CHAPTER SIX

"Let's build a society"

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          IF avoidance were an Olympic sport, Aspen would have taken home gold. If you asked the girl outright, she'd deny it with a stubborn shake of her head, insisting that she was absolutely not avoiding Bellamy Blake. But anyone paying attention – which was the entire camp – could see the truth: Aspen had been doing everything possible to steer clear of the older boy since her breakdown all those nights ago.

The memory of that night, when everything inside her had cracked wide open, left her raw and exposed. She had unraveled in front of him, every wall she'd build crumbling to dust. The thought of facing him and seeing pity or, worse, understanding, made her stomach churn. So, she made herself scarce, skirting around him like a shadow, her heart pounding in her chest whenever they came too close. How could she look him in the eye after that? After she'd practically gone psycho on him?

No, it was safer to keep her distance, to avoid him and everything he represented: the vulnerability she'd shown, the comfort he'd offered, and the fear that she might need him more than she was willing to admit. She couldn't let him see her like that again, couldn't let him see her so weak.

Aspen trudged back into camp with the hunting group, her muscles straining with each step. The day's effort had been tiring, but her skills had sharpened significantly since those early, awkward hunts. With Bellamy occupied in overseeing the camp and its myriad problems, he had stepped back from the hunting parties. That absence had left Aspen in charge, putting what skills and knowledge she obtained from the Earth Skills & Survival classes on The Ark to use. She appreciated the chance to keep busy, and it also allowed her to sidestep the lingering tension between them.

As she stepped into the camp's clearing, her gaze, despite her best efforts, was drawn to Bellamy. He stood next to Charlotte, both of them sharing a rare moment of lightheartedness. The sight of their easy smiles made Aspen's chest tighten, but she forced herself to look away.

She shifted her focus back to the path ahead, convincing herself that the tightness in her chest was simply from physical exertion. As she walked past Bellamy, she couldn't miss the sight of him carrying a big tree trunk. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, and his muscles bulged under the strain. His concentration was intense, face set in determined lines.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment – a brief, intense connection – before Aspen quickly averted her gaze, her heart pounding. Bellamy's gaze lingered on her retreating figure, a look of disappointment and longing in his eyes. Too busy with the task at hand, he just let out a heavy sigh – a sound filled with exhaustion and perhaps something more – and remained silent, letting her go without a word.

Aspen's steps slowed as she neared Charlotte. The young girl's gaze lifted, her wide eyes shining with innocent curiosity, and a small, genuine smile graced her lips. Aspen leaned against the pile of firewood next to her, her own exhaustion seeping into her voice.

"Hey, Charlotte," she said, trying to sound upbeat despite her weariness. "How are you holding up? Need any help with anything?"

Charlotte shook her head, her smile unwavering. "I'm okay, thanks."

Aspen nodded, her tired smile softening as she reached out to gently ruffle the girl's hair. "Well, if you do," she said, her voice tender, "just let me know. I'm around."

Charlotte's next words were spoken with a casual ease, though there was a knowing glint in her eyes. "Bellamy was asking about you again."

Aspen sucked in a breath. Since she'd been keeping her distance, Bellamy had been turning to Charlotte for updates, inquiring about her well-being. It was a kind gesture, but Aspen didn't want him preoccupied with her when there were more pressing matters.

The camp had barely had time to catch its breath since Atom's death. They had just buried his body that night, his loss was still fresh on everyone's minds. Then, as if fate had decided to twist the knife deeper into their already raw wounds, the news of Wells' death hit them like a hammer blow, shattering the fragile sense of stability they had barely begun to rebuild. The announcement came the very next morning, a brutal reminder that the ground beneath their feet was anything but solid.

Wells' death at the hands of the Grounders sent the camp into disarray. The double blow of losing two of their own so abruptly – only hours apart – had left everyone reeling. The timing of Wells' death felt almost intentional, a cruel reminder of how little control they had over their lives here. Aspen couldn't shake the feeling that the universe was toying with her, as if this cascade of suffering was a personal attack. It felt like a twisted birthday present, timed perfectly to remind her just how powerless they all were.

In the wake of those tragedies, the reality of their situation began to settle in. The news of the Grounders' attack solidified the urgent need to secure the camp. The delinquents threw themselves into fortifying their defenses, working tirelessly to strengthen their walls and create any semblance of security as if their very lives depended on it – because it did.

Aspen felt as though she was drowning in a sea of confusion and despair, the recent deaths of Wells and Atom leaving her adrift. The hopeful vision she'd clung to when they first arrived on the ground – of a fresh start and new opportunities – had shattered. What was once an idealistic dream was now a harsh, unforgiving reality, where survival was the only constant. It was as if the ground itself had betrayed them, offering nothing but cold, unyielding truth. They all merely escaped execution only to be thrown into another.

Guilt weighed down on Aspen like a crushing burden, relentless and unforgiving. She replayed Atom's final moments over and over, each loop of her memory sharpening the sting of her failure. If only she'd acted sooner, pulled him away from the encroaching fog. The thoughts tormented her, a constant reminder of what she hadn't been able to prevent. And then there was Wells. Despite her obvious disdain for him, his loss still stung. His death was a reminder that none of them were safe, that death was always lurking just out of sight.

Fear had become her shadow, trailing her everywhere she went. It whispered incessantly, feeding her worries, and keeping her on edge. But Aspen knew she couldn't afford to give in to it. Fear was a weakness, and in this world, weakness meant death. It had turned out that Bellamy was right about that. To survive, she needed to become the person she once was on The Ark – cold, calculating, detached. Thus, she distanced herself from her friends, avoiding Bellamy above all, save for her interactions with Charlotte.

Bellamy had made numerous attempts to reach out to her for days, his efforts persistent and earnest. Aspen, however, had consistently found ways to avoid him. The idea of confronting him was too daunting. She couldn't face him, not yet. She wasn't ready to confront whatever it was that simmered between them, that strange mix of anger, guilt, and something else she didn't want to acknowledge.

Suddenly, a ruckus erupted behind her, jolting Aspen from her thoughts. Shouted arguments and the unmistakable edge of aggression sliced through the ambient noise of the camp. With a heavy sigh, Aspen turned on her heel to find Murphy at the center of it all.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Murphy?!" Connor spat out in a mixture of disbelief, disgust, and anger. He tried to lunge at the other, but was restrained by Murphy's goons. "I'll kill you!"

Murphy's eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as he watched Connor struggle. "You wanted a water break."

"Enough." Aspen's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. She strode toward them with purpose, her presence alone enough to make the other delinquents step back. Murphy's eyes flashed with defiance, but he hesitated as she drew near, her gaze unwavering and filled with a warning.

