Chapter Two: First to Dye

"Back off," she ground out, standing between the violent teen and Wells.

"You're defending him?" he asked, shocked. Isobel stood her ground, even as the crowd eyed her with suspicion. She could feel them staring – she could see Bellamy, over the other teen's shoulder, but she forced herself to ignore him.

"He's hurt, it's not a fair fight," the redhead explained, leaving no room for argument. Unsure what to do, the other teen held up his fists, perhaps hoping to intimidate her.

"Just go," he said warningly. "I'd hate to hit a girl."

Her eyes narrowed and she scoffed, darting forwards and landing a right hook straight to his face. The teen reeled back slightly, but didn't fall, and she was almost impressed. He came back, fists swinging, and managed to catch her on the temple, and land a solid hit to her side, but Isobel gave him nothing. She kept throwing jabs at him, catching his sides and arms, wearing him down slowly as he continued with his wide, wild swings. She threw another hard right to his face, twisting her hand at the last moment and hitting him with her wristband, and he went down, cursing as he stood back up.

Before they could get into it again, someone swung down from the dropship and stood between them. Once her adrenaline-clouded vision clear, Isobel recognised him as 'Spacewalker', though she still didn't know his real name.

"You're fighting a girl," the guy said to the other teen, though he quickly turning to her with his hands up before turning back to the boy, "and, trust me, you're losing." The other teen was quiet, not wanting to fight both Isobel and this kid in front of him.

"Hey, Spacewalker," Octavia stepped forwards, successfully breaking the tension, "Rescue me next," she said, causing everyone to laugh slightly. Isobel rolled her eyes and walked over to Wells, getting to him at the same time as Mini-Griffin. Everyone else dispersed.

"You alright?" she asked him, but he was just looking at her with wide eyes.

"What? He's cute," she heard Octavia say and she looked up, seeing that Bellamy had joined his sister.

"He's a criminal," he corrected her.

"They're all criminals," she said, almost quietly as though it were some big secret.

"Look, O," Bellamy said, dragging her away, "I came down here to protect you."

They had moved far enough away that she couldn't hear them, and she then realised that she had zoned out on Wells. Quickly looking back at him, she noticed that his attention was on Mini-Griffin as she checked his ankle and she breathed a sigh of relief, though she could feel her cheeks burning.

"So, Mount Weather," Spacewalker mention as he walked up to them. "When do we leave?"

"Right now," Mini-Griffin said, standing. She turned back to Wells, "We'll be back tomorrow with food."

"How are the two of you gonna carry enough food for one hundred?" asked Wells, picking out the flaws in her plan. Considering it for a moment, Spacewalker turned and grabbed Goggle Boy and his friend, dragging them into the group. Goggles looked over at Isobel and grinned.

"Hello again, pretty-ful, err, pretty beautiful – beautiful," he stuttered with a tilt of his head, obviously thinking it came out smoother than it did. Isobel quirked a smile, finding it strangely endearing.

"Hi," she replied quietly.

"Four of us," Spacewalker corrected. "Can we go now?"

"Sounds like a party," announced Octavia as she strode over, "Make it five."

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" asked Bellamy, following her. Isobel's eyes widened and she directed her gaze to the ground instantly.

"Going for a walk," she said in an obvious tone. "You coming, red?" It took Isobel a moment to realise she was addressing her, but by then the conversation had blown passed her.

"Hey," Mini-Griffin said, grabbing Spacewalker's wrist and looking at his wristband, "were you trying to take this off?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "So?"

"So, this wristband transmits your vital signs to The Ark," she told him. "Take it off, and they'll think you're dead."

"Should I care?" he scoffed.

"Well, I don't know," the blonde replied sarcastically. "Do you want the people you love to think you're dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months? Because they won't if they think we're dying."

Borderline-obsessive staring aside, Isobel couldn't help but notice a strange look pass over Bellamy's face when Mini-Griffin said that. Unable to place it, she shrugged it off, thinking it wasn't overly important. Instead, she focused on Octavia and the sudden grip she had on the redhead's elbow. Raising an eyebrow, she looked to the brunette, but realised the younger Blake wasn't even looking at her.

"Okay," nodded Mini-Griffin, "Now, let's go."

