to their turn to speak with the families they'd left behind, up there in the space station orbiting a world they no longer recognized.

An hour earlier, Monty had emerged from the tent, his eyes red but with a smile after talking to his parents. Then it was Jasper, who barely gave her a slight nod before disappearing among the camp's tents. Now it was Nathan's turn, and Hannah felt like the wait for hers seemed eternal.

Her legs swung restlessly, her fingers toying with the frayed threads of her shorts, as if pulling them could unravel the anxiety coursing through her body. She'd dreamed of this moment for months, of hearing her parents' voices, but now that it was so close, fear and hope twisted a knot in her stomach.

After minutes that felt like hours, the flap opened, and Nathan stepped out, his face more serene, as if the chat with his father had lifted an invisible burden. His brown eyes found Hannah's instantly, and his steps carried him toward her with a calm he hadn't shown before.

"Hannah," he said, his voice low and steady, as if he'd released a weight he'd carried for months. "It's your turn."

Hannah's heart leaped, her eyes welling up without her being able to stop it. The emotion hit her, but she tried not to show it.

"How was it?" she asked in a whisper that barely reached him.

Nathan paused for a second, searching for the words. "Heavy, you know? Dad's holding on up there, but... hearing his voice after so long..." He stopped, swallowing hard, and Hannah understood without needing more. The broken bond between him and his father seemed to be healing, even if at a slow pace.

But Nathan noticed the look in her eyes, even though she tried to hide it. "You're gonna be fine, Hannah. Take a deep breath," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, as if trying to pass on some of his calm.

"Thanks," she murmured, feeling him nudge her gently toward the tent.

She walked to the entrance, each step heavier than the last. The flap, rough and damp, seemed to resist as she pushed it aside. Inside, the light was dim. In the center, a long table held a chaos of wires, a worn keyboard, a flickering screen, and a headset microphone.

With a knot in her throat that barely let her breathe, Hannah dragged a chair over and sat in front of the monitor. When her eyes adjusted to the image, her heart clenched. It wasn't her parents staring back at her from the screen, but three figures she recognized instantly: Chancellor Jaha, seated in the center, with Marcus Kane and Abby Griffin at his sides.

"You can hear me now, right?" Jaha's voice came through the headset, which Hannah put on with trembling hands. She nodded.

"I thought I was going to talk to my parents..." she whispered, uncertainty evident on her face.

Jaha raised a hand, his tone calm but firm, as always. "You will, Hannah, but first we need to talk to you. It won't take long."

She nodded, interlacing her fingers under the table, squeezing them until her knuckles turned white, while holding the gazes of the three through the screen.

"What's it about?" she asked, her voice low.

Jaha leaned forward, his hands folded on the table. "First, I want to thank you personally," he said, and in his voice wasn't the chancellor, but Thelonious Jaha, a father. "For Wells. Clarke told us how you cared for him in his final moments, how you ensured he was buried with dignity." He paused, his voice trembling. "As a father... that means everything to me."

Hannah's throat closed, memories of Wells crashing over her suddenly. "He's my friend," she murmured, looking at her hands, unable to meet Jaha's eyes. "I wish I could've done more."

Abby nodded, her gaze filled with an empathy only a mother could understand. Jaha sighed, and for a moment, it seemed they shared the same pain, the same futile wish to change the past.

"You're doing great work down there," Jaha continued, regaining his leader's tone. "We've heard how hard you've been working in the camp. We're proud of you, Hannah, truly."

She shook her head, honesty slipping out before she could stop it. "I didn't do it because you asked me to. When I got on that ship, I was angry. I thought I wasn't going to be part of this, that I didn't care. But... everything we thought we knew about Earth was wrong. I had no choice."

Jaha looked at her, something close to admiration shining in his eyes. "And yet, you stepped up. That's why we're talking to you now." He paused, glancing at Kane before continuing. "Winter is coming, and you don't have enough to face it. There's a bunker, smaller than Mount Weather, but closer to your camp. It's a pre-bomb storage facility, probably with food, medicine, tools, maybe weapons. It could be your salvation until we can send the first crew from the Ark."

Hannah's mind raced, imagining supplies, shelter... "Where is it?" she asked, her voice steadier now.

Kane spoke up. "About ten miles northeast, near the river closest to your camp. We've already sent the coordinates to Raven for her to decode."

Hannah nodded, committing every word to memory. "Got it, we'll check it out..." She paused, and the question burning in her chest slipped out almost unwillingly: "But... about the first crew..."

Jaha caught her concern instantly. "We don't have all the details yet, but we'll get the first crew down as soon as possible. I'll make sure your parents are on it. It's the least we can do for everything you've done."

"Thank you," Hannah whispered, feeling a wave of relief wash over her body.

Abby spoke then, her voice softer, more intimate. "Hannah, I know you're anxious to talk to your parents, but I need to ask you something. Can we talk alone for a moment?"

Jaha and Kane exchanged a look, murmured their goodbyes—"May we meet again"—and left the frame, leaving Abby alone on the screen.

"It's about Clarke," Abby said, her voice trembling slightly, laden with a guilt Hannah could feel across the distance. "She won't talk to me, and I get it, I earned that. I know she's strong, but she's carrying too much. She trusts you, Hannah. I'm just asking you not to leave her alone."

The words sounded more like a plea. So she simply nodded firmly, though she felt the weight of that promise settling on her shoulders. "I won't."

Abby smiled, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you. That's all I needed." She bid farewell with a soft nod and left the screen.

Two figures took her place, and Hannah's world stopped. Tears welled in her eyes, her shoulders shook, and her voice came out broken, barely a whisper. "Mom? Dad?"

Lauren's voice came first, cracked by the tears streaming down her face as she saw her daughter. "Oh, my baby..." Her hands reached toward the screen, as if she wanted to break through it, touch her, make sure she was real. "You're okay. You're alive."

Beside her, Joel leaned forward. His eyes were red, though there were no tears. Hannah had never seen him so vulnerable. "We've been so worried, kid. We thought..." His voice cut off, unable to finish.

Hannah's tears fell freely, her shoulders shaking with each sob. "I'm sorry..." she said, her voice rough, choked. "I'm trying with everything I have, but... I don't know if I can keep going." She shook her head, the weight of the last weeks crushing her. "We've lost so many people. I lost Wells... And the Grounders... they're everywhere, and I don't know how to stop them."

Lauren's face crumpled, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a sob. "Oh, Hannah..."

"Everyone thinks I can," Hannah continued, wiping her eyes angrily. "They look at me like I have all the answers, like I can save us. But I'm scared..." She paused, her voice dropping to a broken whisper. "We've hurt someone. We've tortured someone. I was there, and I let it happen."

Her parents exchanged a look, the silence between them heavy. "I wish I could take all this away from you, kiddo," Joel said, his voice firm but laden with pain. "I'd give anything to be there, to protect you. But you're not alone, you never will be. We're with you, every day."

Hannah breathed raggedly, tears endless. "I miss you so much..." she whispered, barely audible.

Lauren looked at her, her eyes shining with love. "You're our Hannah, you always will be. We love you more than anything, and we're so proud of you, not for what you do, but for who you are." Her voice softened, trying to lighten her daughter's pain. "Tell us about Earth, sweetie. What's it like? The air, the trees, everything."

Hannah swallowed hard, wiping her face with trembling hands. "The trees are... giants, Mom. Taller than I ever imagined. And the ground... it's soft. You can sink your hands into it and it feels like... like..." She paused, her eyes distant, searching for the right words to describe it. "I don't know how to explain it."

Lauren and Joel smiled, a spark of relief on their faces. "It's okay, baby," Lauren said, her voice warm.

"And there are colors everywhere..." Hannah continued. "Near the camp, there's a lake. Swimming there is like... flying? No, like floating... but in a good way."

Lauren's eyes filled with tears, but her smile widened, clinging to the image of her daughter in a living world. "It sounds like a world worth fighting for," she said softly. "And you're finding the way."

Hannah shook her head. "It's not just me, Mom. We're all trying. But it's hard. Every day feels like we're one step from losing everything."

Joel clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the table tightly. "Listen up, Hannah Miller," he said, his voice firm. "You're stronger than you think. You've faced things we can't even imagine, and you're still standing. We're coming down soon, I promise."

Hannah looked at him, her eyes blurry with tears. "Really?" she whispered, as if fearing that at any moment everything would go wrong, like it had been for the last few days.

Joel nodded, his expression unyielding. "On the first ship, as soon as it's ready. Your mother and I will be there. When have I ever let you down, little one?"

Hannah's lips trembled, childhood memories flooding her. "Never."

Joel smiled faintly, a crack of tenderness in his tough facade. "And I'm not starting now."

Lauren reached out, almost touching the screen. "Hold on, Hannah. Just a little longer. You're not alone down there."

Hannah nodded, her chest aching with a mix of hope and fear. "I'll try," she murmured. A voice called to her parents from off-screen. It was time to say goodbye.

"We love you, Hannah. More than anything. Until we meet again," Lauren said, her voice urgent, shaky.

"I love you too," Hannah whispered, her voice breaking as her parents stood to make way for others.

She stood up, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry away part of the weight she bore. She stepped out of the tent, the fresh morning air brushing her face, drying the tears still dampening her cheeks.

She walked through the camp, her boots sinking into the mud with each step. She spotted Clarke in what was now the medical tent, organizing a meager stack of supplies. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun, and dark circles marked her face. Seeing her, Clarke looked up and nodded.

"Hannah, come here," she called, her voice firm. "I need to check you out."

Hannah sighed, suspecting Bellamy had blabbed about her ankle. She approached. "I'm fine, Clarke. It's just a sprain."

Clarke narrowed her eyes, no room for negotiation. "Sit down," she ordered, pointing to a nearby crate. "Let me see it."

Reluctantly, Hannah sat, rolling up her pant leg. Clarke rolled her eyes with a smile as she knelt, examining the ankle with expert hands. There was a bruise, but nothing serious, though it would be a nuisance for a few days.

"I talked to the Council," Hannah said, her voice low as Clarke worked. "They mentioned a bunker to the northeast, near the river. Food, medicine, maybe weapons."

Clarke nodded, focused on bandaging the ankle. "Yeah, Raven got the coordinates this morning. I was going to tell you, but..." She paused, securing the bandage carefully. "Some kids are sick, something from undercooked meat. I can't leave them now."

Hannah frowned, processing the info. "You want me to go?"

Clarke stood, wiping her hands on her pants. "Yes. It's not far, about ten miles, and the area seems safe, no signs of Grounders. Can you handle it?"

Hannah nodded, her determination firm despite the nagging pain in her ankle. "I can."

Clarke hesitated, her blue eyes studying her. "Take Bellamy with you."

Hannah pressed her lips together, a spark of irritation crossing her face. She didn't say anything. "Fine, I'll find him."

Clarke finished the bandage and gave her a small smile. "Thanks."

"Can I go now?" Hannah asked, eager to move.

Clarke nodded. "Rest when you get back, got it? If not, I'll put you on bed rest for a week," she warned, half joking, half serious.

Hannah bit her lip, standing and testing the ankle. It hurt, but it held. "Got it," she said, grabbing her bow and giving one last nod before heading off to find Bellamy.

She walked a few minutes until she found him near the camp entrance, arms crossed, arguing with Octavia. Their faces were tense, voices raised, probably about the Grounder held in the dropship. Hannah approached, keeping an awkward distance, not wanting to interrupt. Octavia saw her first, gave a quick nod, and walked away.

Bellamy turned, his brown eyes meeting hers. "Miller," he said, his tone softer than usual, almost curious. "What's up?"

Hannah shifted her weight, minding her ankle. "I talked to the Council. There's a bunker to the northeast, ten miles, near the river. Could have food, medicine, weapons. Clarke wants me to check it out, but..." She paused, holding his gaze. "I could use some help."

Bellamy looked at her for a moment, then nodded, his expression serious but without the usual hostility. "Give me ten minutes, I'll grab my stuff."

"Okay," Hannah said, turning toward the entrance, her bow in hand, her mind already on the mission.

[...]

Leaning against a tree near the entrance, Hannah waited, her bow resting at her side. The fresh air brushed her skin, bringing the scent of moss and earth. Finally, she saw Bellamy emerge from his tent, a backpack slung over his shoulder and his jacket on. Before reaching her, he stopped at a table full of provisions, grabbing dried meat, a canteen, and a bunch of nuts that Monty and Jasper had gathered.

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot for a day trip..."

Bellamy looked at her, shrugging as he zipped the backpack. "You never know what can happen in a day."

She nodded, silently conceding the point. "Fair enough."

They set off together into the woods, leaving the camp behind. The trees enveloped them, their branches dripping water from the recent storm. The path was slippery, mud clinging to their boots. Hannah moved carefully, her bow ready, her eyes scanning every shadow, every movement. Bellamy walked beside her, his knife at his belt, his steps steady but alert, as if the forest itself could betray them.

They walked in silence for a good while, only the splash of their boots and the drip from the branches breaking the quiet. It wasn't a tense silence, like the ones they usually shared, but something calmer, almost comfortable, as if for a moment they could just be two people in a broken world.

After a long stretch, Bellamy broke the silence, his voice low. "So, you talked to your parents?"Hannah kept her eyes on the path, her fingers gripping the bow lightly. "Yeah, after the Council. It was... good, hearing them again." She didn't mention the promise of their arrival, keeping that piece of hope to herself.

Bellamy nodded, his eyes lost in the trees.

She shrugged, her voice steady but careful. "What about you? Talk to anyone today?"

He shook his head, his face closed off. "I only have Octavia down here."

Hannah nodded, realizing how little she knew about him, about Octavia, about their story. They'd shared days, fights, dangers, but their lives remained a mystery. The silence returned, but it didn't weigh heavy.

A few minutes later, Hannah spoke, her tone careful, like treading fragile ground. "What's gonna happen with the Grounder?"

His steps slowed, his jaw tensing. She didn't agree with keeping him locked up, let alone the torture he'd endured, but arguing with Bellamy now, when they needed to work together, wasn't the plan. Deep down, she understood it might be necessary, but the idea turned her stomach. When had they become the ones justifying pain?

"I don't know," Bellamy said, his voice controlled. "He knows where we are, how we defend ourselves, who we are. We can't just let him go and hope he doesn't come back with his people looking for revenge."

Hannah nodded, looking ahead, avoiding the tension. She didn't want to go down that road, not now.

Bellamy dropped the subject, but after a moment, his voice turned more direct. "Nathan said you found that Grounder's journal. Anything I should know?"

Hannah winced, like a kid caught in mischief, though he didn't see it. Her fingers brushed the backpack where she kept the journal, a worn notebook she'd read cover to cover: notes on the forest, plants, animals, warnings she didn't fully understand. "Just... drawings... notes," she said, careful, not lying but not telling all. "Stuff about Earth, what grows, what to avoid. Nothing really interesting."

She'd spent nights leafing through it, deciphering sketches, but many words were a puzzle. The language seemed like English twisted by years, some words familiar, others a mystery. She wasn't ready to share it, not until she understood more.

Bellamy looked at her, his eyes narrowed, like he smelled she was holding back. "Sure?"

She held his gaze, her green eyes steady, though her chest tightened. "It's useful, that's all."

He watched her a second longer, then nodded, letting it go. Ahead of them, the forest opened into a clearing where the bunker was supposed to be. Nature had reclaimed the place, erasing any human trace with moss and vines.

Hannah stopped, sighing, her brow furrowed as she studied the terrain. "We should split up. We'll cover more ground."

Bellamy nodded. "Don't go too far, stay where I can hear you if something happens."

"Got it," Hannah said, gripping her bow, her eyes already searching for clues in the underbrush.

They separated, Bellamy toward some thick bushes, Hannah toward rocky ground near the river. She walked carefully, her ankle protesting with each step, but she bore it. Her eyes scanned the ground, covered in moss, vines, and flowers that seemed out of place in such a hostile world.The forest was calm, only the crunch of her steps and the distant bird calls breaking the silence. Still, her bow was ready, her body tense, prepared for any threat.

After what felt like an eternity, her eyes fixed on a strange patch of ground: a metal edge buried under roots and dirt. She knelt, setting her bow aside and clearing the debris with eager hands, revealing a rusted hatch, half-eaten by time.

Her pulse quickened. "Over here!" she shouted, looking toward where she'd last seen Bellamy and raising a hand.

He jogged over, mud crunching under his boots. He crouched beside her as Hannah wrestled with the metal handle, her fingers slipping on the rust. "Ugh..." she grunted, pulling harder. "It's stuck, probably from the rust."