"Whatever this is, it ends now," Aspen said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She stepped between the two boys, her body language a clear barrier. "We've got enough problems without tearing each other apart. Save the fights for the real threats out there."

Aspen turned to face Murphy with a disapproving glare. He seemed on the verge of a retort, but something in her unwavering stare made him reconsider. After a moment's pause, he shrugged, a sardonic grin curling on his lips. With a dramatic flourish, he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Whatever you say, your highness," Murphy drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he backed away. His fingers gave a dismissive wave at the rest of the camp. "Get back to work!"

Aspen watched Murphy retreat with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. She rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the headache that threatened to blossom. Drawing a deep breath, she turned her attention back towards Charlotte and offered the girl a warm, reassuring smile. Noting the camp's atmosphere settling back into a familiar rhythm, she started to walk back to Charlotte, intent on continue their conversation.

Just as she was about to reach her, Jasper and Octavia burst into view, nearly colliding with her in their hurried stride. Jasper's usually cheerful demeanor was conspicuously absent, his face drawn and ashen, catching Aspen's attention immediately.

"We need to talk," Octavia said, her voice low but firm. Aspen's brows knitted together at the seriousness in her tone. Noticing another figure in her peripheral, her eyes flickered over Octavia's shoulder, catching sight of Bellamy trailing behind them. Thinking this was another attempt to get her and Bellamy to talk, she hesitated. "Clarke needs to hear this too. It's important."

Normally, she would have found a way to excuse herself by now, continuing with her avoidant strategy. But the gravity of their expressions made it clear that whatever was happening was far more pressing than she could ignore.

"Alright," Aspen said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling inside her. She nodded in agreement as Octavia and Jasper turned to lead the way to a quieter spot where they could speak privately. Aspen followed them, but just as she was about to fall in step, she felt a light touch on her arm – Bellamy's hand, a silent plea for her attention.

"Aspen."

"Not now, Bellamy," Aspen said quietly, her gaze fixed ahead as she gently but firmly pulled away from his touch. Her voice was calm but carried a firmness that left no room for further discussion. Without waiting for his response, she turned and continued after Octavia and Jasper. Bellamy sighed heavily, the sound carrying a mix of resignation and frustration as he fell into step beside her.

The air inside the tent was thick with tension as the group gathered. Aspen's gaze eventually landed on Clarke, her face a mask of concentration as she fiddled with something in her hands. It took Aspen a moment to realize what was missing from Clarke's wrist – the metal bracelet that had once linked them all to The Ark was gone. The absence of it made Aspen's stomach twist with unease. She took a step closer, lowering her voice to keep their conversation private.

"Clarke, your wristband... it's gone," Aspen said, her tone laced with concern. "What happened?"

Clarke looked up, her expression guarded. "I took it off," she replied, her voice deliberately even. "Monty's working on it."

Aspen frowned, sensing there was more to the story, but the way Clarke avoided her gaze made it clear that now wasn't the time to press for details. Instead, Aspen nodded, deciding to let it go – for now.

"What's going on?" Clarke's voice cut through the thick silence, her gaze shifting to Jasper and Octavia. The two glanced at each other, a silent exchange passing between them, before they laid out what they had found on the makeshift table.

Aspen's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell on the gruesome sight. The metal makeshift knife lay beside a few severed fingers, the blood long dried. Her stomach churned, and she could feel the wave of horror ripple through the group.

"Are those–?" Aspen's voice caught in her throat as she spoke, but she couldn't bring herself to finish the question. The answer was painfully obvious.

Clarke stepped forward, her movements measured, her eyes locked on the crude knife lying on the table. She picked it up with a slow, deliberate motion, her fingers tracing the jagged, makeshift blade. The cold metal felt rough under her thumb. As she examined it, a flicker of something – shock, maybe disbelief – flashed in her eyes.

"This knife was made from the dropship," Clarke said, her voice laden with the weight of the realization. The words hung in the air like an accusation, and the full implication of what she was saying started to settle in.

"What do you mean?" Jasper's voice was laced with unease, his eyes darting nervously between the others.

Bellamy's brow furrowed with concern as he looked up with a piercing gaze. "Who else knows about this?" His question hung in the air, charged with urgency.

"No one," Octavia answered quickly, glancing at Jasper. "We brought it straight here."

Aspen nodded absently. "Good, that's good," she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction. She knew nothing about this situation could be described as 'good.'

Jasper's gaze flicked nervously between Clarke and Bellamy, his unease growing. "Clarke?" he prompted, seeking further explanation.

Clarke's gaze remained fixed on the knife in her hand, her fingers gripping the handle with a white-knuckled intensity. The blade glinted in the dim light, a stark reminder of the harsh reality they were living in. When she spoke, her voice was low, but each word landed with the weight of a hammer, echoing in the silence that had fallen over the group. "It means the Grounders didn't kill Wells. It was one of us."

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and ominous, casting a shadow over the already tense atmosphere. No one moved, the weight of the revelation pressing down on them, making it hard to breathe. The realization that danger didn't just lie outside their camp but within it was unsettling.

Jasper was the first to break the silence, though his voice lacked its usual energy. There was a flatness to it, a disbelief that edged each syllable. "So, there's a murderer in the camp?"

Bellamy spoke, his voice was low, measured, and expression unreadable. "There's more than one murderer in the camp," he said matter-of-factly, trying to downplay the information. "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet."

Aspen felt her stomach churn at his words, the bitter truth of their situation settling like a heavy weight in her chest. Every person in this camp were all criminals, every single one of them, sent to Earth for crimes that ranged from petty theft to murder. The thought had always been there, lurking in the back of her mind, but hearing it spoken aloud made it feel like a blade twisting in her gut. It was a harsh reminder of who they were surrounded by.

Bellamy's gaze met hers, and she knew he was right. The camp was fragile, held together by a thin thread of hope and fear. If the truth about Wells' death got out, that thread could snap, sending them all spiraling into chaos.

"Bellamy's right," Aspen said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "We can't let this get out. This has to stay between us."

Clarke's face twisted in anger, her eyes darkening as she moved toward the tent's exit with a determined stride. It was clear she had no intention of staying silent, her anger driving her to act. But before she could make it out, Bellamy stepped in front of her, his body a solid barrier, his stance unyielding.

"Out of my way, Bellamy," Clarke demanded, her voice sharp with fury. Her eyes flashed, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface.

Bellamy didn't flinch. He stood his ground, his voice calm but firm. "Clarke, be smart about this. Look at what we've achieved – the wall, the patrols. Like it or not, thinking the Grounders killed Wells is good for us."

Clarke's eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with contempt as she fired back, "Oh, good for you, you mean," The blonde pushed forward, her voice sharp and cutting. "What, keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is that it?"