The group starting moving out, though Octavia lingered, looking at her brother hopefully. He smiled slightly, saying "Go on," with a tilt of his head. Grinning, Octavia reached up and kissed his cheek before heading after the others, stopping only when she realised that Isobel, who she still had a grip on, wasn't following.

"Come on," she prompted, but the redhead only frowned.

"I never said I was going with you," she said quietly, shaking her elbow out of the brunette's grasp and turning back to the dropship. "You have plenty of people, anyway."

"Seriously?" Octavia gasped, glancing back and seeing the group leaving without her. "You…You have to come! That was really cool, what you did before."

"Yeah, you kicked Murphy's ass," chuckled Bellamy, but Isobel didn't turn to look at him. Still, she somehow knew Octavia wasn't referring to the fight and, when she looked at her, she saw a hope-filled light in Octavia's dark eyes.

"It'll be fun," the brunette sang, hoping to convince her.

"Don't care," she shrugged. "Not going."

With that, she walked back to the dropship, ignoring Octavia's huff, but knowing – hoping – the brunette would chose going after Mini-Griffin and the others instead of following her. The redhead did, however, glance back once at the brown-haired flirt and smiled a little, half-regretting not going with them. She hadn't quite made it inside the ship before she heard Wells calling out to her.

"Retreating back inside?" he asked from his spot on the ground. She stopped and turned to him, crossing her arms.

"What'd you expect?" she asked. "I'm not exactly gonna go charging through the forest."

"Never said you should," he smiled, struggling to get to his feet. With a sigh, Isobel walked over to him and supported some of his weight as he stood. "Thank you."

"No problem," she shrugged. "You alright to walk?"

"Should be fine," he nodded. "Just gotta go easy on my ankle."

"That guy was a jerk," she frowned. She honestly hadn't expected his hostility, considering his defence of the goggle-kid before, but she realised that she had no idea about his past with Wells – or, more likely, Wells' father. "He shouldn't have done that."

"He was pissed," Wells sighed, "and, knowing my dad, he had every right to be."

"You're not your dad," she insisted. "Everyone here needs to realise that, or someone's going to kill you."

"Thanks for that," he laughed and she rolled her eyes.

"It's the truth. No point in denying it. Best you can do is keep your head down and your mouth shut," Isobel smiled slightly.

"Yeah," he looked away for a moment before leaning a little closer to her, making sure no one else could hear. "Thanks for jumping in. You're kinda badass, you know that?"

"Not really," she waved him off. "What're you gonna do now, though? You missed the grand adventure to Mount Weather, and you're not gonna get far on that leg."

"I'm thinking of just looking around for some water," he told her. "You wanna help? It'd probably be more fun than hiding out in the dropship."

"Looking for water – sounds like a blast," she said sarcastically. Nudging her slightly, Wells only smiled and the pair headed off, searching as close as they could for any sign of drinkable water.

They ventured into the forest, Isobel staying close to Wells in case he hurt himself more, but they couldn't find any water. Instead, they began carrying back any dry wood they found, hoping to start a stock-pile of firewood. Isobel thought it was slightly insane, considering they were in the middle of a forest and their supply of wood was not likely to get low any time soon, but Wells insisted.

Besides, it gave her something to do that didn't involve avoiding Bellamy, sitting around the dropship, or thinking about the goggles-kid. His smile popped through her head again and she sighed – he really was kinda cute, especially when he was trying to cheer her up. Rolling her eyes at her own thoughts, Isobel tried to shift her focus back onto what she was doing.

"Oww," she grumbled, dropping the wood she was carrying on their pile by the dropship. She lifted her arm, frowning at the wristband and trying to manoeuvre it back to its previous position in the hopes that it would stop tugging.

"You okay?" asked Wells, moving over to her as quick as his leg would allow.

"Yeah, just this ugly piece of jewellery," she shrugged off. "Let's get back out there. You never know when the forest might vanish."

"Very funny," he said dryly. "I just think a large supply is better than foraging every time we need a fire."

"I'm sure you're right," nodded Isobel, "and I'm not just saying that to avoid you explaining to me, for the fourth time, why this is a good idea."

"Whatever," he snorted, throwing his branches on top of her own.

"Find any water yet?" asked a male voice as two teens approached them.

"No, not yet," Wells replied before turning, seeing the boy who had attacked him – Murphy, according to Bellamy – and one of his taller followers standing behind them. They seemed unthreatening, so far, but Isobel was still tense.

