Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— HELL LOST IT'S FEARFUL ATMOSPHERE WHEN THE SUN BEGAN TO RISE. Cleo walked alongside Finn, exchanging stories and quips about the short week they'd been on the ground. He'd been through a lot, she'd been through a lot – but things were always better when there was someone to share it with. Along with them were Monroe, Diggs, John, and Roma – three of Bellamy's ride or die minions.
"Do you guys ever stop talking? How much of your time is actually spent looking for Octavia?" Bellamy snapped sharply.
"I got nothing," Finn sighed. "We lost the trail."
The pair looked over their shoulders to Bellamy who shot them an anxious look. A frown of worry had made residence on his face and he hadn't let up since the evening. She imagined that the weight of losing his sister and damaging the radio was beginning to weigh down on him, paired alongside fatigue and hunger.
"Keep looking," he ordered desperately.
"Bellamy, maybe we should take a break or take a moment to regroup and refocus," she responded, throwing her hands up in a moment of desperation. It had been all night and they were nowhere closer than when they began looking.
"I agree, wandering around without a trail isn't going to help us. We should backtrack." The other boy had Cleo's back, trying to reason with Bellamy.
"Hey," Roma spoke up for the first time in a few hours. "Where's John?"
The group stopped in their tracks, looking around quickly for any sign of the other camper that'd joined them. Cleo couldn't find any trace of him, despite knowing that she'd just seen him less than a minute ago. It was like he was never even there.
"Spread out," Bellamy spoke just loud enough for the group to hear. "He couldn't have gotten that far."
Just as the group began to follow his commands, something dropping to the dirt grabbed everyone's attention. Cleo's eyes widened as she saw John's body on the ground, his throat slit. Crimson blood spilled from the fresh wound, his eyes staring into the treetops blankly.