Aspen, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward, hoping to defuse the situation. "Clarke—" she began, but Bellamy cut her off, his hand gently but firmly pressing against her arm, holding her back.

"Yeah. That's it," Bellamy responded, his tone flat, almost indifferent, as he met Clarke's gaze. "But it's good for all of us. Fear of the Grounders is building that wall." He gestured towards the outside of the tent, pointing out the camp's days of hard work.

Aspen turned to Clarke, her expression carefully measured. "Look, Clarke, he's right," she began, her voice firm with conviction. "We're talking about a camp full of delinquents – some here for murder, by the way. We don't know whose knife that belongs to, and if we start accusing people without proof, it's going to turn into a witch hunt."

Clarke's eyes narrowed, a flash of anger simmering just beneath the surface as she met Aspen's gaze. "Oh, really?" she shot back, her tone dripping with disbelief.

With a swift, almost aggressive motion, Clarke flipped the knife over in her hand, revealing the roughly carved initials etched into the handle. The letters stood out starkly against the metal. "J.M.," she said, her voice cold and precise. "John Murphy. The people have a right to know."

Aspen stepped forward, brow furrowed in concern. Her words were firm, but there was an underlying urgency in her tone. "Clarke, we're jumping to conclusions. It could belong to any of the J.M.s in the camp – John Mbege, for instance. There are ninety-seven people here. We can't just accuse Murphy without being sure."

The tension in the air was thick and heavy. Clarke stood her ground, her eyes burning with a fierce determination. She looked at Aspen as if the very idea of doubt was a betrayal. "I won't make the same mistake they did," Clarke retorted, her voice hardening. "Secrets are what got us down here in the first place. We're not on the Ark anymore. No more lies. No more cover-ups."

Aspen's brow furrowed in frustration and confusion as she tried to reason with Clarke, her voice softer but no less urgent. "They? The Ark? Clarke— are you really comparing this to what happened? This isn't the Ark. We're not dealing with life-support systems or oxygen supplies — we're dealing with a man's life. If we accuse Murphy without proof, we're no better than them. We'll be just as reckless. If you're wrong—"

Clarke's eyes flared with anger, and she cut Aspen off with a sharp retort. "You're sounding just like them. Like the people who floated your mother."

"Clarke!"

"Dude..."

The words hit Aspen like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of her. She stood frozen, her mind reeling as the memory of her mother's execution resurfaced, raw and painful. Clarke's accusation was a knife twisting in an old wound, and Aspen could barely process it.

But Clarke was too far gone to care, consumed by the fire of her anger. Before Aspen could find her voice, Clarke was already pushing past her, her steps determined, the tent flap whipping shut behind her with a sharp snap. The sound echoed in Aspen's ears, a brutal punctuation to their argument.

Aspen remained standing in place, the weight of Clarke's words pressing down on her like a boulder. Doubt gnawed at her. Was Clarke right? Did she really sound like them? The thought clawed at her, making her feel like she was suffocating under the weight of it all.

She didn't even notice Bellamy until his hand was on her shoulder, a solid, grounding weight in the storm of her emotions. Aspen turned to him, finding solace in the concern etched in his eyes. He didn't speak, didn't need to; his presence was enough to tether her back to reality. The chaos inside her quieted, just a little, as she met his steady gaze.

But there was no time to dwell. The urgency of the situation yanked Aspen back to the present. Clarke had stormed out of the tent, looking like she was ready to march out and declare Murphy's guilt to the whole camp, consequences be damned.

Aspen, Bellamy, and the others rushed out of the tent, but Clarke was already ahead, her steps quick and purposeful. Aspen's cursed under her breath as she saw her friend already approaching Murphy, the fire in her eyes bright enough to scorch the earth beneath her feet. The camp, sensing the storm that was about to hit, had paused, everyone turning to watch as Clarke zeroed in on her target. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that came before a devastating storm.

And then Clarke's voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade, filled with the fury of a thousand unspoken grievances. "You son of a bitch!"

Murphy barely had time to react before Clarke was on him, shoving him back with a ferocity that took everyone by surprise — including Aspen. Murphy stumbled, catching his balance just in time to see the unbridled fury in Clarke's eyes.

"What's your problem?" Murphy asked, amusement at the blonde's anger in his tone.

Clarke didn't waste a second. With a swift, fluid motion, she thrust the knife toward him, the blade glinting menacingly in the light of day. The weapon seemed to hold all the answers, its presence heavy with accusation.

"Recognize this?" Clarke's voice was cold, devoid of the warmth that usually colored her words.

Murphy's gaze dropped to the knife, his eyes narrowing as he took it in, a flicker of recognition passing across his features. "It's my knife. Where'd you find it?" Murphy asked, reaching out to take the blade from her, but Clarke quickly pulled back.

The blonde's voice sharpened like the edge of the blade in her hand. "Where you dropped it after you killed Wells."

The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation, and Aspen felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. This wasn't how things should be handled — the confrontation was too raw, too public. This was wrong — Clarke's fury had turned the situation into a spectacle, and the crowd around them sensed it too, their whispers growing louder as they processed the gravity of what was being said. Aspen's mind raced, searching for a way to calm things down before they spiraled out of control, but Clarke's determination was a force of nature, unstoppable and unforgiving.

Murphy blinked, confusion clouding his features as he tried to make sense of the accusation. "Where I what?" His voice was hoarse, disbelieving. He glanced around at the faces staring back at him, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity. "The Grounders killed Wells, not me."

But Clarke wasn't hearing it. The fury in her gaze was unwavering, her mind made up long before this confrontation. To her, the knife was all the proof she needed, and no amount of denial from Murphy could change that. "I know what you did," she hissed, her voice low and deadly. "And you're gonna pay for it."

Murphy let out a bitter scoff , the sound hollow and mirthless. "Oh really?" he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word. He turned his gaze to Bellamy and Aspen, his expression almost humored by the incredulity. "Bellamy, Aspen. Do you guys really believe this crap?"

His gaze landed on Bellamy first, searching for a crack in the stoic mask their leader wore. But Bellamy was unreadable, his arms folded across his chest like a wall, his face set in stone. He didn't want to add to anything, unsure of the situation himself. Aspen stood beside him, her eyes darting between Murphy and Clarke with uncertainty. But she too remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Aspen sighed, taking a small tentative step forward. Her fingers brushed lightly against Clarke's shoulder. "Clarke, maybe we should—"

But Clarke jerked away from her touch, her resolve hardening like stone. Her expression was fierce, eyes burning with a determination that wouldn't be easily swayed. There was no reasoning with her, not now. Bellamy, sensing the futility of arguing with Clarke in this state, gently pulled Aspen back. He shook his head, silently telling her to just let it play out.