"We're still looking," she said, uncertain about the way Murphy was looking at Wells. He glanced at her, looking torn between aggression and something else.

"You can come with us, if you want," suggested Wells, as a sort of peace offering. He turned and paused, prompting Isobel to follow his line of sight. The writing carved into the side of the ship made her blood run cold. Clearly, peace was not an option.

FIRST SON, FIRST TO DYE

"You know," Murphy began, making a show of scratching his nose with the hand that held his newly crafted knife, "my father, he begged for mercy in the airlock chamber when your father floated him."

Isobel closed her eyes for a moment, images flashing behind her eyelids, and she felt a sudden stirring of something – not pity, but understanding. Murphy was still a jerk, he was still harassing someone who was only guilty of being related to a murderer, but she had felt the hate, and knew that aggression came easier than anything else when faced with the source.

For a moment it seemed like Wells was just going to walk away. He limped passed Murphy and his friend, though when he bumped shoulders with the shorter teen, Isobel knew someone was going to happen. She followed the Chancellor's son quickly, know he wouldn't be up for a fair fight with his leg still injured.

"You spelled 'die' wrong, geniuses," Wells pointed out and Isobel grit her teeth, glancing back at the words for a moment. Bellamy walked passed them and her stomach flipped, but she focused on following Wells, doing her best to ignore the once-over Bellamy gave her.

"They're gonna hurt you," she told Wells when they were far enough away that she knew Murphy wouldn't hear her.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," Wells muttered, not stopping. They walked through the forest, but this time they didn't stop to collect the fallen branches.

"I am confident that you'll fight back as best you can," Isobel assured him, "but they'll win."

"You seem pretty sure about that," he snapped, turning to look at her. They both stopped, staring at each other.

"Mini-Griffin, Spacewalk and I are the only ones who would try to stop him," she said, giving him the hard truth. "I'm the only one here, and there's a lot more of them than I can handle. You're injured. I like you, Wells, but not enough to die for you. Check your pride and keep your head down, or they will kill you."

"Mini-Griffin?" he snorted, all seriousness falling from his face. "Spacewalker?"

"I…forget their names," she shrugged. "I never met them properly."

"Clarke," he told her, "and Finn, from what I heard. Anyone else?"

"Goggles?" she suggest, mentally reprimanding herself for seeming too eager as she tried to come up with a way to sound less desperate, "And what about his friend?"

"Not sure," Wells admitted. "Didn't really get to know the kids from other sections so well. I'm guessing you never really knew that other guy, the one with the knife."

"His name's Murphy," she smirked, glad to know something he didn't. "You know his friend, the taller one that didn't talk much?"

"Not sure," said Wells, shaking his head. "What about that guard guy, Bellamy Blake? You know him?"

She turned red instantly. "Why are we just stood here asking each other if we know people?" she asked quietly, hoping to change the subject.

"Okay, and what was that reaction all about?" he asked as Isobel walked ahead of him, further into the forest.

"What reaction?" she denied. "I didn't react."

"So, you know Blake, then," he stated. "How?"

"I grew up in the same section as him," she shrugged. "Saw him around. That's all."

"Alright," Wells sighed. "You don't wanna tell me."

"I just told you," she insisted.

"Sure you did," he said sarcastically. "Don't worry, I won't pry."

"…Thanks," she mumbled and the pair continued their quest for water in relative silence.

"It'll be dark soon," Wells noticed after about an hour of searching. "We should head back."

"Lead the way," she prompted, but Wells only smirked.

"Oh, no, no. After you," he bowed mockingly and Isobel returned it with a teasing smile as she nudged him on her way passed.

"Oops," she said innocently while Wells shook his head, unable to stop the grin on his face.

Twenty minutes later, they were back at camp. At Isobel's insistence, since Wells was so good at making 'friends', they were back in the dropship, trying to keep their minds off how hungry there were. Wells had gone back to playing with the wires behind one of the ship's many panels, and Isobel didn't care to ask him what he was doing.

She laid down on the ground close to him and closed her eyes, drifting off for a while. After wandering around all day – and not to mention that fight with Murphy, who was much better than she'd care to admit – she was exhausted. It seemed, however, that the universe was against her getting any sleep, as it felt like she'd barely gotten any rest before cheering from outside the ship woke her up.

