The library was almost completely empty, just the way Amara liked it. Finally some peace and quiet.

She slowly turned the pages of the book sat in front of her – Da Vita Caesarum – skimming over the pages for what seemed like the hundredth time that week alone. She had been having trouble with being really able to get into anything for a few weeks now. When that happened – which it often did – she tended to go back to books she'd read a hundred times before, to try and help her get back into the swing of things.

Of course, reading might not have turned into such a hardship if she were allowed to actually take books out of the library once in a while and read them in the comfort of her own home. But rules were rules, and she'd already broken enough of them to get her floated. If she got caught, that was.

She glanced at her watch. Thirteen-hundred hours. She returned Da Vita Caesarum to its oxygen-free glass casing, promising to return the following day to finish reading about how Caligula had married his sister, threatened to make his horse consul and sacrificed a flamingo.

Amara left the library, wincing as the bright lights shone over her; a stark contrast to the peaceful shadows that the library had to offer. She walked briskly, her eyes slowly relaxing as they became accustomed to the somewhat harsh lighting. She was due to meet Raven in the mess hall for lunch, a meeting she was late for. Raven wouldn't mind. Amara seemed to be late for everything, some way or another.

Amara passed a huddle of Walden teenagers. They turned to stare at her with an almost accusatory stare, which took her aback a little. Whilst she was used to hostility directed towards her because of who she was, especially from those on Walden and Arcadia, there was something about the ferocity of their glares that had Amara wondering what her father had done now.

Every crime committed on the Ark was punishable by death, unless the perpetrator was under the age of eighteen, in which case they would be imprisoned until their 18th birthday upon which they would be reviewed and either pardoned or floated. It had been a very long time since someone was pardoned.

Councilman Marcus Kane, Chancellor Jaha's right hand man, upheld the law with needle-sharp precision. To say that he went by the book word for word was an understatement. He was cruel, cold and calculating. He was also her father. He had no shortage of enemies on the Ark, and she had inherited those enemies just by being born. She was guilty by association.

She had almost reached the mess hall when she realised how quiet it was. Too quiet, almost as if someone had pressed mute. It was lunch time, so the mess hall should have been teeming with life. She turned the corner with a frown and a growing sense of anticipation to find the cause of the eerie silence plain as day. The entire hall was being held at gun-point.

No. No, not the entire hall. Just one person. Chancellor Jaha.

Unable to move in fear of alerting the gunman of her presence, she stared in silence as the man wearing the guard's uniform – although she doubted very much that he was a guard at all – pointed his gun at the Chancellor's head. Everybody else seemed to be frozen.

If they saw her emerge from around the corner then they didn't let on, for which Amara was grateful. So much as a glance in her direction would mean her certain death, she was sure. Under the fake-guardsman's arm, Amara could see Raven at the far side of the hall, staring at scene in horror. She looked back at Jaha. He was holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Perhaps he was going to try and appeal to the shooter's better nature. What good that would do, though, Amara didn't know. By now he would know that whether he took the shot or not, he was sure to be floated either way. Might as well go through with it, right?

Apparently she and the gunman were on the same page, because a split second later Amara watched as he pulled back the trigger and an ear-splitting blast shot through the room and suddenly all chaos ensued.

Jaha was doubled over, his hands clasped to his abdomen. Blood was starting to seep through the gaps between his fingers. Dozens of people rushed forwards to his aid, whilst others looked in the direction of her and the shooter. A few of the actual guards started forwards and he held up the gun in a very obvious gesture: come any closer and I'll shoot you too. They stopped, the weapons in their hands useless against a gun, and he turned to flee.

Despite the horror that had just unfolded before her very eyes, that was nothing compared to the shock of the shooter turning and revealing his identity. Amara staggered back a couple of steps, her mouth agape. He stared back at her for a short moment, his expression unreadable.

Bellamy.