the songbird ; b.blake

twenty-three; trigger points

Without a word, we both swung our rifles down and tossed them into the dirt at the center of the circle. The metal clattered against the ground with a sound that silenced everything.

"Ho-ho-ho! No way," someone breathed.

"No freaking way," another laughed, awe laced with disbelief.

They swarmed closer, eyes wide.

"These are weapons, okay? Not toys," Clarke cut in, stepping to the front. Her voice was firm but level. "And we have to be prepared to give them up to the Guard when the dropships come. But until then, they're gonna help keep us safe."

My gaze swept the crowd—flushed faces, wide eyes, people standing just a little straighter than they had an hour ago. There it was again. That familiar flicker. Hope.

"And there are plenty more where these came from," Bellamy added, nodding toward the forest. "Tomorrow we start training. And if the Grounders come..."

He looked out at all of them—raw and resolute.

"We're gonna be ready to fight."

A low murmur broke out among the delinquents—nervous, electrified, buzzing with new purpose. They trickled back to their tents in small clusters, still whispering about Bellamy's words.

I stood by the fire, still catching my breath. Watching Bellamy watch them. For a moment, I forgot how angry I still was.

My gaze followed as he stepped away, crossing toward the gate where Octavia stood by herself. Her arms were wrapped tight around her ribs, eyes fixed on the tree line like she could summon someone out of it if she stared long enough. He draped a blanket over her shoulders gently.

A hand brushed my arm.

"Hey," Clarke said softly. "You okay?"

I hesitated, then shook my head. "No."

Clarke stepped closer, brow drawn in concern.

"He was going to leave," I whispered, voice tight. "He had it all planned. Packed extra rations. Waited until everyone was distracted. He wasn't even going to say goodbye."

Clarke's face fell.

"I'm so mad at him, Clarke. Like— furious. But there's still this part of me..." I shook my head. "This stupid, aching part that keeps pulling toward him anyway. I don't want to feel that way. I hate that I still feel that way."

Clarke touched my arm again. "That's not stupid. That's human."

I let out a harsh breath, hands stuffed in my pockets. "I can't keep doing this. Letting him play tug-of-war with my heart every time he doesn't know how to stay. I won't. Not anymore."

"You don't have to," Clarke said quietly. "You don't owe him your forgiveness. He'll have to earn it."

I blinked hard, nodding. "Thanks." I rubbed my eyes. "My tent's trashed from the storm. I was staying with him, but..."

"Say no more," Clarke said. "You're with me tonight."

I looked over at her. "Thanks." I hesitated. "One more thing."

"Anything."

"Can you talk to Jaha?" I asked quietly. "See if there's anything you can do about Bellamy? A pardon, something?"

Clarke's jaw tightened. "I'll figure something out."

She gave my arm a final squeeze, then turned, walking toward Bellamy near the gate.

I watched as she said something under her breath— too quiet for me to hear— and Bellamy nodded slowly.

His gaze dropped for a moment, like the weight of everything was finally catching up to him. Then he turned to follow her.

But just before he stepped away, his eyes found mine. And everything stopped.

It wasn't a glance. It was a collision— all of it crashing into me at once. The fight, the betrayal, the look on his face when he thought he was about to die.

My fingers curled around the fabric of my sleeve like I could keep myself from unraveling completely.

His eyes were unreadable— tired, guilty, maybe even grateful— but the guilt didn't move me. It was the ache behind it that did. Like he wanted to say something, anything, but he knew he couldn't. Knew it wouldn't fix what he broke.

I didn't blink. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of looking away first. But my throat still tightened, raw and sore from everything I hadn't said.

I watched him turn, watched his shoulders square as he disappeared into the tent behind Clarke, the flap falling shut behind them.

And even though I told myself I was done— done hoping, done hurting— something inside me still cracked open as he left again.

It was about twenty minutes before they came back.

I hadn't moved from the fire, though most of the others had drifted off by now. Quiet murmurs filled the dark like smoke. A few people lingered near the edge of camp, cleaning weapons or watching the sky. The warmth of the flames couldn't quite reach me.

Clarke and Bellamy approached together. She looked composed. He looked... distant again. I stood as they reached me.

Clarke's expression was careful.

"Jaha wants to speak with you," she said.

I frowned. "What? Why?"

Clarke glanced briefly at Bellamy, then back at me.

"It's about your father."