Clarke advanced on Murphy, her voice rising with each word. "You threatened to kill him. We all heard you. You hated Wells."

Murphy's smirk was thin, his voice tinged with a casual indifference. "Plenty of people hated Wells. Aspen, to name one," he stated, pointing a finger in the brunette's direction, as if her silent presence was proof enough. "I mean, his father was the Chancellor that locked us up. He wasn't exactly winning any popularity contests."

"Yeah, but you're the only one who got into a knife fight with him," Clarke snapped back.

Murphy didn't miss a beat, his reply quick and dismissive. "Yeah, I didn't kill him then, either."

The tension in the group was thick, every eye in the camp trained on the unfolding confrontation. Octavia, who had been lingering beside Aspen and Bellamy, suddenly stepped forward, her words adding to the accusations. "You tried to kill Jasper too."

Aspen's head whipped around, her eyes widening in shock. "Wait, what?" she blurted out, her voice tinged with disbelief.

The crowd reacted immediately, the murmurs rising in volume, their suspicions fanned into a flame that threatened to consume Murphy whole. Murphy's bravado began to falter, his confidence crumbling under the mounting accusations. He scanned the faces around him, his own expression growing more desperate as he realized the crowd was turning against him.

"Come on, this is ridiculous," he said, his voice rising in pitch. "I don't have to answer to you. I don't have to answer to anyone!" But the defiance in his voice only fanned the flames of suspicion, the crowd closing in on him like wolves circling their prey.

Bellamy's presence loomed as he stepped forward, his tone commanding as he cut through Murphy's protest. "Come again?"

For the first time, Murphy hesitated, his gaze flickering to Bellamy with something close to desperation. He took a cautious step closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Bellamy, come on, man. You know me. You know I didn't do this."

Aspen felt his gaze land on her, sharp and intense. There was something different in his eyes, a raw vulnerability that she hadn't seen before. This wasn't the Murphy she knew, the cocky, swaggering bully who never missed a chance to provoke. It wasn't the typical bravado or arrogance she was used to – this was fear, plain and simple.

"Aspen, look," he said, his voice strained, almost begging. "I'm telling you, I didn't do this."

Aspen hesitated, her mind whirling with doubt and confusion. Murphy wasn't someone she would trust easily – he was far from a saint and his reputation as a bully was well-earned – but there was something in his eyes that made her pause. A flicker of sincerity that didn't align with the evidence stacked against him. She bit her lip, torn between her gut feeling and the undeniable facts pointing to his guilt.

Bellamy's voice cut through her thoughts, his tone heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. "They found his fingers on the ground," he said slowly, deliberately. "With your knife." He tilted his head, emphasizing the damning nature of the evidence against Murphy.

Clarke stepped forward, her presence commanding the attention of the camp. "Is this the kind of society that we want? You say there should be no rules. Does that mean that we can kill each other without... without punishment?" Her words were meant to appeal to reason, but Aspen could see a different effect they were having on the crowd – a dangerous mix of anger and a thirst for retribution.

Aspen's heart hammered against her ribs as she watched the scene unfold, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. She could see it in their eyes – Clarke was fueling a crowd of exhausted, worn out delinquents who were all victims of Murphy's bullying.

"Look, I already told you. I didn't kill anyone." Murphy stepped back towards Clarke, his voice rising. But his plea only seemed to fuel the crowd's anger, their hatred for him spilling over, searching for an outlet.

Aspen felt a surge of panic as she watched the crowd's reactions. "Clarke, wait," she called out, grabbing onto the blonde's hand. "I think he's telling the truth." Her words were quiet but urgent, desperate to cut through the madness before it was too late. Clarke turned, her eyes locking with Aspen's, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of uncertainty. But before Clarke could respond, a sharp voice sliced through the tension.

"I say we float him!" The voice rang out, sharp and ruthless. The words hung in the air like a death sentence, bringing a pause to the confrontation.

Clarke spun around, standing face to face with Connor. "That's not what I'm saying," she insisted, her voice firm but strained.

"Why not?" Connor challenged, his incredulity clear in every syllable. He took another step forward, his presence a looming threat. "He deserves to float. It's justice." The conviction in his tone sent a chill through the air, resonating with the simmering deep-seated need for retribution. His words were like a match striking flint, igniting the raw nerves of the crowd. Murmurs of agreement swelled, building into a chorus of support that roared back at him, a wall of sound that pressed in from all sides, suffocating any chance of reason.

Clarke shook her head, her eyes wide with desperation as she tried to regain control. "Revenge isn't justice," she argued, her voice cracking, the fire that had fueled her earlier now nearly extinguished, leaving behind only a raw, almost pleading tone.

"It's justice!" Connor shot back, his voice gaining momentum, feeding off the energy of the crowd. He turned, his eyes gleaming as he whipped the camp into a frenzy. "Float him! Float him!" he chanted, his voice ringing with finality, as if the verdict had already been handed down and there was no turning back. The chant caught like wildfire, the crowd picking it up with an almost terrifying fervor. Connor's words were the spark, and now the crowd was ablaze, a collective force of anger and fear that consumed all rational thought. The chant spread through the camp like a contagion, each voice adding to the rising tide of fury until it felt like the very air was alive with their cries.

Aspen's heart pounded as she met Bellamy's eyes, a shared look of apprehension passing between them. The crowd's cries echoed in their ears, growing louder, more insistent, drowning out any hope of reason.

"What do we do?" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper beneath the roar. Her words were not just a question but a plea, a desperate hope that Bellamy would have an answer, a way to stop this before it spiraled out of control. But he stood frozen, his usually sharp gaze clouded with turmoil. The weight of the moment pressed down on them both, the horror of what was unfolding rendering them momentarily powerless, caught in the relentless current of a crowd on the brink of violence.

This wasn't just about Murphy anymore; this was a breaking point. If they went through with this, if they floated Murphy without proof, without a trial, it would set a precedent, a spiral of violence that they might never escape from. Aspen looked to Clarke, searching for some sign that she could still stop this, but even Clarke seemed caught in the tide, her face pale as she watched the crowd she had unintentionally incited.

Murphy, sensing the tide had turned against him, tried to slip away, his movements frantic and desperate. But before he could get far, someone in the crowd lashed out, a foot catching his ankle. He stumbled, arms flailing as he hit the ground hard, dirt and leaves scattering beneath him. The crowd was on him in an instant, a wave of bodies intent on consuming Murphy in their wrath, delivering their twisted version of justice without hesitation.

Aspen's breath caught in her throat as she felt herself being pushed back by the press of bodies, her heart pounding so fiercely it drowned out the chaotic noise around her.  The reality of the situation began to set in. This was no longer about justice. This was about revenge. And in that moment, Aspen realized with a cold, sinking dread that they were all in danger of losing something far more important than a single life. They were on the brink of losing their humanity.