Bellamy looked at her, then at the hatch. He placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her back. "Watch your foot," he said, gripping the handle firmly. The hatch gave way with a screech that echoed in the silence, revealing a ladder descending into darkness. A smell of dampness and rot rose from below.

Hannah stepped back, pulling a flashlight from her backpack. As she moved to descend, Bellamy stopped her. "Me first," he said, his tone firm but without rudeness.

She frowned but handed him the flashlight. "Okay," she said, though she didn't love yielding.Bellamy blinked, as if expecting an argument, but said nothing. He took the flashlight, but before descending, Hannah glanced back, a shiver running down her spine.

"What is it?" Bellamy asked, following her gaze.

"I thought I heard something..." she said, scanning the forest. "Probably a rabbit."

He nodded, climbing down the ladder. He checked the place and signaled her. "Come down."

Hannah grabbed her bow and followed, her steps careful on the uneven rungs. At the bottom, the flashlight beam illuminated a skeleton slumped against the wall, its clothes in tatters, crumbling to dust.

"What a way to die..." Bellamy murmured, his voice low, almost respectful.

Hannah felt a knot in her stomach, her eyes fixed on the bones. "This place is falling apart."

They moved deeper in, the air thick, heavy with mold and decay. Bellamy kicked some debris, frustrated. "Whatever's down here is probably useless."

Hannah nodded, scanning empty shelves or ones filled with rotten cans. "They must've survived a while after the bombs..." She paused, spotting a pile of ragged fabric in a corner. "Look, blankets... and some clothes."

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "What? It's better than nothing..." she said, shrugging.

He snorted, shaking his head. "I'd settle for a decent canteen, a first-aid kit, or a damn tent that doesn't fall apart." He kicked a rusted drum, which toppled with a crash, spilling a pile of rifles onto the floor.

Hannah's eyes widened. "No way..."

Bellamy crouched, picking up a rifle, his expression shifting from frustration to a spark of hope. "This works."

Hannah knelt beside him, examining the weapons. "We're gonna arm a bunch of kids with these?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, concern clear in her voice.

Bellamy looked at her, his face hardening, but without hostility. "No choice, Miller. The Grounders aren't gonna stop because we say 'please.' They're coming for us, and we need to be ready." He paused, turning a rifle in his hands, his fingers tracing the worn metal. "You should learn to use one too. That bow won't last forever."

Hannah pressed her lips together, her hand gripping the bow tighter. "My bow's just fine," she said, her tone sharp but controlled. "And I know how to use a gun."

Bellamy looked at her, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "Yeah?" he said, with a half-smile, offering her a rifle. "Then show me."

Hannah met his gaze, her green eyes shining with a silent challenge. She took the rifle, her movements confident, as if she'd been born with one in her hands. She checked the chamber with a quick motion, raised the weapon, and aimed at a rusted panel across the bunker. She exhaled slowly and fired. The boom echoed, the bullet leaving a clean hole in the panel's center.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows, his smile fading into something like respect. "Not bad, Miller."

Hannah lowered the rifle, turning with a tilt of her head. "Your turn, Blake," she said, a touch of amusement in her voice. "Let's see what you've got."

Bellamy nodded, taking another rifle. He mirrored her stance, but his hands gripped too tight, his shoulders rigid. He fired, but the bullet barely grazed the panel.

Hannah stepped closer, her voice calm, without mockery. "Not bad," she said, standing beside him. "But you're gripping it too hard. Loosen up a bit, so you control the recoil." She reached out, adjusting his grip carefully, her fingers firm but gentle. "And relax your elbows. Let the rifle do its thing."

Bellamy looked at her, their eyes meeting for a second longer than necessary. He adjusted his grip as she said, his movements slower, more deliberate. "Like this?" he asked, his voice low.

"Like that," Hannah said, her hand lingering on his for an instant before pulling back.

Bellamy raised the rifle again, following her advice. He fired, and this time the bullet hit closer to the center. He lowered the weapon, a small satisfied smile on his lips. "Better," he said, looking at her.

Hannah smiled faintly. "Much better," she replied, her voice soft, with a hint of friendly teasing. 

For a moment, the air between them felt different, lighter, as if the bunker wasn't filled with death and rust, but with something alive, something neither wanted to name.

Hannah cleared her throat, breaking the moment. "If we're doing this, we need to teach everyone how to use these things right," she said, gesturing to the rifles. "I don't want a camp full of people shooting their own feet."

Bellamy nodded, leaning against a rusted shelf, his expression returning to seriousness. "Nathan's good with weapons. Keep him close; the others follow him."

Hannah frowned, tilting her head. "Why say that?" she asked, noticing a weight in his voice she hadn't caught before. She remembered the extra provisions Bellamy had packed, his silence, his glances toward the exit. It all clicked. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

Bellamy clenched his jaw, his gaze dropping to the floor. He didn't answer right away, but the silence spoke for him.

"Why?" Hannah pressed, her voice softer but firm.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I shot the chancellor to get on the ship with Octavia," he confessed, his voice raw, like the words were being torn from him. "When the Ark comes down, I'm dead. Best case, they lock me up with the Grounder for the rest of my life, and I'm not giving Jaha the satisfaction of watching me fall."

Hannah froze, her breath caught in her chest. She knew Bellamy wasn't one of the original delinquents, but this... this was something else. "You shot Jaha?" she whispered, shock tinting her voice.

Bellamy looked up, his eyes bare, defenseless. "I did what I had to to protect Octavia. But when the Ark arrives, it's over. I can't stay."

Hannah's heart pounded, her mind scrambling for something, anything, to convince him not to run. But before she found the words, Bellamy shook his head. "Keep practicing," he said, his voice rough, pointing to the rifles. "I need some air." He turned and climbed the stairs, his footsteps echoing on the metal until they faded.

Hannah sighed, standing still for a moment, the echo of his words heavy in the air. She set the rifle on a table and started gathering the weapons from the floor, her movements mechanical as her mind spun. She searched for something to carry them in, pacing the bunker slowly. Her eyes lingered on faded photos, torn magazines, objects that once belonged to people who'd tried to survive in this forgotten place.

A noise behind her made her spin, thinking it was Bellamy. But her heart stopped. It wasn't him. 

It was Dax, pointing a rifle at her—one she'd left on the table.

She raised her hands instinctively. "Dax..." she said, her voice steady though fear tried to take hold.

He didn't speak, his face a whirlwind of emotions: fear, rage, desperation. His hands shook, the rifle unsteady. "What are you doing, Dax?" she asked, trying to stay calm.

"I don't want to kill you, Miller," he said, his voice broken, almost pleading. "This isn't about you. It's about Bellamy."

Confusion hit her, but she didn't move. Dax was on the edge, and one wrong step could make him pull the trigger. "Lower the gun," she said, her voice a mix of command and plea. "You don't have to do this."

He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "I don't want to hurt you... but I can't let you stop me." He fired. The roar filled the bunker, bullets flying wildly. Luckily, none hit her. Hannah dove behind a rusted shelf, a bullet grazing the metal where she'd been.

Her heart raced as she crouched, checking her body. No blood, no wounds. Her bow was on the table, out of reach. "Dax, stop!" she shouted, her voice laced with fear and fury.

Dax fired again, the bullet ricocheting off a beam. Hannah used the bunker's darkness, moving fast and grabbing a rusted pipe from the floor. When Dax rounded the corner, she swung at his hands, knocking the rifle away. They grappled, their bodies slamming hard, but Dax was stronger. He shoved her against a shelf, the metal creaking, and reclaimed the gun.

He didn't fire. He ran for the stairs, his boots echoing. Hannah followed, but when she reached the hatch, it slammed shut. Dax had locked it from outside.

"Dax!" she yelled, shoving with her shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. His footsteps faded into the forest. He was after Bellamy, and she was trapped.

She sank to her knees, breathing hard, sweat running down her forehead. She looked around, searching for an exit. Her eyes found a rusted panel in the wall, half-hidden by crumbling concrete.

With a surge of desperation, she wedged the pipe into a crack and pulled with all her strength. The panel gave way, revealing a narrow maintenance duct, barely wide enough to crawl through. She squeezed in, ignoring the sharp edges scraping her skin and the stabbing pain in her ankle, her bow pressed against her chest.

After an eternity of crawling, the duct led to a grate covered in vines. She kicked it out, tumbling into the fresh night air. The forest was dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds, the silence broken only by distant rustling leaves. She stood, gasping, and gripped her bow, her eyes searching for any sign of Bellamy or Dax.

A scream pierced the night, followed by thuds and scuffling. Hannah ran, her bow ready, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. At the clearing's edge, she stopped short. Bellamy was on the ground, his face bloodied, struggling under Dax, who pinned him with his weight, aiming the rifle at his chest.

"Drop the gun, Dax," Hannah ordered, nocking an arrow with a fluid motion, her voice sharp as a blade.

Dax looked up, his eyes wild, the rifle shaking in his hands. "You should've stayed down there!" he shouted, his voice raw with desperation. "I tried not to kill you!"

He swung the rifle toward her and fired. Hannah dove behind a tree, the bullet splintering bark inches from her head. Bellamy seized the moment, tackling Dax. They rolled on the ground, fists flying, the sound of blows echoing in the vast forest silence. Dax bashed Bellamy with the rifle butt, drawing a grunt of pain, and pressed the barrel to his throat, choking him.

Hannah burst from cover, lunging at Dax, her hands grabbing his shoulders to yank him off. Dax growled, throwing an elbow that hit her ribs, stealing her breath. She fell to the ground, gasping, an arrow from her quiver rolling across the dirt.

Bellamy, vision blurring and air escaping, saw the arrow. With a desperate surge, he grabbed it and plunged it into Dax's neck. Dax gasped, his eyes widening in shock, blood spurting from the wound. He collapsed, his body limp, the rifle dropping with a thud.

Hannah stayed on the ground, clutching her stomach, her gaze fixed on Dax's lifeless body. Then she looked at Bellamy, who coughed, grabbing his throat as he tried to sit. Blood streaked his face, but he was alive.

"Bellamy," she called, crawling to him, her hands finding his shoulders. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, his breathing ragged. "No... I'm not," he said, his eyes filled with relief but also a weight she couldn't decipher, as if he'd just crossed a line with no return. "I killed him... I killed someone... My mom... wouldn't recognize me now."

He tried to look away, but Hannah held him, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Bellamy..."

"I just cause harm," he murmured, his voice broken. "I'm a damn monster."

"That's bullshit," Hannah snapped, frowning, her voice firm though it trembled. "You saved my life today. And even if I don't always agree with what you do or say..."

"What, that's supposed to make me feel better?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, a glint of his usual sarcasm peeking through.

"Shut up for a second," she said, sighing, her tone softening. "What I mean is, we need you. The camp needs you. You can't leave."

"Jaha's gonna hang me as soon as he gets down," he said with a bitter laugh, his eyes lost on Dax's body.

"He won't," Hannah insisted, convinced. "You've done as much as Clarke, as Raven, as any of us. He has to understand."

"It's not that simple, Hannah. He's not gonna listen to me."

"Then we'll make him listen," she said, her voice firm, no room for doubt. "We'll find a way, together."

Bellamy looked at her, his eyes shifting to Dax's body before returning to her. He nodded slowly, as if her words had ignited a spark of something he didn't dare name. Hannah sighed, releasing his shoulders and sitting beside him, her head leaning against a tree, a headache throbbing in the wake of the adrenaline.

The raindrops fell one after another, turning the camp into a muddy quagmire. 

The storm roared with fury outside the ship. Thunder echoed in the distance, but its reverberation shook the ground, rattling the ship's metallic walls enough to make them tremble.

It had been hours since the group that went searching for Octavia returned, stumbling along the path until they crossed the gates of the walls that kept them safe and united. They were battered, exhausted, but still they came in carrying Finn's unconscious body.

When the storm began, everyone scrambled to find shelter in the ship. The air inside felt stifling, heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of Monty's moonshine, used as an antiseptic, the only thing available among their supplies.

Clarke stood beside Finn, who lay on an improvised table. Her hands were steady, but fear and exhaustion marked her face. Sweat glistened on her forehead as she pressed a cloth against the wound. 

Raven, meanwhile, was nearby, her fingers moving quickly over the radio's communication system, which she was trying to repair with salvaged parts and Monty's help.

But their voices faded into the background as Hannah sat by the ship's open hatch, her back pressed against the cold metal frame. The storm pounded the ground, raindrops falling inches from her boots, splashing them, but she barely noticed. Her bow rested across her lap, and her fingers traced the worn wood absentmindedly as her eyes followed a bolt of lightning that streaked across the sky, illuminating the camp in harsh flashes: the empty tents soaking under the downpour, the neglected wall, and the forest growing darker with every second as night approached.

Diggs, Roma, Mbege. Dead. 

Their faces flickered in Hannah's mind like ghosts: Diggs' throat slashed, Roma impaled on that tree, Mbege sprawled in the dirt. And Finn, fighting for his life, poisoned by that damned knife.

The radio was working now; Raven had fixed it while they risked their lives for Octavia. Hannah had heard the murmurs and some triumphant shouts from the delinquents. They could finally contact the Ark, her parents. 

But it didn't feel like a victory. It felt... empty. A weight pressed on her chest, making it hard to breathe, as her emerald eyes gleamed against the storm, the rain blurring her vision. She wondered when relief would come, when calm would settle, and why everything felt numb, as if she were watching it from afar rather than living it herself.

Grief? Maybe. But she didn't want to admit it.

The sound of footsteps splashing in the water that had soaked the ship's floor pulled her from her thoughts. Clarke appeared at the hatch, her blonde hair plastered to her face by sweat, an overwhelmed expression on her features. She wiped the rain from her eyes with her sleeve and crouched beside Hannah.

"Hannah," she called, her voice low but insistent. "We need to talk."

Hannah didn't look at her, just listened. "How's Finn?"

"Not good," Clarke replied, her jaw tight with the weight of leadership and a lump in her throat. "I don't know what to do... He's poisoned. He needs an antidote, a cure, something. And the only place I can think of where we might find something is that cave."

Hannah's fingers froze on her bow as she thought of the cave and all it implied. "You want to go back there? In this storm?"

"Not me," Clarke said, hesitating. Her eyes locked onto Hannah's, knowing what she was about to ask was unfair, even cruel. "If anyone can get in, take what we need, and get back... it's you."

Hannah stared at her, then looked down at her own hands. "Clarke... that's suicide. The storm... the Grounders could be anywhere, and... I'm tired," she admitted.

The urgency in Clarke's voice sharpened, her desperation rising. "Hannah, I need you to tell me. Can you do it or not?" she asked, perhaps harsher than she intended.

Hannah held her breath, her fingers tightening around the bow. The question felt like a blade, cutting through the fog of her grief and exhaustion. "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore," she said, her voice breaking as she looked at Clarke. "I'm trying, Clarke. I'm trying to keep us alive, to do the right thing, but I don't know if I can keep going like this."

Clarke's face softened, but her eyes didn't waver. She leaned closer, her voice now quieter, almost pleading. "I know. I know it's too much. But you're the only one I trust to do this. The only one who can."

Hannah felt the weight of those words sinking deep. She didn't know what she'd done to earn such trust. It was a heavy burden, especially now, when she felt like she was falling apart. She looked out at the storm, lightning illuminating the camp in erratic flashes, then down at her bow, the only thing that felt solid in her hands.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice low but resolute. "I'll go."

Clarke exhaled, relief flooding her face, though tinged with guilt. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll get you whatever you need—supplies, a map, anything."

Hannah shook her head, standing up, her legs heavy but moving on instinct. "I don't need a map. I know the way." She slung the bow over her shoulder, her fingers brushing the arrows in her quiver.

With a sigh, she looked one last time at Clarke and the ship before stepping into the forest, feeling the cold rain soak her completely. The rain pounded the ground relentlessly, and it didn't seem like it would stop anytime soon. The forest floor was a slippery, muddy trap that sent a jolt of pain through her injured ankle with every step. Still, she pressed on, her breath ragged as she ran toward the cave.

The storm roared around her, branches snapping in the wind, lightning splitting the sky in jagged, luminous flashes. Her clothes clung to her skin, soaked, but she barely noticed. Too many things crowded her mind: the rain's haze limiting her vision, the air whipping her hair and flinging leaves and branches in her direction, and Clarke's words, trusting her to save Finn.