"What the hell is that?" she grumbled, sitting up and seeing that Wells was asleep a short distance from her. She stood groggily and nudged his arm with her boot, waking him up.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, sitting up.

"That's what I'd like to know, too," Isobel frowned, waiting for him to wake up a little more. Soon enough, he was alert and he heard the cheering.

"What the hell?" he muttered, standing up and limping his way out of the ship, Isobel following closely behind.

It was already dark, and the criminals seemed to have taken their collected firewood and made a bonfire. They were all crowded around it, yelling encouragement, but it wasn't until Wells and Isobel had moved to the centre that they knew why. Murphy sat there with a girl, slipping a small piece of scrap from the ship under her wristband and prying it off. Remembering what Clarke had said earlier, Isobel clutched her own and bit her lip.

"Who's next?" Bellamy asked, stepping out from the crowd. Recalling his look from earlier, it wasn't difficult for Isobel to conclude that he was the one behind this.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Wells, limping towards Bellamy. He glanced back once as Bellamy stopped Murphy's friend from earlier from advancing on him, but noticed that Isobel hadn't followed, and was instead stood amongst the crowd behind him, her eyes turned away.

"We're liberating ourselves," Bellamy replied. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're trying to get us all killed," said Wells, but the look on Bellamy's face told him he couldn't convince him. Instead, he turned to the gathered criminals. "The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we got. Take them off, and The Ark will think we're dying, that it's not safe for them to follow."

"That's the point, Chancellor," smirked Bellamy, getting laughs from a few people in the crowd. "We can take care of ourselves, can't we?" he said the last part louder, the roughness in his voice causing an involuntary shudder on Isobel's part.

A roar of agreement sounded from the crowd and Isobel bit her lip again, torn between standing with Wells and keeping back. She hadn't wanted to get caught in the middle of anything. Defending him before had been instinctive, protecting the injured, but she had warned him this time. He couldn't expect her to keep sticking her neck out for him.

"You think this is a game?" Wells demanded. "Those aren't just our friends and our parents up there. They're our farmers; our doctors; our engineers. I don't care what he tells you," he said to the crowd. "We won't survive here on our own and besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?"

"My people already are down," Bellamy insisted, drawing the masses back to his side. "Those people locked my people up. Those people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child. Your father did that."

"My father didn't write the laws," insisted Wells.

"No," Bellamy mocked. "He enforced them, but not anymore. Not here. Here, there are no laws."

Isobel cringed away from the crowd as they roared again. Bellamy definitely had a gift for garnering public support. Everyone around her was siding with him, and that did not bode well for the Chancellor's son. Her words from earlier came back to her, but she was suddenly finding it difficult to stick to them. Surely, sticking up for him one last time wouldn't get her killed. Seriously injured, probably, but not killed.

"Dammit, Wells," she muttered under her breath.

"Here, we do whatever the hell we want!" announced Bellamy. "Whenever the hell we want!" he added, more sounds of agreement meeting his words. "Now, you don't have to like it, Wells. You can ever try to stop it, or change it – kill me," he suggested. "You know why? Whatever the hell we want."

"Whatever the hell we want!" echoed Murphy, beginning a chant of those words throughout the crowd. Feeling uncomfortable, Isobel stepped out of the throng of people, standing behind Wells.

Wells looked around, seeing the crowd turned completely against him and knowing there was nothing to say that would sway them now. Having Isobel with him made him feel somewhat better – just the fact that someone had his back – and as he turned to face Bellamy again, his stare was challenging. He found, however, that it took a moment before Bellamy returning his look, as the older man's eyes seemed to be on Isobel.

Glancing behind him, he realised Isobel didn't noticing Bellamy's staring, as she was looking around the forest behind the crowd, as if she had noticed something no one else had. Her gaze them flew upwards and she smiled slightly. Wells turned, seeing that Bellamy was no longer staring at her, but meeting his eye smugly, before he forgot to care for a moment.

Water hit his head, and he knew that surviving would suddenly be that smallest bit easier than before.

"Rain," Isobel breathed in relief. The crowd was cheering the weather – seemingly impressed by anything this planet threw at them.

"We need to collect this," insisted Wells, turning back to Bellamy.

"Whatever the hell you want," he smirked.