Clarke's voice cut through the clamor, high-pitched and strained, a note of desperation that should have halted the madness. But her pleas were swallowed by the deafening roar of the mob, a tidal wave of anger and bloodlust that drowned out any reason or compassion. Aspen's instincts screamed at her to act, to do something – anything – before it was too late. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself, and pushed forward, trying to cut through the sea of sadistic faces and thrashing limbs. But the crowd was an unyielding wall, their collective rage an unstoppable force she couldn't break through.

Suddenly, strong hands clamped down on her arms, yanking her back with a force that made her gasp. She twisted in their grip, ready to fight, only to find Bellamy beside her, his face set in grim, unforgiving lines. He held her and Octavia close, keeping them away from the chaos that was spiraling out of control. His grip was like iron, his muscles tense with the effort of holding them both steady, even as the fury of the crowd threatened to drag them in. His eyes met Aspen's, filled with a resignation that sent a shiver down her spine, as if he had already accepted the inevitable.

"Bellamy, we have to do something!" Aspen shouted, her voice laced with conviction as she fought against his hold. She couldn't just stand by and let this happen.

But Bellamy's reply was as cold and unyielding as his grip. "It's too late," he said, his tone devoid of hope, almost hollow.

Aspen's heart clenched painfully at his words, but she refused to accept them. She continued to struggle, trying to break free from his hold, but Bellamy's strength was unrelenting, his arms like bands of steel around her. The bitter taste of helplessness coated her tongue, a sensation so suffocating it made her chest ache. She could only watch in horror as the crowd continue to swarm around Murphy. They had become a force of nature, unstoppable in their fury, and there was nothing she could do to stop what was happening. Murphy, bound and gagged, was at the mercy of their rage.

Aspen and the others were dragged along by the momentum of the crowd, powerless to do anything but watch as Murphy was seized, kicked, and shoved toward the darkened forest. Aspen held her breath, heart pounding in her ears as she realized with growing horror what the crowd intended. A rope was thrown over a low-hanging branch, its crude loop swinging ominously in the air – a noose.

Panic clawed at her throat, rising like bile as she watched the mob close in on Murphy like a pack of ravenous wolves, their bloodlust palpable, their intent clear. Aspen shoved against Bellamy's chest with renewed strength, finally breaking free of his grasp, but as she rushed toward Murphy, the sea of bodies around her formed an impenetrable barrier. Hands shoved her back, blocking her path, their collective will a force greater than her own. She felt a scream rising in her throat, but it was lost in the cacophony. They were going to kill him. They were actually going to kill him.

Murphy was dragged to the makeshift gallows, his struggles feeble against the overwhelming tide of hatred. The crowd hoisted him up with ruthless efficiency, securing the rope around his neck with a cold, practiced ease that made Aspen's stomach churn. She watched in horror as they forced him onto a rickety crate, his body suspended in the air, the noose digging into his skin.

"Get off of me!" Clarke's voice sliced through the chaos, a desperate, raw edge to it as she shoved her way through the crowd. Aspen's head snapped in her direction, her heart lurching at the sight of Clarke's wide, terror-stricken eyes. Clarke spun around, frantically searching for something – someone – until her gaze locked onto Bellamy. Her voice cracked as she pleaded with him, desperation dripping from every word. "You can stop this! They'll listen to you!" Her tone was frantic, each word heavy with the weight of impending disaster.

Clarke turned to Aspen next, her eyes begging for support, for something, anything that could turn the tide. But the plea only served to shift the crowd's focus onto Bellamy, the leader they had chosen, the one they now expected to deliver their twisted sense of justice. "Bellamy!" Connor's voice boomed above the fray, commanding attention, redirecting the crowd's energy toward the man who could seal Murphy's fate. "You should do it!"

"BEL-LA-MY! BEL-LA-MY!" The chant rose like a wave, the sound growing in intensity with every repetition, pounding in Aspen's ears, echoing in the hollow spaces of her chest.

Aspen's eyes locked onto Bellamy, watching as the weight of the crowd's expectation pressed down on him. She could see the conflict raging within him, Clarke's pleas clashing with the mob's demands. For a brief moment, just a fleeting heartbeat, she believed he would resist — that he would choose to do the right thing.

But that hope shattered in an instant. With a grim, resigned expression that made Aspen's heart plummet, Bellamy stepped forward. Clarke grabbed at him, desperately pulling, pleading for him to stop, but he moved with a grim determination. Aspen's world seemed to tilt on its axis as Bellamy kicked the crate out from under Murphy's feet. Clarke's horrified scream was drowned out by the deafening roar of the crowd, their bloodthirsty cheers reverberating through the air like thunder.

Murphy's body jerked violently as the noose tightened around his neck, cutting off his air. Aspen's breath caught, her mind going blank as the scene played out in agonizing slow motion. Her heart splintered, each piece sharp and cold as she turned her gaze to Bellamy.

"This is on you, princess!" Bellamy's voice rang out, harsh and bitter, as he turned to Clarke. His expression was hardened, a mask of anger, but Aspen could see the pain lurking just beneath the surface. "You should've kept your mouth shut!" The words were an accusation, but they carried the weight of his own guilt. Bellamy tore his gaze from the blonde, only to be met with Aspen's piercing stare, and his breath caught in his throat.

The intensity of her expression – disbelief, raw and unfiltered, mingled with a deep, visceral disappointment – hit him with a force similar to a physical blow. It was more than just anger that blazed in her eyes; it was a profound sense of betrayal that twisted in his gut like a knife. The realization of what he'd done — or rather, what he hadn't stopped — gnawed at him, filling him with a guilt so deep it threatened to consume him. He opened his mouth, desperate to spill out an apology, an explanation — anything — but the words crumbled before they could reach his lips. All he could do was stand there, helpless, as Aspen shook her head. The movement was slight, but it carried a finality that felt like the last thread between them had snapped.

Aspen didn't wait for him to say anything. She tore herself from the icy grip of shock that had held her captive, her body moving on instinct as she rushed to Murphy's side. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she reached up, her fingers scrabbling at the rough fabric of his pants, trying to lift him, trying to ease the unbearable pressure of the rope biting into his neck. But her strength was nothing compared to the relentless pull of gravity and the merciless weight of the mob's judgment. The crowd pressed in on her from all sides, their presence like a living, breathing wall that suffocated her. But Aspen fought on, driven by a desperate, burning need to right this horrific wrong.

"What the hell are you doing?! Cut him down!" A voice barked out from the sea of bodies, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Aspen's gaze flickered to the side just in time to catch a glimpse of Finn, his face twisted with urgency and determination as he shoved his way through the throng. His eyes were wild as they took in the nightmare unfolding before him, and in a flash, he was charging toward the tree where Murphy hung, gasping for breath.