The cave came into view, a dark opening carved into the mountain. Her heart pounded, not just from the exhausting journey, but from the weight of someone else's life on her shoulders. Cautiously, she approached; that Grounder might have woken up, or there could be more nearby. The storm might not be enough to keep them away.

She stumbled into the cave, her boots slipping on the wet stone, trying to be as silent as possible as the scent of damp earth and blood filled her nostrils. But voices made her raise an eyebrow; suddenly, the absence of certain people made sense.

Without thinking, she ventured deeper. Bellamy was near the back, his silhouette tense and authoritative, watching as Nathan and Drew examined the unconscious Grounder on the ground. His wrists were bound, in the same position Hannah remembered.

"You've got to be kidding me..." Hannah muttered, her stomach twisting as the three boys turned to her, startled. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp, echoing in the cave.

"What are you doing here?" Bellamy asked, emphasizing the "you."

Hannah limped forward, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle. "I'm here for an antidote. For Finn. You know, the guy dying back at camp?" she said sarcastically. "What's your excuse? Are we kidnapping Grounders now?"

Bellamy's expression hardened, and he rolled his eyes. "We're taking him back to camp. He has answers we need."

"Answers?" Hannah's voice rose, incredulous. "You think dragging him and torturing him is going to fix anything? We got Octavia back, Bellamy. This is over."

"It's not over," he shot back, stepping closer. "Not after what he did to her. Not after Diggs, Roma, Mbege, Finn. You think we can just let it go? Pretend they didn't die because of them?"

Hannah's chest tightened at those names, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. "This is going to start a war." She glanced at the Grounder. "And then it won't just be Diggs, Roma, Mbege, or Finn. It'll be all of us."

The air in the cave grew heavier, the tension almost palpable. Bellamy stared at her, his jaw clenched, as if wrestling with something inside. For a moment, Hannah thought he might give in, that her words had reached some rational part of him. But he shook his head, his voice low.

"You don't get it," he said, taking another step toward her. "This isn't about being the hero. It's about protecting our people. If we don't act now, if we don't show strength, they'll come for us again. And I won't let that happen."

Hannah didn't back down, though every fiber of her screamed to stop. "Protecting our people doesn't mean becoming monsters," she said, her voice calmer but filled with conviction. "If we cross that line, what's left of us? What makes us different from them?"

For a moment, Bellamy didn't respond. His eyes searched hers, and Hannah saw a flicker of doubt, of conflict. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. He turned to the Grounder, pointing at him. "That man has answers. About their weapons, their plans, about the Grounders who've been killing us since we landed. If you want to save Finn, worry less about morals and more about what's in front of you."

Hannah felt a knot in her stomach, but she didn't let him see her waver. She realized it didn't matter what she said; she couldn't stop what was coming. And part of her understood his point: the Grounders wouldn't hesitate if the roles were reversed. 

Without realizing it, they were heading toward a point of no return.

[...]

The fierce storm had dwindled to a soft drizzle falling over the dark night. 

The camp was shrouded in a heavy, oppressive darkness. Most of the delinquents were sleeping or resting, their bodies exhausted and their minds worn from the day's anguish.

Hannah sat alone in a dark corner of the ship, a leather-bound journal she'd found in the cave open on her lap. She illuminated it with a flashlight under her jacket, trying not to disturb the others with the light. 

Its pages were a tapestry of sketches: maps of unfamiliar places, detailed drawings of plants with annotations, locations, and people. One of them stopped her: a girl with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and large, bright eyes. Octavia.

The strokes were careful, not the work of a cold-blooded killer but of someone protective, who saw Octavia as more than a prisoner. Alongside the sketches, the journal was filled with messages in an indecipherable script. But it felt like a key to the Grounder's mind, sparking curiosity in Hannah. He didn't seem like the monster the others believed; he seemed like someone defending his people, just as they defended theirs.

That thought gave her both hope and fear. 

Maybe, if she could understand him, they could find a way to stop the conflict before it consumed them all. Her eyes drifted to the ladder leading to the second and third levels of the ship, where they were keeping the Grounder. Clarke was still with Finn, who was stable but weak. Raven, slumped over her workbench with tools scattered around, showed evident exhaustion. The others were sleeping or guarding the perimeter after the rain's calm.

Hannah tucked the journal under her arm and headed for the ladder, her ankle throbbing with each step. 

Nathan was there, guarding the access to the top floor, his posture rigid and arms crossed. His face was tense, the day's weight etched in his eyes. "Hannah," he said, blocking her path, his voice low but firm. "You can't go up."

She stopped but didn't back down. "I just need to check something."

He shook his head, glancing at the ladder. "Bellamy's orders. No one goes up."

"Nathan, please," she insisted, softening her voice but with determination. "I don't want trouble. I just need to verify something."

He shifted, his jaw tight, looking over his shoulder as if expecting Bellamy to appear. "If Bellamy finds out, it's my head. And yours."

"He won't find out," she said quickly, stepping closer, her voice a whisper. "I'll take the blame if he does. Five minutes, Nathan. That's all I need."

Nathan rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating under her steady gaze. "Fine," he muttered finally, stepping aside. "Five minutes, Hannah. Don't make me regret this."

"I won't," she replied gratefully. "Thank you."She climbed the ladder, wincing at the pain in her ankle. 

The third level was dark, lit only by a flickering flashlight casting trembling shadows on the metal walls. The Grounder was against the far wall, wrists and ankles tightly bound, his body slumped but held upright by the ropes. His face was downturned, hiding his eyes, but the marks of what had happened were clear: bruises on his arms and chest, a deep cut on his palm crusted with dried blood, and his breathing shallow, each inhale an effort.

Hannah's stomach twisted, guilt washing over her. They'd pushed for answers, resorting to force when he refused to talk. Though Octavia's pleas had made him reveal the antidote, the cost was written on his body. Hannah stopped a few steps away, clutching the journal and box to her chest.

"Hi," she said softly, her voice trembling with nerves and empathy. "I'm Hannah. I... I'm sorry about this. It shouldn't have happened."

He didn't move or acknowledge her presence. His head remained bowed, his silence imposing. She swallowed, stepping closer, her boots brushing the metal floor. "I found this in the cave," she said, holding up the journal, steadying her voice. "It's yours, right? These drawings... they're incredible. This one..." She opened to the page with the sketch of a village in a valley, surrounded by towering trees. "Is this where you live? Your home?"

No response.

His stillness was unsettling, but she pressed on, turning to another page. "And this plant," she said, pointing to a detailed drawing of a thorny flower with a scribbled note. "Is this what you used for the antidote? The one that saved Finn?" She lifted the box of vials, brushing the carved wooden lid. She already suspected the answer, having recognized the plant, but she wanted a reaction from him.

Nothing.

His silence felt like a rebuke, and Hannah's frustration grew, though she kept her voice gentle. "There's a drawing of a girl in here," she said, showing the sketch of Octavia. "It's Octavia, right? You know her. You... care about her, don't you? I can see it in how you drew her."

The Grounder remained still.

Hannah's shoulders slumped, but she didn't give up. "There's a map too," she said, her voice quieter, almost pleading. "It looks like a place near the river. Is that where your people are? Are they waiting for you? I just... I need to understand. What do you want from us?"

No answer. Hannah sighed and pulled out a piece of charcoal she'd found with the journal in the cave. She opened a blank page and, with trembling hands, began to draw. "This is where we came from," she said, her voice earnest. "The Ark. In space. We lived there for a long time because we thought Earth wasn't habitable. But... we didn't know this was your home. We didn't want to start a fight." She added lines, sketching the ship descending with flames trailing behind. "We're just trying to survive, like you."

The air grew heavier with each unanswered question. In a final attempt, she stepped closer, her voice a whisper. "I won't tell anyone about this journal, about anything you say. I swear. I just... I want this to stop. This fight, this war, it'll destroy us all. Your people, my people. There has to be a way to end it."

Her words hung in the air. The Grounder's head didn't lift, his body didn't move. Hannah's hope faded, her hands gripping the journal as exhaustion and defeat overwhelmed her. "Please," she said, her voice breaking. "Say something. Anything."

Silence.

Nathan's voice cut through the air from below: "Hannah, time's up."

She looked toward the hatch, a pressure in her chest. She'd come looking for answers but had found nothing. 

Maybe... just maybe Bellamy was right...

She turned to the Grounder one last time, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm trying to do the right thing. I thought you'd want the same..."

She stepped toward the hatch, her boots heavy, the journal and box under her arm. As she reached the ladder, a low, raspy voice broke the silence behind her: "Ste yuj, skaiheda."

Hannah froze, her breath catching as she turned. The Grounder hadn't moved, but his words, though unfamiliar, didn't sound threatening. She wanted to go back and ask, but Nathan's voice came again: "Hannah, move."

She hesitated, her eyes fixed on the Grounder, searching for a sign. But he didn't speak again, didn't move. With her heart racing, she descended the ladder, those words echoing in her mind.

[...]

The drizzle had stopped, leaving the air crisp, a relief after the storm. 

Hannah sat outside the ship, her back against the metal wall, her bow propped beside her and the journal in her lap. The camp was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the kids guarding the perimeter.

She stared at the stars between the clouds, her mind replaying the day: the search for Octavia, the cave, the Grounder's silence, and those words: Ste yuj, skaiheda.

A movement caught her attention, and she saw Bellamy step out of the ship, his shoulders squared but his face weary. He'd probably been upstairs, watching the Grounder. His eyes landed on her, and their gazes met. Hannah expected him to walk past, but he changed course, his boots splashing in the puddles as he approached.

"You should rest," he said, his voice rough, hands on his hips. "You did a lot today."

Hannah looked at him, her emerald eyes glinting under the moonlight. "I can't sleep," she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. Bellamy didn't say more; after all, it was understandable.

His gaze dropped to her ankle, still swollen, the injury she'd ignored all day. "That doesn't look good," he said, frowning.

"It's fine," she replied quickly, shifting her leg to hide the purple mark.

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, and crouched in front of her, his movements careful but deliberate. "Let me take a look," he said, his tone firm. When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, "You're no good to anyone if you can't walk."

Hannah opened her mouth to argue but sighed, giving in as he gently took her ankle. His touch was light, his fingers lifting the fabric covering the injury and probing the swollen area. 

She winced, and he looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. "You've pushed this too far," he murmured. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It wasn't important," she said, her voice tight, ignoring the warmth of his hands. "Finn was dying. Clarke had enough to deal with."

Bellamy shook his head, his jaw tightening as he wrapped her ankle with a strip of fabric from his pocket, securing it with a firm knot. "You don't always have to play the martyr, Hannah."

She frowned, but before she could respond, he continued, his voice lower, almost hesitant. "About the Grounder... I get what you were saying, back in the cave. I don't like this either. I don't want to be the guy who ties people up, who makes those calls. But we don't have a choice. If we don't show them we're strong, they'll wipe us out."

Hannah looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the weight in his eyes. "I get it," she said softly, surprising herself. "I don't like it, but I get it."

Bellamy nodded, and for the first time, the silence between them didn't feel heavy. 

Finally, he stood, offering her a hand to help her up. "Go rest," he said, his tone gentle.

Note:

They didn't know how many hours had passed since they left the camp's walls behind, but it must have been several, as the sun now blazed fiercely overhead. 

They hadn't stopped to rest, hadn't eaten since they set out, and they would need to find water soon. 

They weren't far from the camp, but with no clear trace of Octavia's whereabouts, it felt like they were wandering in circles, hoping for a stroke of luck.

Hannah's legs burned; her boots sank into the pale earth with each weary step. The skin on her face, arms, and shoulders stung under the sun's relentless glare. Surprisingly, they had walked in near silence the entire time, focused on scanning their surroundings and catching every detail. The only sounds were the crunch of branches underfoot and the chirping of birds high in the trees.

Their group was now small: Bellamy led the way with fierce determination, his face set in a grim mask. Hannah trailed a few steps behind, brushing sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face. Nathan followed closely, his presence steady. Then came Jasper, looking exhausted, and Finn, still alert for any signs on the ground. Bringing up the rear were Roma, Mbege, Monroe, and Diggs, their murmurs fading as they pressed forward.

A low groan escaped John Mbege as he tripped over what seemed to be a root, catching himself just in time. "Guys... my feet are killing me," he pleaded. "Can we rest? Just five minutes?"

"We can't stop," Bellamy replied without turning, his voice firm but hoarse from lack of sleep. "Not until we find her."

Mbege nodded with a heavy sigh. Hannah glanced at him with a flicker of sympathy, while Finn gave his shoulder a light pat as he passed. She noticed John leaning on his knees, falling behind as the group moved on.

"Hey, Miller, come look at this. It might be a clue or something," Jasper called out.

Both Hannah and Nathan turned at the same time, their eyes locking on Jasper in unison. Confused, Hannah raised an eyebrow, and Nathan crossed his arms slightly. Jasper blinked, thrown off by their synchronized reaction, his gaze darting between them.

"Uh... I meant... you know, the girl Miller... not the... other Miller..?" he stammered.

Nathan arched a brow. "You said Miller. That's both of us."

Jasper looked even more flustered, his confusion mounting. Hannah rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

He had a point, two Millers in one group, and no one had bothered to clarify until now. She glanced at Nathan, who was trying to suppress an amused grin, as if this mix-up was an old inside joke or a familiar occurrence.

After a moment, Jasper pressed on. "Okay, this is getting weird... From now on, you're Miller 1," he pointed at Nathan, "and you're Miller 2," he gestured to Hannah. "So, Miller 2, check this out."

Hannah rolled her eyes at being dubbed the second Miller but said nothing, catching Nathan's smug satisfaction out of the corner of her eye. She crouched beside Jasper, studying a set of tracks etched into the dirt. "These are Grounder tracks," she said, narrowing her eyes. "But they're not the ones we were following."

She stood, following the prints until she found more... many more, and recent. 

Bellamy crouched beside her. "How many?" he asked.

"Hard to tell," Hannah replied, the tracks blending into one another. "More than us."

"Hey, where's John?" Roma's voice cut through the silence, her head swiveling as she realized someone was missing. All eyes turned to her, scanning the surroundings.

Jasper frowned. "I saw him a second ago. He was right behind us."

Bellamy's eyes narrowed, his posture rigid. "Spread out," he ordered, his voice low but urgent. "He can't be far."

"No," Hannah interrupted, stepping forward. "We stay together. Splitting up is what they want..."

Her gaze flicked upward, where the trees seemed to close in, their branches intertwining like a trap. "We need to move. Now."

Finn followed her gaze, a chill running through him. High in the canopy, shadows moved, swift and silent. "They're in the trees," he whispered, barely audible. "We shouldn't have crossed the boundary."

Roma's face paled, her knife trembling in her hand. "Can we go back now?"

Hannah shook her head, her eyes scanning the canopy. "We can't. They're surrounding us." Her voice was steady, but her mind raced.

A loud snap echoed through the forest, and Jasper's knife swung toward the sound. "There! Right there!" he shouted, pointing to a cluster of trees where something stirred.

Another snap. Diggs froze, eyes wide. "Another one."

"We need to run," Finn said, his voice tight but controlled.

"Go! Go!" Diggs yelled, already bolting, the group stumbling through the underbrush after him.

Hannah's boots pounded the earth, her bow shaking in her grip as she ran. Jasper struggled to keep pace beside her. Above, the rustling grew louder; shadows seemed to track them from every angle, and stopping wasn't an option.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, and Hannah ducked instinctively as an arrow grazed her shoulder, embedding itself in a tree with a thud. 

Her heart lurched, but she didn't stop. She glanced at Jasper, who was struggling to keep up, and nocked an arrow, spinning to aim at the canopy while running, catching fleeting glimpses of shadows. "Keep moving!" she shouted to Jasper, loosing an arrow into the trees.

The shot didn't hit the shadow directly but struck a branch nearby, startling whoever was there, though they didn't fall. Another arrow whizzed past, this time slicing Hannah's sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. Gritting her teeth, she shoved Jasper forward and fired again, but her foot caught on a root, and she fell hard, pain shooting through her ankle.

"Hannah!" Jasper stopped short, doubling back to her side. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up as she winced, testing her weight on the throbbing ankle.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she grunted, leaning on him as they staggered forward. "Just keep going."

They stumbled through the underbrush, unsure if they were still being followed, but fear kept them moving. A dull thud sounded ahead, and Hannah's breath caught as they rounded a tree and found Mbege's body sprawled on the ground, his throat slit, a pool of blood beneath him.

 Jasper froze, horror in his eyes, but Hannah yanked him forward, her own heart pounding.