The men exchanged looks – one defiant, the other smug – before Wells turned and limped away to find containers to collect the rainwater in. Isobel stood, her face upturned to the water, not even noticing his departure. Bellamy copied her and for a moment, everyone in the crowd simply stood, enjoying the feeling of the rain washing away the day's dust. When Isobel eventually looked back around her, she noticed Wells was gone.

"He headed back to the dropship," Bellamy told her, realising she was looking around for Wells. Her head snapped back towards him, but she said nothing. "I recognise you, y'know. You were the kid three doors down from me, in Section 17a. Remember? Your dad used to…He used to have you bring around the sewing once a month."

"Y-Yeah," she nodded quickly. "Your mother was good at it, and she didn't ask too much in return. She used to sew pink buttons on my clothes. She was nice."

"Yeah," he smiled, remembering his mother. Shaking his head, he looked back to Isobel, taking in how tense she seemed. "Listen –"

"I gotta go," she interrupted, turning suddenly and heading into the dropship to find Wells. Her breathing was heavy and she was pretty sure her face was completely red by this point. Once inside the dropship, she paused for a moment to collect herself. She was soaked by the rain, yet felt completely warm. A smile spread across her face for a moment before she shook it off.

"Isobel?" Wells called, spotting her by the door. He was juggling a few large containers. "Give me a hand, will you?"

"Yeah, sure," she nodded, hurrying forwards to take some of the containers from him. They moved in and out of the dropship quickly, setting out the open containers to collect the falling rain.

They collected a fair amount before the sky dried up and the rain ceased, but neither had the energy to drag the half-full tubs back inside. Leaving them for the time being, they looked around the camp, seeing that most people had either moved back into the dropship, or were setting themselves up on the ground or against trees, readying themselves for a night's sleep.

"Looks like everyone's had a tiring day," mused Isobel, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Despite her nap earlier, she was feeling the day catching up to her.

"C'mon," Wells nodded towards the trees, where people had already begun settling down. "It's getting too crowded inside."

"I like inside, crowded or not," Isobel rejected, shaking her head. "I'll just sleep on the floor."

"Probably taken, too," he sighed. "Everyone wants the nice, dry ship."

"Myself included," she scoffed, crossing her arms.

"What about sleeping under the stars?" he continued, trying to tempt her. Isobel only rolled her eyes.

"We've been sleeping amongst the stars since we were born," she sniggered. "I'll save you time, though. Pick a tree."

"Seriously?" he gaped. "That's it? No grand stand-off, no stubborn refusal?"

"That's it," she smiled. "I'm really not as stubborn as you seem to think I am, y'know. Besides, I've been going along with you all day. Why stop now?"

"Alright, then," he grinned, moving towards a tree – his limp all but gone – and settling himself down against it. Isobel joined him, leaning up against the trunk beside him and shifting around until she was comfortable. "Sleep well."

"You, too."

It wasn't too long before her sleep was interrupted, though it must have been a fair while, as most people were in a deep slumber by now. A hand was placed over her mouth to keep her from shouting and waking, or alerting, the others, and she jolted awake. Her wide eyes filled with confusion when she saw it was Bellamy waking her up, though he quickly stood and backed away from her.

"Don't make a sound," he warned quietly, his arm outstretched, a gun in his hand, trained on the also-awake-and-standing Wells. Her limbs were taut, ready for a fight, but the odds were against her, so she forced herself to relax.

"Are you okay?" she asked Wells as she stood. He nodded, but Bellamy was shoving him forwards before he could talk.

"Move," he grunted, giving Wells another push before gesturing with the gun for Isobel to follow. She trained her eyes on him as she walked past, fear for her life outweighing any kind of attraction she had to him.

They walked for a while, Wells leading the way, with Isobel trailing after him and Bellamy walking close behind her, his gun in hand should either of them prove uncooperative. Isobel glanced back a few times, but Bellamy wouldn't meet her eye, and instead had taken to putting his gun on her shoulder and nudging her to walk.

"That's far enough," he said suddenly, and the three of them stopped, Wells and Isobel turning to face Bellamy. They were well out of earshot of the dropship by this point. "I don't want to shoot you, Wells. Hell, I like you, but I do need them," he paused, pointing the gun upwards, referring to The Ark, "to think that you're dead."