Finn didn't miss a beat. He spun toward Charlotte, who stood paralyzed with fear in the middle of the mob, her small frame dwarfed by the towering bodies surrounding her. "Charlotte, get out of here now!" Finn's voice cracked, a mix of fear and protectiveness threading through his command. "Cut him down! Get out of my way!"

In an instant, Finn was at Aspen's side, his hands joining hers in a desperate bid to reach Murphy. Together, they fought against the press of bodies, but the crowd surged around them, a violent, unstoppable tide that pushed them back with every step. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sweat and adrenaline, the chaotic symphony of shouting and shoving merging into a deafening roar. It was madness — pure, unbridled chaos that teetered on the edge of violence, ready to tip over into something far more deadly.

"NO!" A voice, small yet impossibly sharp, cut through the cacophony, freezing everyone in their tracks. "Just stop, okay? Murphy didn't kill Wells!" The words were like a bombshell, their impact immediate and shattering.

The fevered energy of the crowd faltered, confusion rippling through the throng as they turned to face the speaker. Aspen's heart skipped a beat as her gaze locked onto Charlotte, who stood trembling but defiant, her wide eyes filled with a mix of terror and fierce determination. She looked so small, so impossibly young and vulnerable, standing alone in the eye of the storm, surrounded by people who had been ready to tear Murphy apart just moments before.

"I did!" Charlotte's voice cracked as she confessed, but the words struck with the force of a hammer, detonating the tension that had gripped the camp in a death-like vise.

For a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Clarke's face crumpled, horror etching deep lines into her features as she whispered, "Oh my god." But then, in a blur of movement, she sprang into action, driven by a desperation that fueled her every move.

Clarke's hand darted to Bellamy's belt, yanking his axe free with a single fluid motion. She didn't hesitate, didn't even pause to think. With a raw cry, she swung the axe with all her strength, the blade connecting with the tree trunk in a sickening crack that reverberated through the clearing. The rope snapped, and Murphy dropped to the ground like a ragdoll, gasping for air, his face a ghostly shade of ashen.

Aspen was at his side in an instant, her hands moving with frantic urgency to release the bindings that still trapped him. Her fingers trembled as they worked to untie the knots that had nearly strangled the life out of him, her touch brushing against his skin, which was cold and clammy. A sharp pang of guilt twisted in her chest. As she glanced up at Charlotte, Aspen's mind reeled from the weight of the girl's confession, the enormity of what had just been revealed slamming into her.

≻ ───── ⋆ ˚ ☽ ˚ ⋆ ───── ≺

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the worn fabric of the tent, casting long, wavering shadows across the canvas walls. Inside, Bellamy, Clarke, Finn, and Aspen stood in a tense circle around Charlotte. The air was thick with unease, the kind that settled into your bones and refused to leave. Unspoken questions lingered in the space between them, as heavy as the silence that had fallen over the camp.

"Why, Charlotte?" Bellamy's voice was firm, but there's an undertone of desperation, his gaze searching her face for an answer that could make sense of the chaos they were in. "Why did you do it?"

Charlotte, her shoulders squared despite the fear in her eyes, met his gaze with a defiant lift of her chin. "I was just trying to slay my demons, like you told me to."

Aspen's breath caught at those words, a cold realization sinking in as her mind flashed back to the cave where Bellamy had spoken those very words. He had meant them as a metaphor, a way to comfort the terrified girl and give her strength to face her fears. But Charlotte had taken his words to heart, twisting them into something deadly. Aspen's stomach twisted with guilt, a heavy knot that tightened as she looked at the small, fragile girl before her.

Clarke's brows knitted together, trying to make sense of the girl's cryptic words, confusion evident in her voice. "What the hell is she talking about?" she demanded, her voice sharp as her gaze shifted between Charlotte and Bellamy.

Bellamy's expression was a mixture of frustration and helplessness as he replied, "She misunderstood me." He turned his attention back to Charlotte, his tone firm, almost scolding. "Charlotte, that's not what I meant." His voice carried a note of exasperation, but there was a softness to it.

Aspen, who had been standing quietly, stepped forward, her gaze locked on Clarke's angry frame. "Charlotte's just a kid. She's impressionable, and she took what Bellamy said the wrong way. She... she took his words literally." Aspen hesitates before continuing, her voice tinged with regret. "It's not just Bellamy's fault. It's mine too. I taught her how to use a knife," she admits, her eyes locking onto Charlotte's. "I should have been more careful."

As Aspen spoke, Bellamy watched her, a mix of surprise and guilt flickering across his face. He hadn't expected her to come to his defense, to shoulder some of the blame that rightfully belonged to him. But even as she did, he noticed how she avoided his gaze, a painful reminder of the growing rift between them, a rift he had played a part in widening.

The burden of guilt was evident in the way Aspen's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, as if the weight of her conscience was pressing down, making it hard to breathe. Her focus remained entirely on Charlotte, and in that moment, Bellamy felt a sharp pang of guilt twist in his gut. He hadn't considered how his words might have impacted someone as young and impressionable as Charlotte, and now the consequences were staring him in the face.

Charlotte looked up at Aspen, her eyes brimming with remorse. "I didn't mean to... I didn't want to hurt anyone."

A knot of conflicting emotions tightened in Aspen's chest. On one hand, she was furious – furious at Charlotte for murdering Wells, furious at Bellamy for his careless words, furious at herself for enabling the child with knowledge she wasn't ready for. On the other, Charlotte wasn't a monster; she was just a scared kid, lost in a world that had become too brutal, too unforgiving. Bellamy had spoken those words in an effort to comfort her, and Aspen had only been trying to teach her how to survive.

But in their attempts to protect her, they had both failed to see the harm their good intentions could cause.

Suddenly, Murphy's voice cut through the thick tension inside the tent, sharp and venomous with barely contained rage. "Bring the girl out now!"

His demand pierced the heavy air, sending a wave of fear rippling through Charlotte. She shrank back, her voice trembling as she pleaded, "Please don't let them hurt me."

Charlotte's eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, locked onto Aspen's. Her small hands trembled as she reached out, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed. Aspen hesitated as Charlotte wrapped her arms around her waist, clinging to her. The brunette's body stiffened at the contact. The child clung to her, seeking solace, Aspen's arms hovered uncertainly, suspended in the air as if trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, her arms fell to her sides, unable to fully return the embrace or pull away. The weight of what Charlotte had done hung too heavily between them.

Bellamy, standing a few paces away, watched the scene unfold with a sinking feeling. The sight of Aspen struggling with her conflicted emotions only deepened his guilt. He knew, despite his best intentions, that his words had set Charlotte on this dark path. His throat tightened as he grappled with the urge to apologize again, but the words eluded him.