"Don't look back," she said, dragging him away.

They kept running until the arrows stopped, bursting into a clearing where they found Bellamy, Finn, Nathan, and Monroe, all panting, their faces etched with fear.

Bellamy's eyes locked on Hannah, a frown creasing his brow as she limped toward them, blood staining her sleeve. "What happened?" he demanded, stepping forward.

"I'm fine," she replied, catching her breath while leaning on her knees. "Tripped. It's nothing."

Bellamy's jaw tightened, but he didn't press. "Where are Roma? Diggs?"

Finn shook his head, his face pale. "They were right behind us."

A scream pierced the air... Roma's, sharp and desperate. "Diggs, where are you?" It cut off abruptly.

Hannah started toward the sound, but Bellamy grabbed her arm. "Wait! There could be more. Stop."

She met his eyes, then scanned the trees, trying to spot Roma before the Grounders did. "They were leading us here," she said. "It was the only way we could run."

Finn's gaze swept the trees, noting the sudden stillness. "Where did they go?"

"After Roma," Bellamy said, voicing the fear they all shared. They moved toward the sound of Roma's voice.

Hannah limped after them, her bow raised despite the pain shooting through her ankle. The forest was eerily quiet, the danger palpable. "There!" Monroe called, pointing to a figure slumped against a tree.

Roma was pinned to the trunk, a spear through her chest, her lifeless eyes staring ahead. Blood dripped down the bark. Nearby, Diggs lay on the ground, his throat slashed, his knife still clutched in his hand. Hannah's stomach dropped; the sudden loss of three people hit her like a wave, too raw to process.

"We're in their territory," Hannah said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We shouldn't be here."

[...]

The forest stayed unnervingly quiet for what felt like an eternity; the rustling of Grounders in the trees had stopped. Hannah's eyes flicked to the canopy, half-expecting the telltale yellow fog, but the air remained clear, heavy with pine and earth.

Minutes passed, the group crouched under a tarp, their bodies tense. No fog came. 

Hannah cautiously lifted the tarp's edge, peering out. "Nothing," she said, her voice low but firm. She stood, shaking off the tarp and scanning the forest. "It's clear. No fog."

Nathan emerged, frowning. "Maybe it was a false alarm."

Bellamy stood, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a figure moving in the distance, a lone Grounder, running through the trees. "They're coming back," he said, his voice taut.

Jasper squinted, trying to see. "I think he's alone."

Monroe's voice trembled, her knife gripped tightly. "Can we run now?"

Hannah shook her head, tightening her hold on her bow. "No. Running got us here. We need to be smart." She looked at Bellamy, reading the resolve in his eyes. "What's the plan?"

Bellamy's jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the fleeing Grounder. "He hasn't seen us. I'm going after him."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "And what are you gonna do? Kill him?"

"No," Bellamy snapped, his tone sharp. "Capture him. Make him tell me where Octavia is. Then kill him."

Jasper's eyes widened, his voice tinged with panic. "How do we know he's not leading us into another trap?"

Finn's expression darkened. "We don't."

Hannah's mind raced, weighing the risks. The Grounder was alone, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Still, Bellamy was right, it was their only lead. "If we follow him," she said, her voice steady, "we stay together and stay quiet."

Bellamy gave a curt nod, and the group moved cautiously but with purpose. Hannah took the lead, her bow ready, tracking the Grounder through the underbrush until they saw him slip into a rocky cave. They exchanged glances, but Hannah crept forward. She signaled for silence, to stop, or to move as needed.

"Wait," she mouthed, raising a hand to halt them. She stepped forward, her ankle burning but bearable, and leaned against the cave's rocky wall, peering inside. Her body relaxed as she took in the scene, then straightened, signaling they could advance.

The air inside was thick with the scent of earth, dampness, and moss, the walls narrowing as they moved deeper. Their eyes locked on the scene ahead: slumped against the cave wall was the Grounder, unconscious, his chest rising and falling weakly. He was tall, muscular, with war scars marking his skin. 

And beside him was Octavia.

Bellamy surged forward, dropping to his knees beside her. "Octavia," he breathed, pulling her into a tight embrace as he cut her bindings with his knife. "You're okay."

Octavia clung to him, her voice shaky but relieved. "How did you find me?"

"We followed him," Bellamy said, nodding toward the unconscious man without taking his eyes off her.

Hannah moved to the cave entrance, her bow still raised, her exhausted body on high alert. "We need to move," she said over her shoulder. "There could be more nearby."

Octavia stood shakily, leaning on Bellamy. "We should go. Now. Before he wakes up."

Bellamy's eyes darkened as he picked up a spear leaning against the wall, gripping it tightly. "He's not waking up."

Octavia grabbed his arm, her voice urgent. "Bellamy, stop. He didn't hurt me. Just let's go."

"They started this," Bellamy growled, shaking her off. "He's one of them."

Hannah glanced back, her attention split between the entrance and the argument behind her. "She's right. We don't have time for this."

Bellamy hesitated, his grip on the spear tightening, but Octavia's pleading eyes stopped him. He stepped back, still glaring at the Grounder.

Meanwhile, Finn had crouched beside the Grounder, his flashlight catching a small, carved object, a horn etched with unfamiliar symbols. "Hey..." he murmured, reaching for it.

Before Hannah could warn him, the Grounder's eyes snapped open. In a blur, he lunged, a hidden knife flashing as he drove it into Finn's side. Finn cried out, collapsing to the rocky floor, unable to hold his weight.

"Finn!" Hannah shouted as Jasper rushed to his side.

Everything that could go wrong did. 

The Grounder was massive, imposing. 

Bellamy, still gripping the spear, grappled with him, but the Grounder was faster, stronger, throwing Bellamy to the ground and wrenching the spear from his hands, raising it toward his face. 

Nathan lunged, tackling the Grounder's legs, but the man barely stumbled.

Hannah sprinted from the entrance, her heart pounding as she grabbed a rock from the cave floor. With a yell, she smashed it against the Grounder's skull. He collapsed, unconscious again, the spear slipping from his hand.

Seeing no movement from the Grounder, Hannah dropped to her knees beside Finn, who clutched his side, his face pale and slick with sweat, his eyes struggling to stay open. "Don't touch the knife," she snapped at Jasper, who had reached for it instinctively. "We can't pull it out—he'll bleed out."

Her mind racing, she tore a strip from her shirt, her hands moving swiftly to tie it tightly over the wound, forming a makeshift tourniquet. "Finn?" she said, her voice steady despite the panic creeping in as he didn't respond.

Bellamy staggered to his feet, his face a mix of rage and fear as he checked on Octavia. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice rough.

"No," Hannah said, shaking her head, her hands still securing the tourniquet. "We need to get him out of here."

Octavia nodded, her eyes wide but resolute. "Let's go. Before more show up."

Hannah stood, helping the others lift Finn, with Nathan and Jasper supporting him. 

Bellamy picked up the Grounder's spear, hesitating as he looked at the unconscious man. Despite her worry for Finn, Hannah met his gaze, her breathing still ragged. "Don't. We got what we came for."

The sunset cast long shadows over the camp as the golden hour's glow filtered through the makeshift tents.

Bellamy stormed through them, his boots pounding the dry earth, kicking up small clouds of dust. His hands shoved aside tent flaps with urgency, ignoring the puzzled looks from the teens he passed. No one dared question the leader, but the tense air whispered that something was wrong.

Octavia was missing.

Nearly a full day had passed without a trace of her. At first, Bellamy thought she might be wandering, sneaking off as she often did, seeking a corner to escape the camp's harsh reality. But as the hours piled up, her absence became a void that gnawed at him, a growing desperation that intensified with each passing moment.

Octavia had always been rebellious, challenging him at every turn. Since the day before, her anger had been palpable, wounded by the truths Bellamy had hidden: the sacrifices he'd made to come to Earth with her, the tough choices he'd taken to protect himself. He understood why she'd want to avoid him, but even in her fury, Octavia would never vanish this long without leaving a clue, without saying a word to anyone.

He stopped in front of a tent, spotting Clarke inside, organizing supplies with precise gestures. Their eyes met, and the irritation on her face was clear, a testament to the tension still simmering between them after recent events.

Bellamy noticed but let it slide. His sister was his only priority now.

"Have you seen Octavia?" he asked, his voice steady but grave.

Clarke shook her head, rubbing her forehead with exhaustion, as if the weight of the world was already too much. "No. It's Octavia-she's probably off chasing butterflies or something," she replied, her sarcasm barely masking her own fatigue.

"I've checked the entire camp. She's not here," Bellamy insisted, his tone hardening. "No one's seen her in hours."

Clarke sighed, likely dreading another problem piling onto the thousand they already faced. "Let's search again. I'll check the dropship, you take the tents. If she's not here, we'll head to the woods."

Bellamy nodded and left without wasting a second, his footsteps echoing like a racing heartbeat.He was tired of the stares he was getting, he knew he deserved them, but they only reminded him of his mistakes and the consequences he'd have to bear. Ignoring them, he searched every tent and corner with meticulous precision.

Meanwhile, the delinquents began to gather, sensing something was truly wrong.

After checking the last tent, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. Clarke approached, her expression confirming his fear: Octavia wasn't in the camp.

"Listen up, everyone!" Bellamy shouted, his voice cutting through the camp's murmurs like thunder. "Grab a weapon and get over here. Octavia's been in the woods for over twelve hours. We're not coming back without her."

A few obeyed, picking up makeshift knives and axes from the ground. But most hesitated, their faces reflecting fear and doubt. Nervous whispers filled the air.

Bellamy watched them, frustrated. They needed more hands, but after the radio incident, how could he demand anything without it seeming hypocritical?

With another sigh, he headed toward the dropship, setting aside his pride. Finding Octavia was all that mattered; the rest could wait.

Inside the dropship, the air was oppressive. The metal walls trapped the cold, and his footsteps echoed through the space.

Then he saw her: Hannah, asleep on the floor, her jacket as her only pillow. One arm propped up her head, the other rested on her stomach. Her brown hair spilled across the metal, a soft contrast to the harsh surroundings.

No one had offered her a tent. No one had included her in a group. They'd left her in this cold shell, yet she never complained. Every morning, she was the first to rise, heading into the woods to forage for food; every night, she was the last to sleep, staying up to tend to the sick.

Bellamy watched her for a moment, unsure of what he felt seeing her like this, realizing he hadn't noticed until now.

And pushing aside his ego, he crouched and shook her shoulder, not too gently, expecting hostility after the previous day's events. Hannah stirred, frowning with a low groan. Her sleep-clouded eyes met his worried expression.

"Bellamy?" she murmured, squinting slowly. "What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. There was no tension in her voice, only exhaustion.

Bellamy swallowed hard. Asking for help was the toughest part, especially from her. "Octavia's gone," he said, his voice firm despite the exhaustion eating at him. "She's been out there for almost twelve hours. No one's seen her. I need help looking for her."

Hannah didn't hesitate. She stood, grabbed her jacket, and shook off the dust with precise movements, ignoring her body's fatigue. "Where was she last seen? Did she say anything before she left?" she asked, tying her bootlaces, her mind already in action.

Bellamy paused, caught off guard by how quickly she'd responded, no questions, no comments about the day before. She just jumped in to help. "Near the north wall," he replied, still processing her reaction. "Clarke and I checked the camp. She's in the woods."

Hannah nodded, grabbing her bow from the gray wall and slinging it over her shoulder. "We need to track her. Gather anyone willing to go, armed. The woods are dangerous, and we can't waste more time," she said, her tone firm as she tied her hair into a quick ponytail.

Bellamy watched her, struck by how naturally she took charge.

All this time, they'd excluded her, treated her like an outsider, as if she didn't belong in this camp. Yet here she was, ready to risk her life for his sister without question or expectation.

"Get the group. Meet at the entrance," she said, glancing over her shoulder.Bellamy nodded and stepped out, the cold air hitting his face.

Hannah watched him go, hearing his voice in the distance as the delinquents followed his orders.

Then she ran to the supply tent, her eyes scanning the items quickly: rope, a flashlight, an extra tent in case the acid fog rolled in. They didn't know what caused it or when it might appear, but they couldn't take chances.

As she reached for the rope, a rustle at the entrance made her turn. Nathan stood there, a backpack slung over his shoulder, his serious expression softening when he saw her.

"Need help?" he asked, gesturing to the gear.

"I've got it," Hannah replied, stuffing the items into her bag."You coming with us?" she added, though part of her resisted. They needed help, but the thought of putting her best friend in danger unsettled her. She didn't voice it.

Miller nodded, stepping forward to grab the tent's tarp. "Thought you could use an extra hand," he said with a faint smile.

Hannah looked at him for a moment before handing him a flashlight. "Fine. Take this and the rope."

He complied, and they left the tent together.

At the camp's entrance, a small group was forming. Bellamy stood at the front, arms crossed, exchanging words with Roma. Nearby were Mbege and Diggs, familiar but distant figures. Finn was talking to Raven, under Clarke's distant gaze, a triangle Hannah hadn't yet deciphered. Then there was Jasper, clutching a knife with trembling fingers, his bravery wrestling with fear.

Hannah approached him, noticing his rigid stance. It was understandable, only days ago, he'd endured a traumatic experience. His courage to join this mission was commendable.

"Hold it firm, but don't tense up so much. Keep your wrist loose; it'll give you more control," she explained, demonstrating the motion.

Jasper tried, the blade slicing the air clumsily but better than before. "Like this?" he asked, unsure.

"Better," she nodded. "Spread your feet for balance. You're not just holding the weapon; you're holding yourself."

He swallowed hard, his nervous eyes meeting hers. "I'm... kind of scared," he admitted quietly, ensuring the others didn't hear. "After what happened, I don't know if I can handle this."

Hannah softened her expression. "You're here, Jasper. You survived a spear to the chest. You don't need to be brave, just keep going. I've got your back."

He nodded slightly, loosening his grip on the knife as he took a deep breath. She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before stepping back, her eyes scanning the group until they met Bellamy's intense brown gaze, silently asking if she was ready. Hannah nodded.

The forest swallowed them the moment they crossed the camp's walls. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth; leaves crunched underfoot, blending with the chirping of crickets in the dark.

Hannah walked near the front with Finn, both scanning the ground for signs of Octavia. They hadn't spoken much, maybe a word or two since landing, as Finn seemed preoccupied with his love triangle.

"Hey, Miller, check this out," Finn called.

Hannah and the others turned as she crouched beside him, aiming her flashlight and carefully examining a footprint.

"Is it hers?" Finn asked.

Hannah nodded, noticing another anomaly in the dirt a few meters away. She pointed, and Finn followed her gesture. "Someone was following her," she said.

Bellamy pushed through to stand beside them. "A Grounder?" he asked.

Hannah glanced at him, then back at the print. It was large, definitely a man's, but not much different from the one Bellamy left beside it. "Maybe," she said quietly. "Could be one of ours. Either way, someone was tailing her."

Bellamy crouched, frowning as he studied the marks.

"There's more over here," Finn called.

Hannah stood, pushing through bushes that scratched her skin, leaving faint marks.

They moved in silence, following the trail, hyper-alert in the blinding darkness.

Then they stopped.

Hannah eyed the hill ahead, not too steep, but the tracks vanished there, offering one grim answer she didn't voice. She straightened, meeting Bellamy's gaze, who seemed to grasp what the clues suggested.

"This is where it ends," she murmured, scanning every direction, hoping she was wrong.

"She fell?" Jasper asked, voicing what everyone likely wanted to but didn't dare.

Hannah didn't answer, searching for more clues with her flashlight.

"Looks like it," Finn said. "The bushes... something crashed through them. Could've been the person following her; their tracks stop here too."

"Look," Hannah called, her flashlight catching a glint of metal at the hill's base.

"What is that?" Bellamy asked.

"Can't tell from here," she replied.

"Looks like a bracelet... or a necklace," Mbege added.

Bellamy and Hannah exchanged a glance. She nodded, moving to Nathan to grab the rope from his bag. "Only one way to find out," she said, handing one end to Bellamy. "Hold this."

He said nothing, gripping the rope as Hannah descended the slippery hill. At the bush where the metal gleamed, she crouched, untangling what looked like a locket. Standing, she looked up at the group waiting expectantly.

"Recognize this?" she shouted, holding it up for Bellamy.

He squinted through the dark, then nodded after a few seconds. "It's hers."

Those words spurred them onward. Bellamy descended first, and Hannah handed him the locket as Jasper and the others followed.

