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"I'll be rightback out to help you, Charlotte. I promise." You smile at the girl, and smiles in return.
"Okay." You ruffle her hair and she scowls playfully. You make your way into the tent where Clarke, Jasper, Octavia, and Bellamy are waiting.
Wells is dead.
You still can't wrap your head around it. You and Wells weren't friends, but you were friendly. Borderline friends, maybe. But his death still hurt.
"This knife is made of metal from the dropship," Clarke observes. You and Jasper glance at each other.
"What do you mean?" Jasper asks. She sets the knife down and turns to Octavia and Jasper.
"Who else knows about this?"
"No one. We brought it straight here," Octavia assures.
"Clarke? What's wrong?" you ask her.
"It means Grounders didn't kill Wells. It was one of us." Your mouth falls open and you look at Bellamy. His eyes widen and he steps closer to you and Octavia.
"So, there's a murderer in the camp?" Jasper asks.
"There's more than one murderer in this camp. This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet," Bellamy instructs. You nod at Bellamy.
"He's right. We don't want to cause a panic." Clarke moves to walk out of the tent but Bellamy steps in her way.
"Get out of my way, Bellamy," Clarke growls.
"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." You open your mouth to point out that that's probably not true but Clarke beats you to it.
"Oh, good for you, you mean. What, keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is that it?" You sigh, knowing that this argument was going to come up.
"Yeah. That's it. But it's good for all of us. Fear of the Grounders is building that wall. And besides, what are you gonna do— just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward? You don't even know whose that knife is." Clarke shows Bellamy the knife.
"Oh, really? J.M. John Murphy. The people have a right to know." Your heart sinks. John wouldn't do this. You catch Clarke's arm.
"John wouldn't do this. He wouldn't kill Wells," you insist. She wrenches her arm free from your grasp.
"Get out of my way. (Y/N)." You rush out after her. "You son of a bitch!" she screams, pushing John. He stumbles back, looking shocked.
"What's your problem?" John asks. Clarke holds up the knife.