"If you have any brilliant ideas, now's the time," Bellamy's voice cut through the heavy silence, edged with frustration and desperation. His eyes darted between Finn and Clarke, searching for a glimmer of a solution. But the silence that greeted him was dense and oppressive, as though the air itself was heavy with their collective failures.

Bellamy's gaze lingered on Clarke, who was pacing restlessly, her face etched with deep concentration and frustration. Her hands fluttered uncertainly, a reflection of her racing thoughts. When no response emerged, Bellamy let out a bitter scoff, his disbelief palpable. "Now you choose to stay quiet," he muttered, the frustration clear in his tone.

Finn's voice broke the tension, low but carrying a sharp edge. "Those are your boys out there," he said, the accusation clear in his words.

Bellamy's jaw tightened, a flash of defensiveness darkening his expression. "This isn't on me," he snapped, though the guilt gnawing at him belied his words. He threw a sharp glance at Clarke. "If she'd listened to me, those idiots would still be building the wall."

Clarke had begun to pace, her movements agitated, as if trying to outrun the weight of the situation pressing down on her. Her mind raced, searching for a solution, but every path seemed to lead them further into the abyss.

From outside, Murphy's voice sliced through the tension with a mocking edge. "You want to build a society, princess?" he jeered, the taunt thick with disdain. Finn moved cautiously toward the tent flap, his eyes peering out to see Murphy standing before the assembled camp, a sinister grin plastered across his face. "Let's build a society. Bring her out!"

Charlotte's frightened voice broke through the noise. "No! Please, Aspen, Bellamy," she pleaded, her desperation like a knife to the heart.

Bellamy's chest tightened at the sound of her fear. He moved closer to Charlotte, trying to offer some semblance of comfort, even if it felt hollow. "Charlotte, hey, it's gonna be okay. Just stay with them," he said softly, his voice gentler than it had been moments before. He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

His gaze drifted from Charlotte to the others, finally settling on Aspen. In that fleeting moment, their eyes met, and Bellamy's confident façade crumbled. He wanted to reach out, to say something – anything – to make amends, to bridge the chasm of regret and unspoken apologies that lay between them. But the words remained trapped in his throat, the enormity of his failures rendering him speechless. All he could manage was a brief, tortured look, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness. Aspen saw the pain in his eyes and watched as he turned to leave the tent, the weight of his regrets hanging heavily in the air.

The moment Bellamy exited the tent, Aspen and Finn exchanged a quick, anxious glance. "We need to get her out of here," Finn whispered urgently, his eyes darting toward the entrance where the sounds of an angry Murphy were growing louder.

Aspen gently pried Charlotte away from her, her movements slow and deliberate as if handling something fragile. "Come on," she murmured to the girl, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "We have to go."

With quiet efficiency, Clarke, Finn, Aspen, and Charlotte slipped out of the tent, their movements quick and purposeful. They could hear Murphy's voice growing louder, the rage in his tone unmistakable, as they fled into the forest, narrowly avoiding his arrival at the tent.

The forest welcomed them with its dense canopy and enveloping darkness. Hours seemed to stretch into eternity as they ventured deeper into the woods, the sun slowly sinking and casting long, eerie shadows. Finn, his eyes steely with determination, forged ahead, his body tensed as he navigated through the thick underbrush. His steps were quick and deliberate, driven by a sense of urgency to put as much distance between them and Murphy.

Aspen followed closely behind, her senses heightened and her gaze constantly scanning the surrounding darkness for any sign of threat. Every few moments, she cast a quick, worried glance at Clarke, whose face was a mask of grim resolve. Clarke's determination was palpable, her eyes fixed intently on the path ahead, her jaw set tight with unspoken frustration. Charlotte struggled to keep pace beside Clarke, her small frame barely keeping up with the older girl's longer strides.

As the sun dipped further below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor, Clarke's patience snapped like a brittle twig. The long walk gave the girl enough time to stew in her emotions, more specifically her anger.

"It's gonna be night soon, Finn. Where are we going?" Clarke's voice wavered with barely contained anger. "At least tell me you have a plan and we're not just wandering aimlessly through the woods."

Finn's gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. "I have a plan."

Charlotte, sensing the escalating tension, reached out tentatively to grasp Clarke's hand in a gesture of comfort. But Clarke's response was immediate and harsh — her hand recoiled as if burned, her eyes flashing with a volatile mix of anger and disbelief. She spun around to face Charlotte, her voice sharp and accusatory.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Clarke's voice cut through the thickening gloom like a knife, causing everyone to halt in their tracks. "Just because we saved you doesn't mean you're forgiven. Got it?"

Finn's voice broke through, calm but firm. "Clarke."

Clarke whipped her head around, her eyes blazing with intensity. "What?"

"She's just a kid," Finn said gently, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation.

"She's a killer," Clarke shot back, her tone harsh. She turned to Charlotte, her eyes cold and unforgiving. "You killed someone, Charlotte. Ended his life. Did you stop to think about that for even one second?"

Charlotte flinched, her body trembling as if struck by Clarke's words. The blonde's fury erupted like a storm, an uncontrollable surge of emotion that left her shaking with rage. She seized Charlotte by the shoulders, her fingers digging into the girl's fragile frame as she shook her roughly. "Look at me!" Clarke's voice cracked with a raw edge of accusation, reverberating through the darkening forest. "You can't just kill someone to make yourself feel better!"

Charlotte's face crumpled in despair, her eyes filling with tears that she struggled to hold back The force of Clarke's outburst seemed to hit her with the realization of its own harshness. She paused, her breath coming in ragged gasps, the weight of her own words sinking in.

Aspen acted swiftly, moving between Clarke and the trembling girl with a protective urgency. Her voice sliced through the charged atmosphere with authoritative precision. "Okay, that's enough," she commanded, her tone sharp but tinged with a deep concern.

"Back off, Clarke," Aspen said firmly, her eyes locked on Clarke's with a fierce determination. "She's terrified. Yelling at her isn't gonna help anyone. So, just chill out."

Clarke's eyes were ablaze with frustration, her fists clenched at her sides. "Terrified? She should be!" she snapped, her voice rising in a tumultuous blend of anger and anguish. "She killed someone! Wells is dead because of her!  She needs to understand the gravity of what she did."

"And shouting at her won't fix anything." Aspen countered, her jaw set. "We all need to deal with this, but right now, she needs us to be calm and help her, not push her further away. What she did was wrong, Clarke. I'm not excusing that. But she's just a kid, and she's scared out of her mind."

Clarke's face twisted in anger, her voice rising. "Scared? You're defending her? She killed my best friend!"