They pressed on, her feet and back aching from the strain of scanning the ground. She rubbed her neck briefly to ease the discomfort.

Bellamy glanced at her but said nothing. Instead, he pointed to a spot on the ground. "Are these the tracks we're following?" he asked.

Hannah and Finn, the group's only trackers, crouched beside him.

Finn nodded. "They look the same."

"They're deeper the further we go. Looks like they were carrying her," Hannah added.

Bellamy's face tightened, his arms crossing over his chest, but no one found words to comfort him. "If they took her, that means she's alive, like when they took me," Jasper tried, but it didn't help much.

Hannah watched Bellamy walk off and muttered, "Not sure that's comforting, Jasper..."

He bit his lip nervously.

The group pushed on, but as they did, the night grew heavier. Each step took them deeper into unfamiliar woods. They moved in silence, the air tense, as if the slightest sound might draw a horde of Grounders. The only noise was their soles hitting the earth, leaves and branches snapping underfoot.

Then a distant horn-like sound froze them in place, fearing they'd stumbled into forbidden territory.

"I don't speak Grounder," Finn murmured, "but I'm pretty sure that means we shouldn't get closer."

The delinquents seemed to agree. It was night, their only weapons were dull knives made from the dropship's metal, they wouldn't last long against Grounders if Finn was right.

"Let's get out of here." "I'm out..." "Yeah, me too..."

They began murmuring among themselves. Hannah sighed, seeing Bellamy's jaw tense, likely biting back words he'd regret. But they were right, it was dangerous, and they couldn't force anyone to stay.

"Follow our tracks back. If you get lost, wait for dawn," Hannah called to those heading back to camp. They nodded, disappearing into the brush.

"Go back if you want," Bellamy muttered to the few who remained, likely believing they'd leave. "She's my sister. My responsibility."

Without another word, he pressed forward.

Hannah exchanged quick glances with Jasper, Finn, and Nathan, who seemed determined to continue, followed by Roma, Mbege, and Diggs.

Hannah quickly overtook Bellamy by a few steps, scanning the ground for any sign she could interpret.

The group was exhausted. Hannah and Bellamy now walked side by side, their steps slower, the night's weight pressing down. The tracks were barely visible, nearly impossible to follow, but they couldn't stop, not now.

"You don't have to do this," Bellamy said suddenly, his voice low, almost drowned by the rustling leaves. He kept his eyes forward, but Hannah felt the weight of his words.

She glanced at him, bow in hand, shoulders aching from hours of tension. "Do what?"

"Help me. Risk your life for her," he paused, jaw tight. "After everything... you could've said no."

Hannah slowed, adjusting her backpack strap as she considered his words. "Octavia's one of us. Doesn't matter what happened before. She's out there, and I'm not leaving her behind."

Bellamy finally looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers. "You don't owe us anything, Hannah. Not me, not her, not this camp."

She held his gaze steadily. "Maybe not. But I'm not here to keep score."

He didn't respond right away, and for a moment, the only sounds were their footsteps and the distant hum of insects. Finally, he nodded slightly, his expression softening briefly before he focused back on the path, as if suddenly seeing things he hadn't before. "You're good at this," he admitted, almost reluctantly. "Tracking, leading... all of it."

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "My answer's still no."

He likely expected that, nodding faintly. "Fair. But it's in your blood, whether you like it or not."

SUMMARY:

She lost everything... her home, her family, every reason to keep going.

Erin has been walking alone ever since her brother disappeared, clinging to the only promise she made: survive.

When the signs of Terminus offer hope, she follows them, only to walk straight into a nightmare.

But fate has a strange way of pulling people together.

The problem? He belongs to someone else.

And Erin refuses to be the reason something beautiful falls apart.

Chapter 1: Erin

Chapter 2: No sanctuary

Chapter 3: How many walkers have you killed?

Chapter 4: help us

Chapter 5: the church

Chapter 6: strangers

Chapter 7: family

Chapter 8: washington

"Hey, time to get up." Erin let out a small involuntary laugh when she saw Glenn — for some reason, he seemed more cheerful than usual.

She slowly sat up in her seat, stretching her arms and blinking against the morning light. "Where is everyone? What time is it?" Worry and guilt crossed her face. The bus was empty except for her and Glenn, which meant she'd been asleep while everyone else was probably doing something productive.

"Maggie and Tara went looking for water. According to Eugene, there should be a stream nearby. He's out there with the rest of them. But I came because I figured you might be hungry." As he looked down, she noticed him holding out a can of soup and a plastic spoon. The can wasn't full — they had to ration what little food they had left. She accepted it with a grateful smile. "It's still warm, so be careful."

"Did you already eat?" she asked, but didn't need to finish the sentence. Glenn picked up a matching can from the seat beside him.

"Honestly, I woke you up because I didn't want to eat alone," he joked with a small laugh. "Abraham and Rosita are still arguing about which route to take today, and Eugene didn't seem too thrilled with my company..." Erin chuckled softly. Eugene was a good man — at least from what she'd seen so far — but his way of thinking and behaving could definitely be... odd. "So I thought, why not spend some quality time with Erin? You know... we're stuck on this bus together for a while."

"You've got a point. Speaking of that, I've been curious..." Glenn's full attention was on her now. His brown eyes were locked onto hers, which made her feel a little nervous. She wasn't sure if it was because she was bad at maintaining eye contact during conversations, or if it was just... Glenn.

"About what?"

"What did you do before all this? I mean... you're always helping people, you know how to use weapons, you're strong..." Glenn smiled. It was nice to know someone — in this case, Erin — saw him that way. "Police officer? Firefighter?"

"Even better." He paused dramatically, then leaned in a little closer to whisper his answer. "I was a pizza delivery guy."

That was the last thing Erin expected, but the moment her brain registered the word "pizza," her stomach practically ached with craving.

"I wish I could eat pizza right now..." she mumbled, eyeing the soup can with less enthusiasm.

"Well, lucky for you, the best delivery guy in Atlanta is sitting right here. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll find a pizza place in Washington — and my next delivery will be for you."

[...]

Several hours later...

"How much longer?" Erin had been holding that question in for a while, not wanting to annoy the others or seem desperate. Abraham glanced at her through the rearview mirror before turning his eyes back to the road.

"If we're lucky, we'll hit Virginia in less than five hours. It's just over an hour to Washington from there." A wave of calm washed over her. They were closer than they thought. It was just a matter of time — and luck, as Abraham had said — and soon they'd be in Washington. Soon this could all be over.

"Maybe Daryl and Carol already came back and are following us," she added. Optimism wasn't exactly Erin's strong suit, but right now, she needed to hold onto some hope. After everything they'd gone through, it felt like the least they deserved.

Her gaze shifted involuntarily toward Glenn. He was sitting across from her on the opposite row. He nodded with a soft smile in response to her words.

"So," Tara began, turning toward Eugene, "once we get to Washington and you do your... thing, will everything go back to how it was?"

Everyone turned to Eugene. Up until now, they'd been focused on just getting to Washington. It had been their only priority. But now, for the first time, they were letting themselves imagine what would come after... though none of them really knew if that "after" was even real.

"Technically, yes," Eugene answered. "But it will take a very long time to fix everything."

Maybe they couldn't get back what they'd lost — the people, the lives, the normalcy. It wouldn't be easy. But it was the only option left.

"Fixing the world... sounds easy enough," Abraham muttered. There was a hint of pride in his voice — one of the few times they'd seen him like that. They all knew he was a good man. And it was true: the pressure of "saving the world" rested heavily on his shoulders. So when he came off strict or cold, they didn't blame him. He'd been essential in getting them this far.

"First step to saving the world is a haircut. It's twice as long as it was last time," Rosita said, brushing her fingers through Abraham's red hair. "You too, Eugene."

"You are not touching my hair," Eugene replied sternly, making a few of them laugh.

"I think it's cool," Erin murmured. Eugene looked at her, puzzled. "Your hair. I've never seen anything like it. It's pretty unique." Slightly awkward, Eugene nodded in appreciation.

"Your hair's nice too. You'll have to share your secrets with me on how you keep it that way." Erin blinked in surprise. Rosita — possibly one of the most attractive women she'd ever met — had just complimented her hair?

"Oh... thanks." Rosita reached over to run her fingers through Erin's hair, but stopped suddenly when the bus jolted.

"What was that, Abraham?" she asked, alarmed.

Erin grabbed the seat in front of her as the speed suddenly increased and Abraham looked just as confused as the rest of them.

"I don't know!"

"Eugene, stay down! Everyone hold on!"

Erin obeyed instantly, panic surging through her body as she looked around — but there was nothing she could do.

Suddenly, she was thrown to the floor. Pain shot through her body as her vision blurred. She wasn't in her seat anymore. She wasn't even sure where in the bus she was. But right now, that was the least of her worries.

"Is everyone okay?!" A voice called out, distant and panicked, as the bus finally stopped moving. Other voices followed, but she couldn't make them out. Her head was pounding, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes.

"You don't look that sure about going. If you don't want to, you don't have to," Glenn said.

Erin sighed as she tied the laces of her shoes.

"I do want to go. I just... I think I'm just scared."

Glenn nodded, sitting beside her. He truly understood how she felt, but he didn't know how to help her or what words might make a difference.

"We're all scared. We don't know if things will turn out alright when we get to Washington... we don't even know if we'll make it there. But all we can do is try. The reward's worth the risk."

"I know that, I've been thinking about it a lot... But things happened so fast. I haven't been with you all that long, it just feels... weird to already be splitting up."

"It's only temporary. They'll catch up with us once Daryl and Carol get back."

There was a certainty in his voice — the same kind of certainty Erin had heard in Carl. They all believed the two missing members would return. That gave her a bit of comfort.

"I still have a few things to take care of. You've got ten more minutes to think about it. Whatever you decide... it'll be okay."

That small smile from Glenn made her feel lighter. The weight pressing on her chest seemed to ease, and the anxiety settled.

She did want to go. She wanted to be part of whatever came next. She wanted to help make it happen. She was fully aware of the risks, but honestly... she didn't believe there was anything left to lose. She had already lost everything.

She grabbed her backpack and walked to the church doors. The rest of the group was already gathered there, saying goodbye to Glenn and Maggie with nostalgic smiles and soft, encouraging words. It was only natural — they had been together since the beginning, and only they knew what they'd all been through to make it this far.

The couple climbed onto the truck. Maggie looked at their friends through the dusty windows. After them, Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene boarded. Erin hurried her pace to catch up, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Be careful," Rick said.

Just two words, but Erin saw the concern in his eyes.

"You too."

Rick nodded, giving her a few pats on the shoulder before letting her step inside the bus. The affection didn't end there — Maggie smiled warmly at her, trying to lift her spirits. Glenn looked at her with pride in her decision.

She walked down the aisle and sat behind Tara, near the window. She placed her backpack on her lap and adjusted herself as the bus started moving. She didn't look back. She didn't want to — even though she knew this might be the last time she'd see the rest of the group.

They drove further and further away, the distance growing, but the scenery stayed the same — trees everywhere. It was peaceful in a way, though every now and then they'd spot walkers, a harsh reminder of the world they lived in.

She listened to the others talking animatedly, even joking about Eugene's hair. Her eyes, though, stayed focused on the window. She smiled faintly at Tara's jokes now and then, wishing she could feel like she was really part of them.

It wasn't their fault — they had been nothing but kind. The problem was that, no matter how much she tried, Erin never quite felt like she fit in.

[...]

Night was falling, and they were stuck in the middle of the road. There didn't seem to be any nearby houses or buildings, so after some convincing, Abraham agreed to rest for the night. They'd take turns keeping watch and leave at dawn.

Erin fell asleep quickly — she was exhausted, even if she hadn't done much that day. After a few hours, Rosita woke her for her turn at watch, this time paired with Maggie.

They took opposite ends of the bus, Erin settling in at the back, away from the rest. She stared out the window. That was what keeping watch meant, really — just watching. Time passed quietly. Maggie had stood up a few times, even walked around the bus now and then, while Erin stayed put.

"Hey, wanna step out for a bit?" Maggie asked quietly, not wanting to wake the others. Erin, starting to grow restless, nodded.

She followed Maggie through the aisle, watching the others sleep peacefully as they passed.

The cool night breeze hit her face the moment she stepped outside. It was dark, but the moon gave just enough light to see around them. Erin took a slow walk around the bus, scanning for anything or anyone they might've missed.

When she got back, Maggie was still there, sitting on the steps by the door. She shifted a bit and motioned for Erin to sit next to her.

"Something bothering you?" Maggie asked in a whisper.

Erin looked at her, confused.

"I have a younger sister," Maggie continued. "She's even younger than you. But she used to act the same way when something was weighing on her. I know it might sound silly to ask — I mean, we all have things on our minds these days — but I just wanted you to know you can talk to me. If you ever need to."

Erin didn't know what to say. Her throat started to tighten. She needed someone to talk to — she knew that. But somehow, she always ended up pushing everyone away and bottling it all up.

"It's just... I'm tired. I've lost everything. There's nothing left here for me. I don't even know why I'm still here." Her voice cracked as she forced the words out — but she needed to say them.

"You haven't lost everything. You still have the most important thing. And if you're still here... somewhere deep down, you know it. You don't want to give up. If you did, you already would've. But you didn't. Because there's still hope. You still believe you can do something."

Erin tried to imprint those words in her mind. Each one stuck with her, carved into her thoughts. A peaceful silence followed — comforting, even.

"Hey, my turn for watch," Tara called softly.

The two girls looked up and stepped back onto the bus. Glenn was awake too.

"Girls' talk?" he asked with a smile.

Maggie nodded, walking toward him. Erin made her way back to the seat she had claimed earlier. Her eyes were heavy. Her body begged for rest.

Before letting sleep take her, she glanced around the bus one last time.

Abraham was asleep in the driver's seat — he had insisted on sleeping there. Rosita slept just behind him, with Eugene in the seat next to her. Tara and Glenn were still near the entrance, talking in low voices she couldn't make out. And Maggie was a few rows ahead, curled up in a seat with Glenn's jacket wrapped around her.

Everything seemed fine. But Erin's mind drifted again — she wondered how the rest of the group was doing. If maybe Daryl and Carol had already returned.

Bob was lying on the couch in front of her, looking at the whole group with a smile on his face. He really didn't seem afraid of his fate — he looked happy and calm. Erin hadn't gotten to know him as well as the others had, but that didn't stop a lump from forming in her throat as each and every one of them said goodbye to the man.

Maggie was the last. Everyone started leaving the small office with a bitter feeling inside. Erin tried to follow them, not wanting to take time away from the people he truly loved to say their goodbyes.

"Hey, you." Bob called before she could leave. Everyone froze in place, looking at the older man, trying to figure out who he was talking to — until his eyes locked with Erin's, who looked quite confused. "Yeah, you. Aren't you going to say goodbye to this poor man?" He let out a small laugh that made Erin feel guilty.

"Oh, n-no, it's not that, it's j-just..."

"Hey, it's okay. You know something? You remind me a lot of myself when they found me... But you can trust them. You're part of this family now. So take care of them, and take care of yourself. Got it?" The lump in her throat was growing bigger. She nodded frantically, fighting to keep tears from falling from her eyes and looked down. It wasn't something she expected to hear, but she definitely needed it. She needed to know she wasn't alone and that she had someone by her side.

"Thank you... I will." Bob gave her a smile — one could easily see the exhaustion on his face, and also the pain. She smiled back, though it looked more like a grimace than a smile.

"Oh, come on... Bigger!" the man encouraged, making her laugh. "That's it! See? See how different life looks when you smile?" And Erin nodded, agreeing with him. "Now go, they're waiting for you." The brunette looked behind her — the door was still open, and outside she could see the rest of the group. She looked back at Bob, not wanting to say goodbye. Maybe he was right — maybe she was part of that family... but so was he.

"Thank you..." she murmured, but it was enough for the man to hear her. "You're part of this family too." she finished, feeling her voice crack before she could finish the sentence.

"We all are... don't miss me too much," he laughed. Erin sighed, feeling Sasha's hand on her arm. She looked at her, and the woman gave her a small smile, silently letting her know everything would be okay. The brunette began to walk toward the door, and before leaving, she waved one last time.

To her, it felt strange to think that Bob wouldn't be around anymore — that person who had been with them the last few days. It was so sudden, having to say goodbye. But she remembered his words and decided that the best thing would be to remember Bob for who he was: that man who laughed at everything, and not for the tragedy he had to go through. Even though deep in her heart she felt anger — anger at the world that always seemed unfair to the people who least deserved it, like Bob, and like his family.