"Why?" Wells demanded quickly, confusion and fear mixing in his eyes. "Why are you doing this? For real, not some crap about getting to do what you want to do." His eyes were wide, looking directly at Bellamy, but Isobel stared at the gun.

"I have my reasons," smirked Bellamy, lifting the gun slightly as he spoke. "I also have the gun. So I ask the questions – and the question is, why aren't you helping me? Your dad banished you, Wells, and yet here you are, still doing his bidding, following the rules. Aren't you tired of always doing what's expected of you? Stand up to him. Take off that wristband, and you'll be amazed at how good it feels."

The mini-monologue felt rehearsed, and, at times, Isobel could hear a slight salesman-pitch. It was the same one she'd heard the cooks use when plying their black market goods to first-time buyers, and she wondered for a moment if that was where Bellamy had picked it up from. Still, he had a point, and Isobel too was somewhat baffled about how Wells managed to be sent to Earth, yet was still obeying his father's every word.

"No," Wells rejected in no uncertain terms. "Never. Not gonna happen. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yeah," nodded Bellamy, a small smile quirking at his mouth. "It is. What's your opinion on the matter, red?"

"She has a name," sneered Jaha Junior, stepped forward slightly as if to stand in front of her. Isobel placed her hand on his shoulder, the movement tracked by Bellamy's dark eyes, before they flicked back to her face.

"I'm with Wells, and Clarke," she told him. "We can't let The Ark think we're dying, no matter how bad they were to us."

"Then I'm sorry," he said with a frown, meeting her eye for a moment and sighing before his posture changed, and he resumed his confident stance. "I'm sorry it had to be this way," he continued, glancing around as he tucked his gun away in his waistband.

They had been followed.

Murphy was approaching them, knife drawn. Wells darted back, pulling Isobel with him. They turned to run, but there were more boys getting closer on all sides. Isobel yanked her arm out of Wells' grip and shoved him towards the hill as she turned and punched one of the ones approaching them. He went down, clearly not having expected the hit, but Isobel was grabbed from behind, her arms pulled behind her back.

She flailed, kicking up her legs and attempting to break the grip on her arms, but whoever had hold of her was strong. They turned in order to counter one of her more vicious tugs and she saw Bellamy, standing back and watching the scene play out, so she could only assume that it was Murphy who had grabbed her.

"No!" yelled Wells as he was wrestled to the ground by two others. "No, get off of me! No!"

"Get him down," hissed one of the boys as they struggled with him, dragging him to the ground.

"Put him down," said the other over the sound of Wells shouting. They grabbed his arm, the one with the wristband, and held it on a rock. One of the attackers knelt on his arm, so he couldn't retract it, as the boy Isobel had punched moved over and stuck his knife under the wristband, beginning to work it off.

"Don't do this!" cried Wells over and over.

"Stop it!" screamed Isobel, aiming her feet backwards to kick Murphy, but he was quicker than she had anticipated, and he managed to dodge most of her attempts.

"Cool it, red," he sniggered in her ear, pulling tighter on her arms with a wide smirk. He had managed to fold his own arms around hers, so he was holding her arms to his chest. "Don't worry, you're next."

"Don't you dare," she growled at him, twisting her arms in his hold and throwing her head back, feeling the back of her skull catch on his face – most likely his cheek, as it didn't feel like a nose. Stunned, Murphy, released her, and Isobel made a break for it, only to be grabbed around the waist and lifted off the ground. She pushed at the arms holding her, but they didn't budge.

"Is it really so hard to keep hold of her?" asked Bellamy as he maneuverer the girl in his arms so he was holding both of her arms down with his own, as well as keeping one arm around her waist, to stop her from wriggling as much. "Get her wristband off."

"Right," grunted Murphy, rubbing his cheek with his shoulder. "You've got one hell of a hard head," he muttered at her as he walked closer, grabbing the arm that had the wristband and holding it tightly under his own with his back turned to her. He then shoved his knife between her arm and her wristband with no preamble. Isobel hissed when she felt the blade cut slightly into her skin.

"Be careful," Bellamy warned, glaring at the back of Murphy's head, who only rolled his eyes, unseen.

"Stop it," she whimpered, jerking against Bellamy in an attempt to break free, but his grip on her was like a steel vice. He lowered his head slightly and she could feel his breath in her hair, against her ear.

"I'm sorry."