Aspen's eyes narrowed, her voice cutting through the heated exchange. "You're really going to stand here and pretend you cared that much about Wells?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "Come on, Clarke. You've been nothing but hostile and dismissive towards him since we landed. You hated him, and now that he's gone, you want to call him your best friend?"

Clarke flinched, the edge of her anger softening as a pang of guilt flickered in her eyes. "You don't understand, Aspen. He was my best friend. He was innocent—"

Aspen cut her off, her voice slicing through the air with a razor-sharp edge. "He got our parents killed, Clarke. Or have you forgotten that? Maybe he got what was coming to him. Taking out your anger on Charlotte won't change the past or ease your guilt."

Clarke froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, the forest was silent except for the rustling of leaves in the wind. Aspen's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations.

"What is this really about, Clarke?" Aspen pressed, her voice probing. "Is this really just about Wells, or is there something else?"

Clarke opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, a voice echoed through the trees – Murphy's voice, harsh and mocking, slicing through the night like a blade. "Charlotte! Aspen can't protect you forever!"

Aspen's eyes narrowed in determination as she heard. She grumbled under her breath, "We'll see about that."

Finn, who had been standing quietly off to the side, suddenly sprang into action. Clarke, sensing the urgency in the air, turned to him. "We should run," she suggested, her voice tense and strained.

Finn shook his head decisively. "Yeah, that's one way to go. I like my plan better." Without further explanation, he pushed through a dense thicket of branches, revealing a concealed entrance to an underground bunker. The opening, camouflaged by the thick undergrowth, seemed almost invisible until Finn's determination brought it into focus under the dimming sunlight.

"Get in, get in," he urged, his voice firm and authoritative as he held the entrance open for them. Without a word, they moved quickly, descending into the darkened bunker, the hatch creaking ominously as it sealed shut behind them.

Inside the bunker, darkness enveloped them, pierced only by the beams of flashlights held by the three older teens. They descended the narrow stairs into the dimly lit space, their footsteps echoing softly off the concrete walls. The flickering lights revealed a timeworn refuge, a forgotten remnant of a past world.

Shelves lined with rusting cans of food stood in silent witness to years gone by. Tables cluttered with children's drawings, their colors faded with age, and old photographs, some torn and yellowed, spoke of lives once lived and memories now relics. The crayon-sketched suns and stick-figure families created a poignant contrast to the present reality, each image a ghostly reminder of a world that had been simpler and kinder.

Clarke's gaze swept over the space before settling on Finn. "Finn, what is this place?" she asked, her voice a hushed murmur in the otherwise silent room.

Finn shrugged with a casual air, though a hint of defensiveness lingered in his tone. "For now, it's home."

Aspen, taking in the scene, let out a quiet breath, a mixture of awe and disbelief in her expression. The bunker was more than just a shelter — it was a snapshot of a lost era, a place that held echoes of laughter and the security of family life. She wandered through the room, her fingers tracing the contours of worn furniture and dusty shelves. Her eyes lingered on the drawings pinned to the walls; each one a fragment of innocence, capturing fleeting moments of joy and peace that now seemed painfully distant.

In the corner, Aspen found a small stash of candles buried under a thick layer of dust. She dusted them off and distributed them among the group. One by one, they ignited the candles, the soft, flickering light pushing back the oppressive darkness and casting a warm, gentle glow across the room. The bunker began to transform, its cold, unwelcoming interior softening into a makeshift sanctuary.

Aspen guided Charlotte to a single bed tucked away in a shadowy corner of the bunker. The mattress, though worn, provided a semblance of comfort. As Charlotte sat down, the bed creaked under her slight weight, and Aspen settled beside her, the bed dipping slightly with her own presence.

"Are you okay?" Aspen asked softly, her voice laced with concern. She could see the fear and turmoil etched in Charlotte's eyes, the weight of her actions pressing heavily on her young shoulders. Charlotte nodded, but the tears welling up in her eyes betrayed her attempt to stay composed.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just— I just wanted to make it stop."

Aspen's heart ached with a deep, resonant empathy. Yet, she understood that mere compassion wouldn't undo the gravity of the situation. She took a steadying breath, grappling with how to balance understanding with the necessity of addressing the seriousness of Charlotte's actions. "I know you're sorry," she said quietly, her tone both gentle and firm. "But saying sorry won't change what happened."

Running a hand through her hair, Aspen's mind raced to find the right words. "What you did, Charlotte... It was wrong. You can't just act out of fear or anger and expect it to fix things. Life doesn't work that way."

Charlotte's head hung low, her shoulders shaking with each sob. Aspen's voice softened, though it remained resolute. "You didn't just take Wells' life, Charlotte. You made it look like the Grounders were responsible. You made a decision — a bad one. And now we have to deal with it. "

Charlotte looked down, her small shoulders slumped in defeat. Aspen could see the weight of guilt pressing down on her, but she also knew that this was something the girl had to bear. It wasn't something that could be fixed with a few comforting words.

Aspen sighed exhaustedly. "For now, you need to rest. We'll figure out what to do in the morning."

As Charlotte laid down, Aspen sat beside her, her own exhaustion tugging at her. But sleep was elusive, her mind too restless to find any real peace. The room, illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles, felt strangely comforting yet suffocating. Clarke and Finn conversed in hushed tones across the room, their voices just audible enough to remind Aspen of the unresolved tensions and looming decisions.

"What are we going to do with her?" Clarke's voice was low, but Aspen could hear the tension threading through it. The question lingered in the air, a reminder of the difficult decisions they'd have to face come morning.

Aspen didn't have an answer, and the uncertainty gnawed at her. All she wanted was to escape into sleep, to forget the harsh reality of their lives for just a few hours. As the minutes ticked by, Aspen found herself staring at the ceiling, her mind racing despite her exhaustion. She could hear Clarke's voice, tense and emotional, but she forced herself to tune it out. She didn't want to think about the argument they'd had or the weight of the secrets they all carried. Not tonight.

But even as she lay down beside Charlotte, willing herself to drift off, the weight of what had happened pressed heavily on her chest. Aspen closed her eyes, but the tension in the air lingered, a constant reminder that their troubles were far from over.

≻ ───── ⋆ ˚ ☽ ˚ ⋆ ───── ≺

A/N :
I want to make this very clear. I LOVE CLARKE AND MURPHY!!! Trust me the relationships they have with Aspen will get soooo much better. Kinda. I had to write them this way because everyone's personalities were different at first and so they tended to clash. But don't worry! They get better!
———
Okay so originally this was over 19k+ words but then I decided to split it. This chapter plus the next one took me forever to finish. I kept rewriting the entire thing, editing the rewriting again because I was unhappy with all of the outcomes. Still not to happy but it's okay.

Don't forget to comment and vote :))

-11027 Words