She spent the rest of the morning sitting in one of the chairs. So many things had happened, but what scared her the most was the thought that it might not be over — that they might still have more to face. They still didn't know much about Daryl and Carol's whereabouts, other than the fact they had left on their own in a car. They also didn't know when they'd finally be able to leave for Washington or what would be waiting for them there.

And as if her mind had manifested it, she saw Abraham stand up and walk over to Rick, handing him a map.

"This will be our route to D.C. We'll follow it to the letter for as long as we can. If not... well, you all know our fate." Rosita and Eugene also got up from their seats, walking toward the redhead. Erin hadn't heard the earlier argument between the two men — she had been in Father Gabriel's office taking care of Judith — but she had heard about the deal they made. A deal that meant the group would be splitting up again, this time taking Glenn, Maggie, and Tara with them. "Once Eugene gets there, things will start going back to how they used to be. You should be there to see it." There was a hint of sorrow in his voice. Abraham might have that tough and rugged exterior, but the truth was that he was very kind and helpful to the rest.

Erin remembered the night before, when he and Rosita had approached her to ask if she'd join them after everything they had gone through with the people from Terminus. She didn't know what Rosita had said to Abraham about her, but it had been enough for him to want her company on that long journey.

Erin was still undecided — she hadn't even thought of her answer until that moment. Part of her wanted to stay with Rick and the others — she was afraid something might happen while they were gone. But another part of her wanted to go — she felt the need to do something for once in her life, for her parents, for her brother, and for the people who now surrounded her.

"They will." Rosita said with confidence in her voice, and Rick nodded.

"We will." After that, the rest began leaving the church, helping check the bus and the final details so Abraham's group could depart.

Everyone was doing something. Erin, following Rick's orders, was carrying some cans of food and bottles of water to the truck.

"Let me help you," said Rosita, taking some of the water bottles from Erin's arms and walking ahead of her. They both entered the truck and placed the bottles where Rosita indicated. "So... did you think about it?" she asked in a calm but slightly insistent tone. Erin shook her head, avoiding her gaze.

"I-I... I don't know," she replied in a low voice. Rosita sighed and stepped closer, sitting in an empty seat.

"Listen, I know it's hard, and it's not fair to ask you something like this, but we need you. We need as many people as possible, at least until the others catch up with us. It's going to be hard — probably not all of us will make it — but we'll try for all of us." The brunette listened carefully to her words. "So... are you in?"

Her eyes looked out the window, scanning the people outside. She thought of those who were still with them... and those who weren't. She wanted to make it to Washington. She wanted a peaceful life, one where she didn't have to keep losing people. She just wanted the nightmare to end. But more than anything... she was afraid.

"There are still a few hours before we leave, but please... think about it," Rosita said before getting up and walking toward the exit of the bus.

"I'm in." Erin finally said, still uncertain. Rosita turned to look at her.

"I'll go with you to Washington." And with those words, Rosita smiled.

"Alright. I'll let Abraham know we've got another passenger on board."

Erin watched her leave, but it took her a few more minutes to step outside herself. From the bus, she could see Rosita talking to the red-haired man, who nodded at the news. The rest of the group looked on in silence. When Erin finally stepped out, she felt everyone's eyes on her — some gazes she couldn't quite read.

Abraham walked up to her, giving her a few friendly pats on the shoulder.

"We leave in a couple hours," he said.

The sun had set, and the breeze caused the leaves of trees and bushes to rustle against each other—the sound, together with Judith's infectious laughter, was the only thing audible in the area.

The little blonde girl rested in Erin's lap, playing with the strands of hair that fell over the older girl's shoulders, letting out an occasional giggle. In that moment, it was just her and Judith, for the first time in a long while, she felt at peace with herself.

"I think Erin should stay." Suddenly, her name pulled her back to reality, dragging her out of her own world. She looked toward the others; she hadn't been able to follow the entire conversation until her name came up, but she knew they were hatching some plan involving the people from Terminus, the same people who had kidnapped Bob hours earlier.

After finishing her sentence, Erin looked in confusion at Glenn, who had suggested she stay behind. Rick seemed to think it over for a few seconds before agreeing with the boy.

"Stay?" she asked, confused.

"Carl, Tyreese, and you will stay here with the priest and Judith. We'll go after Gareth and his people, maybe they know something about Daryl and Carol," Rick explained. Erin quickly nodded, agreeing with the role she'd been given.

"Rosita and Eugene will stay too," Abraham added after a few seconds.

"But... what about Bob?" the brunette asked. Bob was in a delicate state due to his wound, and they had just found out he'd also been bitten, which made Erin worry something might happen to him in the others' absence, especially Sasha's.

Rick didn't seem to have an answer for that. He just looked down, unsure of what to say. Tyreese stepped in.

"I'll take care of him." Everyone nodded, going over the plan one more time as Erin remained seated with Judith in her arms.

Hours earlier, they had escaped Terminus, brushing close to death, and now they were in danger again. It was an endless cycle that utterly exhausted Erin and the rest, would there ever come a day when they could live peacefully again?

The agreed-upon time for the group to depart arrived. Judith was asleep in Erin's arms, and she could feel Rick's gaze on her—a silent plea for her to take care of his daughter. She gave a small nod, trying to tell Rick he could trust her.

The church door closed. Tyreese, with help from Rosita and Carl, checked the surroundings one last time before locking themselves inside Gabriel's old office.

"Do you think they'll be long?" Carl whispered, eyes fixed on the door, his weapon ready in hand for anything that might happen. Erin, of all people, had probably spoken the most with Carl up to that point. Though she was a few years older, the boy's presence comforted her.

"I don't think so," she answered in a near-whisper, just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Rosita was speaking to Eugene, Tyreese and Gabriel remained quietly in a corner, and Judith slept peacefully. "Your dad said they wouldn't be long."

"You're right..." Carl nodded to himself, trying to convince himself, like he was scared his father and the others wouldn't come back. Erin noticed. Even though she didn't know Rick very well, she knew he would do everything in his power to return to his children. "What do you think happened to Carol and Daryl?" he asked again, surprising her. Just hours ago, Carl had told her it was only a matter of time before they returned. But now, all the certainty he'd had seemed gone. The young man trying to stay strong for everyone else was falling apart in front of Erin, letting her see the fear in his eyes.

She wanted to do something. Even though it had been a short time, she felt sympathy for the boy and his friends, for the hard situation they were all in. But she couldn't do anything. She couldn't stop Gareth and his people with good intentions alone. She couldn't promise Carl that everything would be okay, because she didn't know.

"They're strong. They know how to take care of themselves. Maybe something came up, but they'll be back... You know them better than I do—you should already know that."

A small silence settled over the room until Carl spoke again. "What did you do before all this?" he asked while fidgeting with his fingers.

Erin carefully thought through her answer before responding. She took a while, and Carl started to get nervous, wondering if maybe it had been wrong to ask.

"I lived with my parents and my brother. You know, the usual... I went to school. I had one more year before college. I hung out with friends..." she explained as the boy nodded. It was the kind of answer he had expected. Erin seemed like a calm, sweet, and kind girl at first glance.

"Your family... are they—?"

"Dead..? Yeah. My parents died at the beginning of all this. My brother and I were in class. Everything happened so fast... Our schools were next to each other, so he was able to come get me. But when we got home, it was already too late." The images replayed in her mind one after another, but they didn't hurt the same as before. They just... hurt.

"My mom died too..." Erin looked at him. His eyes were still fixed on the ground, no tears falling, but the pain in his words was clear. "We were hiding from the walkers. She was pregnant, so..." He couldn't finish the sentence, but the way he looked at his little sister said it all.

Erin had been curious at first. Judith was still a baby, and she'd wondered what had happened to her mother. But she hadn't imagined it was something so horrible, as Carl described. "I had to shoot her..." That last part shocked Erin, and she felt pity that someone so young had to go through and do something like that.

"You had to..." Carl nodded. Neither of them said anything more, but they silently enjoyed each other's company. Carl didn't usually talk about his feelings or the things that haunted him. He thought his dad already carried enough without adding more worries. And Erin had spent entire days surrounded by loneliness. So, the other's presence was comforting for them both.

"Did you hear that?" Rosita whispered, grabbing her weapon and standing up as fast as she could. Everyone else shifted nervously, a chill running down their spines.

Eugene got up from the floor and moved toward the door, but just as quickly, Rosita pushed him back. "Don't move..."

And in silence, they waited for any sound.

Footsteps came first. The church walls were thin enough to hear the sound of shoes brushing against twigs, grass, and dirt. But it wasn't one person, it was several.

"They're back?" Carl asked, moving toward the door to hear better.

"I don't think so... Why would they try to be quiet if it were them?" And with that, Erin stepped in front of the door, gun drawn, the same one Maggie had given her.

The steps stopped for several long seconds, but the presence remained, they could feel it.

Then came the sharp, grating creak of the door opening. Footsteps hit the wooden floor and approached menacingly.

And finally, Gareth's voice confirmed what they were thinking. "Alright, there's no need to keep hiding... I guess you already know we're here." His tone, full of arrogance and superiority, echoed through the room. Still, no one moved or said a word. "And we know you're here..." Erin furrowed her brow and covered her mouth, trying to muffle her breathing—but she couldn't stop the fear, especially after seeing what these people were capable of. "We're armed. We have a lot of weapons. So there's no point in hiding. We've been watching. We know exactly who's here." He paused, and they could hear him swaying on his feet behind the door. "There's Bob, unless you've already sacrificed him. There's Eugene. Rosita. Tyreese—Martin's best friend. Carl. Judith..." And just when it seemed like he was done, he added: "And Erin... I still remember your name."

Erin's body tensed. Her hand trembled from the pressure she was putting on the gun—her knuckles turning white.

"Rick and the others left... They took a lot of weapons... Listen, we don't know where you are, but this place isn't that big. Let's end this before it gets more painful than it has to be."

It was clear—they were here to kill them. They didn't want anything but to use them to get to Rick. And they had been smart enough to wait until now, when the others were supposedly far away looking for them.

They had every chance of losing. The four revolvers they had were nothing compared to Gareth and his group's firepower. Resisting seemed stupid. All they could do was wait for the worst—or maybe try to find a way out...

An escape...

"Look, you're behind one of these two doors, and we have more than enough bullets to shoot through both. I don't think you want that."

Erin's brown eyes desperately searched every corner of the room. No windows, no other exits.

"What about the priest? Father, if you help us, we'll leave you out of this. You can take the baby with you." All eyes turned to Gabriel, who genuinely seemed tempted by the offer.

But in a desperate attempt to find a way out, Erin noticed a flaw in the room—one that could save their lives.

The wood floor seemed very old. The creaking with every step was proof. Many floorboards were loose, and the foundation was high enough to crawl through.

"Just open the door, and you can leave." The man gestured as if to obey—and no one blamed him. He was scared. But it could cost them all their lives.

"Don't even think about it..." Erin muttered so low that even she barely heard it. "Carl..." The boy looked at her, weapon still aimed at the latch. She gestured toward Judith, and that was enough—she lifted a worn floorboard, and the others understood. Rosita moved beside Erin to help clear a path for Carl and Judith. Carl tried to lift the baby without waking her.

"You can take the baby with you. What do you think?"

Carl approached with Judith in his arms, ready to go. But the worst happened—Judith's cry echoed through the room. Carl froze, and so did everyone else.

"Or maybe we'll keep the baby... I'm starting to like this little girl..." Erin's heart raced so fast she thought it might burst from her chest. Her eyes locked on the door.

"This is your last chance to come out, understood?" Gareth really thought they would surrender that easily, but no one moved.

"Alright... break the lock." That final order wasn't for them. They waited in fear for the shots. They flinched when they heard gunfire—but the door remained intact.

"Drop your weapons." Rick's voice—it was the one they most wanted to hear at that moment. They had arrived a second—just one second—before the worst.

Adrenaline pumped through Erin's veins. Her breathing was ragged, as if she had run a marathon minutes ago. She scanned the others quickly, trying to make sure they were okay.

"Rick, we'll shoot through the door. So you drop your weapons," Gareth threatened. Rosita's arm snapped Erin out of her trance. She gently pulled her to the far side of the room, next to Carl and Judith, trying to keep them all away from the door.

She could hear what was happening just meters away, but she couldn't shake what had just occurred. She heard the blows, the screams—but she understood now. If it hadn't been Gareth and the people from Terminus, it could've been them.

The door opened, and a male figure peeked through, warning them first. "It's me, I'm coming in." Then the others entered. Rick walked over to his two children. Abraham scanned the room for Rosita and Eugene. Sasha ran to hug her brother. And then there was Erin and Gabriel—who had no one. Gabriel stepped out of the room. Erin heard him gasp at the scene outside, then run to vomit. After that, she wasn't sure she wanted to go out herself.

She leaned back against the wall, dropped her head between her knees, and exhaled, trying to calm herself. The worst had passed—so why did she feel like this now?

A hand touched her shoulder—the touch so comforting she didn't have to look up to know who it was.

The heat was unbearable. Erin's head ached, her whole body felt sticky with sweat, and at that moment, what she longed for the most was a shower or at least some water to drink. But she couldn't complain, the rest of the group was in the same condition.

They stopped for a few minutes to rest and then kept walking for hours until their feet hurt. They had found several cars along the way, but none had fuel and were therefore useless. The only thing they had managed to get was a bit of clothing from the former owners, whose corpses lay beside them.

Maggie, a green-eyed girl with brown hair, had given Erin a backpack they found in one of those cars along with a few pieces of clothing. She was eternally grateful for it, since all her belongings were now property of Terminus, or what was left of it.

She knew they were just material things, but she couldn't help feeling pity and a bit of anger about it. After all, they were her things, some with more sentimental value than others, and the only remaining memory of her former life.

Several gut-wrenching screams began to echo through the forest. For a moment she thought it might have been her imagination, but when she saw the entire group running in that direction, she became alarmed and all her senses went on high alert.

"Help! Help! Somebody, please help!"

Erin ran after the rest because it was the only thing she could do. She had no weapons with her, just her brother's dagger, and she was sure she couldn't do much with just that.

A man on top of a rock surrounded by walkers was the first thing she saw. Carl, Rick's son, managed to take a few down with his weapon, and the rest of the group finished off the remaining walkers.

"Sir, are you okay?" Erin asked, approaching him a little. In the background, she heard Rick approaching while asking the others to stay on guard. The man climbed down from the rock, his body still trembling, and gestured to Erin to wait. She watched with a grimace as he began to vomit, possibly all of his breakfast.

"Sorry... yes." He finally responded to her question. "Thank you. I'm Gabriel."

"Do you have any weapons with you?" she asked cautiously. He seemed kind, that was clear. But she also understood, especially after what they went through in Terminus, that they couldn't trust just anyone.

"Do I look like I have weapons?" the man said, embarrassed, remembering the scene he had just lived through.

"We don't give a damn what you look like." 

Erin watched the situation awkwardly as everyone started being harsh with him for no reason.

"The word of the Lord is the only protection I need." The blue-eyed girl looked more closely at the man, the clothes he wore were those of a priest. She never thought she'd see one again at the end of the world... though to be fair, she never thought such an end would come.

"Didn't seem like it." And finally, after all the time she had spent with this group, she heard the voice of the man with the crossbow. She would have thought he didn't speak if she hadn't seen him talking with Rick several times.

"I called for help, and help arrived." Everyone, or most of them, stood in notable contradiction to their beliefs, remaining silent. "By any chance... do you have any food? What I had fell on the way..."

Food... Erin was undoubtedly starving. She could only think about the delicious meals her father used to cook.

"We only have some nuts," Carl added, sadly extending the few nuts he had in his hand.

"You... do you have a camp?" Erin asked. If the man didn't use weapons, there was no way he had survived out in the open; he must have had a place.

Gabriel seemed nervous at that question but nodded. "I have a church."

[...]

At that moment, Erin wasn't the most devout believer in God... or anything else.

Before everything, her parents were Catholic, so by extension, she was too. She still remembered the times her parents argued with her brother, who called himself an "atheist." Dylan always said he didn't believe in God, but that memory of him praying for the first time in his life to keep himself and his sister safe was the only thing crossing Erin's mind.

At that moment, she didn't know whether to believe or not. Part of her thought that if there was a God, as good and powerful as everyone said, they wouldn't have had to go through all the things they had. But another part told her that was just the resentment inside her, looking for something, or someone, to blame for the tragedies she had lived. 

