❝ Disappeared from the Ark
without a trace? ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 from her life on the Ark, Clove Everhart finds herself entangled within a crowd of a hundred criminals. Despite her respect for the Ark's laws, s...
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Sacrifice;
𝐘ou can never really feel another's pain, but the screams of Raven come close.
The smell of smoke and burnt flesh exposes the blonde's senses. She winces. Another scream. Certainly, the whole camp can hear the painful pleas of the brunette.
Despite the screams, Clove doesn't look up from the piece of fabric in her hands. Her face is crumbled into frustration as the knife resists cutting through the red belt still hanging loosely around her neck.
Letting out a deep groan, she sends the knife back to the metal table. She's sitting on top of the furniture, feet dangling as almost ten centimeters are separating her and the floor.
Now that cutting the belt is out of the picture, she clasps both hands around the cloth and pulls with all her might.
Which doesn't work, whatsoever.
"Here, let me."
Bellamy picks up the knife, gently taking the material in his own fingers. Clove lets her hands fall to her lap, tilting her head back as she gives him easier access.
A frown creeps between his brows as he concentrates. His fingers accidentally touch the skin of her throat while drawing the knife through the belt.
"That should stop the external bleeding."
Seeing that Bellamy is standing in her line of sight, she peeks over his shoulder. By the looks of it, Raven's injury is now entirely closed up, leaving the angry aftermath of the bullet wound.
Her attention snaps back to the man as the belt falls limp into her lap. She gives him an appreciating nod, muttering a thank you in the process.
"I don't understand," Finn utters, "how did Murphy get a gun?"
Bellamy leans his back against the table. He proceeds by crossing his arms and sharing a look with Clove, who's still sitting on top of the table right next to him. "Long story."
"We got lucky. If Murphy hit the fuel tank instead of me, we'd all be dead," Raven comments through grimaces of pain.
Clarke cuts in, "wait, there's rocket fuel down there? Enough to build a bomb?"
"Enough to build a hundred bombs," the brunette pauses, "if we had any gunpowder left."
Bellamy advances toward them again, picking up the torn journal they stole from Lincoln weeks ago. The blonde immediately jumps down from the table, curiously coming to stand close to him. She peers down at the book in his hands, studying the well-drawn pictures in awe.