Deep down, she understood the people who were believers; they just wanted to hold on to something and have faith.

Either way, believer or not, that church gave her immense peace. It made her feel calm and, in some way, safe.

"Where did you get all of this?" Rick's voice echoed through the place. Erin looked in his direction, noticing the numerous empty food containers.

"The annual donation. They hadn't delivered them to the families before everything happened. I was alone, that's why it lasted so long. When I finished them, I started searching nearby places—except one."

"Where is that?" Erin asked. It wasn't just her who was hungry, everyone was.

"It's full of... those things."

"How many?" Rick asked.

"A dozen maybe..."

"We can handle a dozen," he replied confidently.

"Bob and I will go with you," the woman stepped forward. Rick nodded at her.

"I'll go too," Erin offered. It was dangerous, but she wanted to prove she could help the group as much as anyone. She wanted to earn her place.

Rick looked at her the same way he had looked at the woman earlier.

"Alright, we leave in five minutes."

Hearing this, Erin stepped outside the church to wait for the others. She sat on the front steps, listening to the group talk among themselves. She made sure her shoelaces were tied tightly and pulled her brother's dagger from her right boot, hoping she wouldn't have to use it that day.

"I heard you're going with them. Take this." Maggie stood in front of her, offering her a gun with a kind smile.

"Oh, it's not necessary. I'll manage with this," Erin replied. The idea of leaving the girl unarmed didn't sit well with her.

"Come on, maybe you won't need it, but I'd feel better knowing you have one. I've got mine, don't worry about me." And with that, Erin accepted the weapon from her hands.

"Thank you."

"It's nothing. I'm here if you need anything. Glenn told me he talked to you, said you're a good girl." Erin felt embarrassed by the compliment and just smiled a little. She tried to find the right words to thank Maggie, but Rick and the others approached. She stood up as they descended the steps.

"We'll be back before sunset," Rick informed.

Maggie nodded. "Glenn and I will check the houses on that side, the priest marked the path on the map. Tara will come with us."

As they began walking away from the church, Erin thought about Maggie. She was sweet and kind to everyone. They hadn't interacted much, but it was obvious she was close to Glenn. They were almost always together. It was clear to everyone they had, or were, something. And even though Erin hated to admit it and hated herself for feeling that way, it discouraged her a little.

"Is this the place?" Rick asked, looking at several buildings and a lonely street in the distance. Gabriel mumbled a short and quiet "yes." He didn't want to be there, but Rick didn't fully trust him. Something Erin understood, though what bothered her was how poorly the man had been treated. He had kindly shown them his shelter, welcomed them in, and told them everything he knew about the area. And thanks to that, they might now find food. It was unfair that not just Rick but everyone else was so harsh with him.

They entered one of the buildings, which looked more like a store. The doors were open, a sign that many had already broken in, and the empty shelves confirmed it. With the gun Maggie had given her, Erin tried to stay alert to everything around her.

"Father Gabriel, is this what you were talking about?" A large hole in the wooden floor lay in front of them, revealing a room below. The worst part was that half of it was flooded, and the smell coming from it was far from pleasant. Everyone came closer to look. Getting the food out of there was going to be hard.

"There are walkers down there. I can hear them," one of the women added. A small silence followed as they all tried to hear the groans below them. "How are we going to get it all out?"

"Maybe..." All eyes turned to Erin. "We can use the shelves as shields. The water makes them slow. If we trap them with the shelf, that'll be enough to get the food." She was surprised to see everyone agreeing with her plan.

"We'll do that," Rick confirmed.

"Who's going in first?"

"I will," the brown-haired girl offered. She didn't know how far her eagerness to help would take her, but she just hoped everything would go well.

"Are you sure?" asked the woman she had heard being called Sasha.

"I'm the thinnest. If anything happens, it'll be easier to pull me out."

"You calling us fat?" Michonne asked, with a mock-offended look. Erin widened her eyes and mentally scolded herself.

"Oh, no..."

"I'm joking," she interrupted, laughing, a laugh that spread to most of the group, even Rick.

"Alright, we'll help you down. Let us know how it looks, then we'll follow," Rick recapped the plan.

Erin approached the edge, took off her shoes, and nervously took Michonne and Rick's hands, who easily helped her down. First, she felt the water touching the tips of her toes, then it climbed up her body as she descended. When it was enough, she let go of their grip, splashing herself.

The smell was possibly the worst part of that place. She wanted to vomit, but she tried to focus and think about anything else.

It was dark below. The little light coming from the opening above was the only thing that helped her see. There were several shelves. She tried moving the one in front of her for a better view, but it stirred the walkers nearby. She heard them groaning as they tried to get closer, though the water made it harder.

"There are ten. But they're far away. You can come down," she called up. Sasha came down first, followed by Bob, Gabriel, who needed help from Michonne and Rick, and finally Rick himself.

"We'll move this shelf so they can't get near, then grab the stuff," the leader ordered, and everyone followed the plan. Everything was under control, they moved the shelves full of food closer to the hole so it would be easier to lift them out later. But with all the movement, the water made small waves that made it harder to move.

"Erin, hold this here," Michonne asked. Erin moved closer, grabbing the opposite side of the metal shelf while Michonne pushed.

Something in her mind told her to look at Gabriel, who seemed to be having the worst time of all. She cursed internally when she saw him straying from the group, crying. She wanted to yell at him to come back, but it was too late. Before they knew it, everything went out of control. They heard Gabriel's screams, which disoriented them, and many of the walkers managed to reach their position. Erin quickly pulled out her dagger, she didn't want to fire her gun unless absolutely necessary. She stabbed one walker in the head, then another, and finally a third. The rest began to swarm toward her, and Michonne jumped in to help. She felt desperate hearing the others' cries and shouts, but she couldn't look away or the walkers would get her.

"Is everything okay?" Michonne asked. Everything had quieted down, thankfully.

Relief washed over Erin as she finally left that place behind and traded her filthy clothes for something clean.

They had managed to get the food out and, luckily, the building still had some water running through the pipes, so they rinsed the containers, there was no way they could eat from them otherwise, considering the water they'd been in had walker blood. 

They packed everything into boxes, searched for anything else useful, and loaded it all into two carts. Then, using some of the clothes they'd found, they changed out of their damp, dirty garments.

The walk back was calm. Erin sipped water from a new bottle, one of many they'd discovered, and with her free hand, she guided one of the carts toward the church. When the others spotted them approaching, they rushed to help.

"That's a lot of food," Glenn said, smiling as he took the cart and pushed it the rest of the way.

"There's more where that came from," Erin joked. If only they knew everything those cans had been through to get to their table...

"That doesn't sound so great."

"It wasn't that bad. Just a few walkers."

"Earlier I heard you call them biters. That means we're rubbing off on you." Glenn laughed, and Erin just watched the genuine, warm smile on his face.

"'Walkers' sounds better than 'biters'," she explained. To her, "walkers" was a more respectful term. After all, they had once been people, living, breathing people. It made her sad to think those same people had once had families, friends... lives. They had studied, worked, and fought to survive every day. If she ever turned into one of them, she definitely wouldn't want to be called a "biter." That much was clear.

When they entered the church, everyone gathered around to see the large amount of food they had managed to collect. For the first time in days, spirits were lifted. There was a visible sense of happiness in the air.

[...]

It was Erin's second night with the group. After dinner, and after Rick confirmed they would all head to Washington, Erin moved to a corner to sleep. She was exhausted; it had been a long, busy day. She lay down on one of the pews and noticed a few others doing the same, Carl among them.

The moment her eyes closed, she fell into a deep sleep. Her breathing was steady. She felt calm, safe... for now. But the calm wouldn't last long.

"Erin, wake up." Her sleep was light, so she heard Michonne's voice clearly as the woman approached to wake Carl next.

"What's going on?" Erin asked, yawning, still groggy.

"I know you're tired. But it's better if you're awake. Bob is missing."

Her mind was slow to catch up. "What?"

"We don't know what happened, but I need both of you to stay alert." And with that, Michonne walked off to inform the others.

Everyone was worried. None of them believed Bob would have just walked off, especially not leaving Sasha behind, the woman he was involved with. They were almost certain someone was behind it. But who?

Rick mentioned something Daryl had told him their first night in the woods. As a hunter, Daryl was able to track footprints and signs of movement, and that night, he had heard something out there. But now, he and Carol were also missing.

"What if they just left?" Erin asked. She didn't know Rick's group all that well, but she knew enough to be sure they were survivors who didn't give up easily. What had happened at Terminus was proof enough.

"No, you don't get it. We've been together since the beginning. Carol and Daryl wouldn't just disappear like that. Something had to have happened," Carl explained, holding the sleeping baby with golden hair in his arms.

"But everything was fine... They were just having dinner with us," Erin recalled, remembering her conversations with both of them. They hadn't seemed like they were hiding anything.

"That's what's worrying everyone... They think the Father has something to do with it." That much was obvious. Just by the way Sasha looked at Gabriel, anyone could tell she blamed him. But Gabriel had been with them the whole time, it didn't make much sense.

"Whatever happened... they're coming back," Carl added firmly. He meant every word, and Erin wanted to believe him.

"What did you do?!" Sasha suddenly screamed from the far end of the church, her voice echoing as she stormed toward Gabriel, who sat in the same chair he'd occupied all day. He looked confused, nervous, but he knew what was coming.

"W-what do you mean?" he stammered, slowly rising to his feet. All eyes were on him—even Erin and Carl's, who watched from their seats.

"First we're being watched... then you show up... I'm sure you're involved in this!" she shouted. Her concern was valid, but Erin didn't think her behavior was fair.

"I'm sorry, but... I don't understand what you're talking about." Erin couldn't help but feel pity for the man. He had helped them, and they had done nothing but turn on him.

"Where are they?!" Sasha's voice rang out again, but this time she raised her weapon at the priest. Rick stepped in and grabbed her arm.

"You'll burn for this," Rick muttered coldly. "That was for you... What did you do, Gabriel?"

The priest's expression shifted. Erin saw tears beginning to stream down his face. The weight of guilt was unbearable.

"Can you stop?" Erin asked, rising from her seat beside Carl. Her voice was steady, but there was a nervous edge to it from all the eyes on her. "I get that you're scared, but this isn't right. You can't just treat him like this. He's been with us the whole time, helping us. How could he be involved?"

"All of this started happening when he showed up," Sasha accused again.

"And that's not enough proof to convict someone of something they probably didn't do. You all know them better than I do, but... do you really think Daryl, Carol, or Bob would just let themselves be taken, without a sound, without leaving a trace? If something's out there... or someone... we should be focused on that. Not blaming someone who's been here with us every second of the day."

No one responded, but the silence was telling. Sasha gave her a nod, as if acknowledging her point. Rick gave her a strange look, like he was seeing a ghost instead of Erin.

"Thank you," Gabriel whispered with a sorrowful expression. He gently placed a hand on Erin's shoulder, then addressed the group.

"I... always lock the doors at night. They started coming... Atlanta had been bombed the night before. They were scared, looking for safety for their families. It was early... the doors were still shut. It was... my decision. But there were too many. They knocked, tried to break in, screamed my name... And the dead heard them. They came. Women, children... entire families... crying out to me. Begging me for mercy. I buried them. I buried them all. The Lord sent you here to punish me. I'm cursed, I was cursed long before this... I always lock the doors..."

Everyone listened closely. What Gabriel had done wasn't justifiable, but it had been out of fear. And fear makes people do stupid, selfish things. You couldn't blame someone for being human, when so many of them had probably done the same. Still, it didn't wash the blood from his hands.

As the man sobbed, Erin looked at the large cross behind him. She silently prayed that Bob, Carol, and Daryl were safe. She didn't know them well, but it only took two days to realize they were good people. People who had been through a lot, and deep down, she feared they might not come back.

Ashamed of herself and of what she was about to do, she closed her eyes and sighed. Please, help us... Please, let them return safely... she whispered in her mind, not knowing if anyone, or anything, was listening. She had spent so long resenting faith, but maybe... maybe she needed something to believe in, too.

She was worried. Not just for those who were missing, but for the ones who stayed behind. Were they being hunted? Were they next? They didn't know who, or what, they were up against. Or what they even wanted.

"Guys... I think I see something out there," Glenn called out from the window. "It's someone... on the ground..."

Everyone rushed to the window, but no one dared step outside.

"Michonne and Sasha are with me. Everyone else stays inside. We don't know what we're walking into," Rick ordered.

The three of them moved toward the door, weapons ready. Erin watched with a knot in her stomach as the door shut behind them.

She could see them through the darkness, three figures, creeping forward with weapons raised. Then, Sasha broke away and her wailing cry shattered the silence.

Inside, everyone froze. They rushed to the door, hearing Rick shout for help. Moments later, they saw them carry someone back inside.

"Is he alive?" someone asked.

Everyone was too focused on helping, or staying out of the way, to answer.

Then they saw it.

Bob's left leg wasn't where it should've been.

"Oh my God," Erin gasped, her face pale, heart thudding in her chest.

[...]

It was late at night, Erin stirred in her sleep. Her brother Dylan's murmurs had woken her. She yawned and glanced toward him, watching as his figure came into focus.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Go to sleep, or you'll take the next watch," he muttered, annoyed.

She made a face, sighed, and tried to sleep again. But the whispering continued.

Opening her eyes, she saw Dylan sitting just inches from her, hands clasped, forehead resting on them, eyes closed.

"Please... help us..." she heard him whisper, followed by a long, pained sigh. "Please..."

She wanted to cry, her eyes glistened with the tears threatening to fall. It hurt, more than she had ever imagined.

That could've been her, hugging her mother, her father, or maybe her brother. But life had been so unfair, it had taken them from her.

She felt envious, she wanted to be the one reuniting with her loved ones, and that made her feel guilty, because Rick and that little baby smiling in his arms weren't to blame for her family being dead.

Slowly, she stepped away from the group, sitting in the shade of one of the many trees in the forest. Even from there, she could still hear and see them in the distance.

What was she supposed to do now? She didn't know if she even wanted to be with Rick's group, though they hadn't asked her, not yet anyway. She didn't want to be alone, but even if she had to, she had no idea where she would go. Honestly, she felt like escaping had been pointless, she had nowhere to go, no plan at all.

"Hey." A girl with short brown hair approached her, sitting down next to her. Nervous, Erin only replied with a slight nod. "Are you going to stay with them?"

"Oh... I don't know. I don't even know if they'll let me stay."

"Guess that makes two of us..." she joked. Erin looked at her. "I'm Tara."

"Erin... I thought you were with them," she said while playing with her fingers. She didn't know much about that group, but from what she could tell, it seemed like they had known each other for a long time.

"I came into Terminus with them. That guy over there..." Erin followed her finger, laying her eyes on the same Asian guy. "That's Glenn. He saved me. I was with the group that did this to them... I didn't know who they really were." Her voice sounded deeply regretful, and her face showed the guilt eating away at her. Her situation was even more complicated than Erin's because of that, there was a greater chance they wouldn't let her stay.

"Oh..." Erin didn't know what to say or how to comfort her, so she simply stayed silent, watching the group. Tara did the same.

They talked among themselves, even Rick, the man Erin had thought was the most serious, was smiling. They were like a family, and deep down, Erin wanted to be part of it. She was scared of being alone, but she also knew that being part of a group meant losing them eventually. And that scared her even more.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. In a way, Tara's presence was comforting. But it didn't last long, because soon enough, the group began to gather to leave.

Tara stood up and followed them. But Erin wasn't brave enough to do the same. She feared that the moment she did, they'd kick her out.

"How many walkers have you killed?" That voice pulled her out of her thoughts. It was Rick. He walked up to her, a baby in his arms and a boy by his side. He handed the baby to the boy, and they walked away. Only Rick stayed in front of her.

"Walkers? Is that what you call them?" She had always called them biters, but honestly, walkers sounded better. "I don't know, I didn't count. But it must've been a few." Rick nodded slowly, analyzing her answer.

"How many people have you killed?" That question probably caught her attention the most in that whole questionnaire. Rick watched her every move and response closely, that was likely what unsettled her the most.

She stayed silent for a while, not because she was trying to remember, she knew the answer well. "None..."

"Why?"

"My brother... he handled all that stuff. I survived up to now because of him." Rick nodded with understanding, reaching for his belt.

"Dylan... was this his?" He extended Erin's dagger to her, the one with her brother's name engraved on the handle. She nodded, taking it in her hands, not understanding what Rick was trying to say with all this.

"You helped me back there. You didn't know me, and you still did it. We have no place to go, no food, no weapons. All we have is each other. Are you in?" A wave of relief washed over Erin from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She tried to hide the sudden joy and gratitude she felt at that moment and nodded enthusiastically.

[...]

First night with the group. She hadn't spoken to many people, but so far, she knew a few names: Carl was Rick's older son, her only interaction with him was when he offered her a bottle with water. Rosita, she didn't know much about her; she had only approached Erin for a short chat when they stopped along the road. And finally, there was Judith, Rick's baby. She knew her name because the whole group adored her. She had even had the chance to hold her once when Rick let her.

She only knew that many in the group had been together since the beginning, and others had joined later. But most of them seemed very close.

It was starting to get dark, and as Rick had said, they didn't have shelter. They were in the woods, by the side of the road, taking cover among the trees. They didn't have food either, but at that moment, everyone had other things on their minds, probably thinking about the events from earlier. 

Erin leaned her back against a tree trunk a short distance from the group, just watching the stars above her head. Despite all the running and walking, she wasn't tired, so she was willing to keep watch and make sure nothing, or no one, got close to the group.

"Hey, can't sleep?" a voice whispered beside her, careful not to wake the others or disturb the peace. It was Glenn, who sat down next to her, trying to talk to the girl who had spent the entire day sitting off to the side.

"I'm not sleepy... you?"

"I'm tired, but I can't sleep... A lot happened today. I just wanted to thank you." Confused, Erin looked at him with a frown.

"You helped Rick. Because of that, we're all still alive."

"Oh, that... it really wasn't much. Your friend, she's the real hero," she added, referring to the short-haired woman who had caused the chaos at Terminus, chaos that had saved them.

"Yeah. But you helped too, a lot... Maybe tomorrow morning you should try talking to the others. It's not good to be alone. Everyone's nice. They like you." Erin was grateful that, thanks to the darkness, Glenn couldn't see the smile that formed on her face.

"I'll try," she said decisively, making Glenn chuckle.

"You should also get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day." He patted her shoulder as he stood and went back to where he had been before.

And without realizing it, Glenn had made Erin's day a little bit better. Maybe it was just that she hadn't had human contact in weeks, but feeling that someone liked her and cared about her, if only a little, gave her more determination to keep going.

[...]

The next morning, she was woken by Rick, who had come over and touched her shoulder to wake her. She hadn't noticed when she'd fallen asleep, but she figured it had been late, and Glenn had been right, she was very sleepy.

They continued walking down the road. She'd heard that the plan for now was to find vehicles since their final destination was Washington. That alone made Erin's head spin, Washington was so far away.

The harsh sun burned her skin. She hadn't eaten anything yet, and her body was starting to feel the effects.

"Hey, have some." A half-full bottle appeared in her field of vision. Glenn had approached her, offering something to drink.

"Ah... no tha—" Erin didn't finish the sentence because Glenn rolled his eyes, still holding out the bottle with his right hand. Not wanting to be rude, Erin took it, took a sip, and handed it back with some left. Glenn seemed satisfied. "Why Washington?" she finally asked, the question had been eating at her. Of all the nearby places, why choose one on the opposite side of the country? Until now, she hadn't dared to ask, but Glenn seemed kind and understanding. Erin trusted him.

"That guy," he pointed at someone walking a few meters ahead. His hair was brown, and his haircut was a bit... odd. "That's Eugene. He, Abraham, and Rosita have been trying to get there since the start of all this," he explained, pointing to each person he named so Erin could recognize them. Abraham was the tall, strong man with the red hair. Rosita she already knew. "Eugene's a scientist, he knows how to stop this." He said it so simply that it took Erin a second to process.

She stopped in her tracks, and so did Glenn.

"What do you mean by this?" she emphasized the last word.

"He says there's a shelter in Washington, food, weapons, everything we need to survive. But more importantly, there's a way to stop all this. Stop the walkers and bring things back to normal. Right now, we have nothing keeping us here, it's our only option." Erin felt something stir inside her. She looked at her feet as she resumed walking, thinking with determination about his words. A wave of emotions washed over her, but mostly calm, knowing that eventually, it would all end.

"That's..."

"Incredible," Glenn finished, since Erin hadn't. "Maybe we'll never get our old lives or loved ones back, but at least we'll live for them." Every word Glenn spoke carried emotion. It did for Erin too. She couldn't bring her family back, but she could keep her promise to survive. She could live for them, and that was enough.

"How far is it?" Erin sounded eager, now all she wanted was to reach Washington as soon as possible. Glenn laughed.

"Whoa, slow down... If we find vehicles, it'll take a few days. But it doesn't matter how long it takes. We'll get there eventually." And Erin nodded, feeling at peace for the first time in a long while.

But one thought still lingered: once they got to Washington and saved the world, what would she do?

It would take a long time before things returned to normal. So she wouldn't be able to go back to her studies, at least not right away. But she would as soon as she could.

Her parents had always been proud of their children. Dylan had been close to graduating college, the best in his class, maybe the entire school. Erin wasn't the smartest, but she worked hard for good grades. And regardless of how well she did, her parents were always proud. But she believed that graduating would make them even prouder.

Maybe some of the people she used to know were still alive. Maybe she'd see them again.

Her future was uncertain, built on a "maybe" that might never happen. But Erin was excited, and determined, to make it real. The journey to Washington would be long, and no one said it would be easy. One thing that scared Erin was the possibility that many of the people around her now could die. Even she could die.

Her spirits sank again, and she blamed herself for getting her hopes up. She decided to focus on the group again, pushing those thoughts out of her mind.

The first thing that caught her eye about the place was the kind woman who smiled at her from afar.

She walked toward her, aware of the curious eyes of the others nearby. There were a lot of people. She didn't know if that comforted her or put her on edge. Along the way, she had learned that the living could be far worse than the walkers. Still, something inside her told her she might be wrong this time, and she mentally scolded herself for judging them before knowing who they really were.

"You look like you've come a long way. You must be starving. I'm Mary. Come, I'll get you something to eat." The woman's gentle voice called out as she approached and took Erin's forearm lightly, guiding her to an empty table. "Call Gareth," she whispered to one of the men nearby, who nodded and walked off. Mary returned shortly, setting a plastic plate on the table.

Erin's stomach growled, and her eyes lit up just from the sight of the meat in front of her. She tucked her gun into her belt and rolled up her sleeves, ready to eat.

"What happened?" A new voice made her pause. A man, maybe in his early thirties, walked toward her, looking exhausted and confused. Mary got up and whispered something into his ear, and his expression shifted instantly. "Oh, I see you're settling in quick... Tell me, how long have you been out there?" he asked, taking a seat across from her.

"I lost count... probably two weeks."

"Must've been tough. Don't worry. You'll get to rest once we finish this little talk. You know... it's protocol," he said apologetically. "Did you come alone?"

She nodded. "My brother was with me..." Her throat tightened. "He died a few days ago."

"I'm sorry. We've all lost someone. But sticking together makes it easier. One last thing, do you have any weapons? Sorry, I just need to make sure you're not a threat." He chuckled, and Erin gave a faint smile. A threat? Her?

She carefully placed her revolver on the table. The man examined it, then slid it back to her after a long moment.

"Alright, looks like you're clean. Normally we give new people a tour before they rest, but you look exhausted, so I'll be quick." He paused. "What kind of things have you done... to survive?"

Erin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... we've all done stuff. Maybe things we regret but had to do. Ever heard about bears?" He continued when her face showed confusion. "When they have no food, mother bears eat their cubs. If the mother dies, the cub dies too. But if the mother survives, she can have another cub. It's nature. Sometimes... you have to be willing to make hard choices."

Her expression tightened, body tensing. God, she hoped she was wrong about what he meant. "W-what?"

"I don't know... just answer me. Would you be willing to do something like that?" His words made her tremble. She looked at the plate again, untouched, suddenly nauseous.

Her instincts kicked in. She reached for her weapon, pointing it at Gareth, then Mary, who had stepped closer.

"You're sick..." she muttered, backing away, gun still raised.

"Whoa... look, calm down. I think there's been a misunderstanding. No one's trying to hurt you, I swear." Gareth said, his voice cautious. But Erin didn't trust them anymore.

"Stay back," she warned. Her voice trembled, her heartbeat deafening her. She wanted to run. Why had she even come here? Why hadn't she checked it was safe first?

More people approached. Most of them armed. She couldn't take them all. Her body shook, waiting for someone to shoot, but no one did. She had no idea what to do. Just one thought:

I can't die.

"I'm sorry. But like I said... sometimes, we have to." Before she could react, something slammed into the back of her head. Her gun hit the ground. Then she did too. Everything went dark.

Gareth nodded to George, the man who had knocked the girl out. He walked over, picked up her weapon.

"You said she wasn't one of them," he accused Mary.

"She wasn't looking for anyone. I'm sure she's not with them."

"I don't want more problems. We've had enough for one day... George, take her to the butcher room. They just brought in groups A and B. She goes with them." George nodded, slinging her backpack over his shoulder and lifting Erin's limp body. Gareth watched them walk off, then rubbed his temples. "I want a guard at every entrance. If anyone else shows up, call me."

[...]

Little by little, sound crept back into her world. Erin stirred, her head pounding. She tried to reach for it but her hands wouldn't move. She tried to sit up, no use.

Her eyes fluttered open, blurry at first. Slowly, the memories returned. Fear gripped her chest.

She tried to move, only to find ropes tied around her wrists and ankles. She tried to scream, but a cloth gag muffled her voice.

"Finally awake," said a voice that sent chills through her spine.

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up, then around.

Several unfamiliar faces stared at her. Eight men knelt beside her in front of a large metal trough. All gagged, all bound like her. Two other men stood nearby, one holding a bat, the other a butcher knife.

"I thought you'd understand... guess it was too sudden. Anyway, what's your name?" Gareth knelt in front of her, removing the gag.

"You're sick..." Erin rasped. Her throat was dry, but rage burned hotter than fear.

Gareth rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Just your name. That's all. We're not monsters. We have a memorial wall, we write down everyone's name. You're helping us, whether you like it or not. It's the least we can do."

"I'm Erin. And I'm telling you this so you know the name of the person who's going to kill you." His smirk didn't waver. He shoved the cloth back in her mouth and stood up. Erin didn't recognize herself in that moment. She was scared, yes... but rage took over. She had made a promise. And she would keep it, to her last breath.

"God, you sound just like Rick. Are you two related?" he joked, glancing toward a man at her left. Erin met his eyes. Rick, Gareth had said. She didn't know him, but there was something in his stare.

"In any case, make sure they're in the dryers by 6."

He left. Erin watched him disappear, until a pair of rough hands grabbed her and lifted her up. She screamed through the gag, her knees scraping the ground.

She was shoved into position in front of the metal container. Her eyes met Rick's again. His stare was unreadable.

Metal clashed behind her, one man sharpening his knife. And then, it started.

The first in line, a blond boy, sobbed, shaking violently. The bat cracked against his neck. He collapsed, and the second man slit his throat.

Then the second. Then the third. Erin stopped looking.

She stared into the bottom of the metal tub, sweat pouring down her face, nausea choking her throat.

They were dying, one by one. And she was next.

"You're going to survive. I know you will. You're stronger than you think, Erin."

Her mind screamed it was the end. Her fear told her there was nothing left to do but wait. Her life flashed before her, memories of her parents, friends, her brother...

They were all dead. She was about to die. Was this how it all ended?

All those sleepless nights... all the hunger, all the loss... Was it for nothing?

"You can't blame me for wanting to save my little sister."

She shut her eyes as the fourth victim's neck cracked under the bat. The smell of blood was overwhelming. The sound of slicing flesh unbearable.

She refused to look. She knew her turn was near.

She closed her eyes tighter... trying to think. Anything.

"Erin's a weird name. But we can't blame Mom. She probably ran out of ideas after naming me something so cool."

"Even if it hurts, Dylan sounds better."

Dylan. 

Her mind snapped into place. She looked at her boots. When she felt the knife graze her ankle, she nearly cried with relief.

Her brother's odd habit of hiding a blade in his shoe... she'd listened. Thank God. And thank Terminus for being sloppy.

She bent down, trying not to draw attention, and fished for the blade with her fingers. After several tries, she had it.

"Michael, what were their numbers?" Gareth's voice returned.

"32."

"...I didn't count," said the second man.

"Don't bother cleaning up 'til morning. When you're done, go count." They nodded. Gareth scribbled notes in a small notebook.

Erin nudged Rick with her elbow. He glanced at her, then saw the signal. When he felt the blade in his hand, he knew what to do.

He began cutting his restraints.

"Sun'll be up soon. I want this done before that."

Erin didn't know why she was helping him. Maybe for her own survival. Maybe because she didn't want to watch anyone else die. Not if she could stop it.

"Got it." Gareth turned to leave.

They waited for a signal.

BOOM.

"What the hell was that?" "I don't know," Gareth said, frowning at the sudden explosion nearby. He grabbed his radio. "Michelle? What was that? Michelle?" Silence.

"Should we check it out?"

"No. You stay and finish your job." And he was gone.

Rick rose. Erin knew this was it. Their chance.

Rick lunged, slashing one man's throat. Erin grabbed the bat from the other and smashed his head against a table. He dropped.

They ran, untying the others. Erin helped free the Asian man, removing his gag and cutting his ropes.

"I think we're being attacked," he said.

"They've got problems. We've got a shot." A tall, strong man with long dark hair added. Another stood beside him, also tall. They seemed to know each other.

"You with us?" The question was for Erin. She nodded. Anything was better than being alone.

"Good. Stick together. We hit the containers, free the others, and go. Kill anyone in our way, they wouldn't hesitate."

They all agreed. Erin followed, sticking close. She didn't know what had happened, but clearly, Terminus was in deep trouble.

At the warehouse door, she waited behind Rick. When he moved, they ran inside, taking cover.

"They're distracted. This is our chance."

"Rick. Wait. There's people in those containers."

"Glenn, we have to go."

"We can help them." Rick nodded. Glenn ran to the containers. Erin helped him pry one open.

The metal groaned. Inside, a man in his 50s rushed out—right into Erin.

"We're all gonna die!" he screamed, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her toward a group of walkers. "We're all DEAD!"

The man was clearly unhinged, but how could she blame him?

She fought to keep him off, but he was too heavy.

Suddenly, the weight vanished. A hand pulled her up. And Rick had thrown the screamer into the walkers.

"There's more coming. We have to go."

They ran. Past the dead and dying. Found another container, opened it. More survivors.

Erin's heart thundered as they fled toward the forest. Alive.

Barely.

She'd been seconds from death.

"There's nothing left in this world for me. But you... you can still keep going."

One day, two days, three days... maybe more had passed since she started following the train tracks. Pouring every ounce of hope she had into the idea that something might be waiting at the end. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to find, just something, anything, to prove not everything was lost. Anything would've been enough.

"You have to listen to me, alright? Not everything is gone. There has to be something... someone, somewhere."

Rocks scraped beneath the soles of her shoes. Her feet ached like hell, but she couldn't stop, not now. She couldn't afford to slow down. Even when her body screamed in protest, even when her knees buckled and her vision blurred so badly she feared she'd collapse right there on the asphalt.

She'd lost count of how long it had been since her last decent meal, or since she'd properly slept.

She was exhausted.

She wanted to give up.

To cry herself to sleep and never wake up again.

She was so tired of the pain she carried, of the thoughts that haunted her every second. So tired... of herself.

"You have to live. Every last second. Got it? You can't give up, not after everything we've been through. Promise me you'll keep going."

There was nothing left of the girl she used to be. Her memories. Her family. Herself. All of it was gone. She didn't recognize the girl beneath all the dust, the sweat, and the blood that wasn't even hers. She was scared. She had nothing. No one.

And she didn't know what to do, and that terrified her even more. Because she wasn't brave enough to die... But each breath she took felt like it dragged her deeper and deeper down. And that was its own kind of torture.

"Nothing will ever be strong enough to separate me from you."

A sudden rush of relief surged through her body, sending chills down her spine. She froze in place, eyes locked on the large sign in front of her, barely believing that what the posters promised might actually be real.

She had no idea what was waiting beyond those tall gates. She just hoped it would be okay. Maybe... just maybe, this place was what she'd been searching for all along. Maybe everything she'd survived... had been worth it.

She smiled softly to herself, hands clenching into fists as her feet crossed the threshold. Heart racing. Hope flickering. Terrified of the turn her life might take from this moment forward.