The shock didn't ultimately begin to wear off until hours into their walk. The guards had hastily cleaned up camp, while others patrolled for any other savages. Coal had quickly order them to clear the area. Odette had sat with John until Coal barked at them to get a move on. As they began their walk, Coal had cursed at her, saying the savages wanted her because they thought she was an ambassador, because they thought she was important. But she couldn't listen. John blew up at the Sergeant for yelling, but she couldn't listen to that either. Eventually, everyone walked in silence.

John stayed close to Odette as they began their trek, keeping a hand on her back at first. After a while, when her mind became less foggy, she pulled away and walked in front of him. She needed to walk on her own; be on her own.

The guards around them walked with their guns drawn, alert and at the ready. The darkness was slowly giving in to the gentle blue of the early morning, but still Odette had difficulty gauging what time it was.

As they walked, her mind went through the same thoughts.

At first, she could only think of the man she had killed: who he had been? Did he have a family? Would he be missed? Of course he would be missed, by someone. She thought, and I took him from them. Whoever he was.

For most of her life she hadn't really looked at savages as people, not like the people in the City. She was ashamed to admit it, but she thought of them more as second rate humans: not as intelligent, not as civilized. But seeing that man die, watching the blood gush from his neck, she realized, he was just as human as she. He had the same blood, the same muscles, the same feelings that she had. He must have felt fear, felt love, felt pain just as she did. She wondered if he felt much pain in that moment; if he was scared when he realized his life was pouring out of him. She wondered if he felt as cold as she did now.

Odette had never seen someone die. She had known people who had passed, of course, but she had never seen the color leave someone's eyes as their heart beat one last time. She wonder what was his last thought, the one between his second to last and last heart beat. Did it linger in his mind like an imprint? Or did it just fade away into the darkness?

And then it would all come crashing down, the realization of what she'd done. Like a concrete block, solid and crushing: inescapable. It was a cycle. As they walked, she'd think of his life, her life, the pain, the fear, and then the blood on her hand. And then she'd forget how to breathe, scratch at her throat and John would be beside her in an instant. She could only imagine what he saw in her eyes. All she felt was fear; fear that this was her life, that she'd have to live with this everyday until her last. Fear that the blood stain was permanent.

But John would say some soothing words and grab her face and force her to look in his eyes until she could breathe again. It was like the blue in his eyes brought her breath back. It's like they brought her peace.

And then they'd begin walking again, and for a while, she could hold back the fear. For a while, she could bear it. But only for a while.

That night, John lay down next to her, without saying a word. She didn't expect to sleep, for fear of being awoken by a hand over her mouth again, but her mind was exhausted and before she knew it, the bright light of the morning was shining in her eyes.

The next few days and nights followed suite with the same cycle, the same dreamless sleep.

It wasn't until the fifth or sixth day that Odette was able to think of anything else. The panic had begun to subside and the cycle had broken. She remembered how to breathe.

But then, she also remembered what John had confessed to her that night. That he was a killer, too. That when he killed, it was not out of fear for his life, but out of vengeance: anger. He had ruthlessly killed two of his own people, the same people that they were crossing the forests to save, and tried to kill two more. She should be terrified of him. She should hate him.

But how could that be the same man that walked behind her now? The same man that retaught her how to breath? The same man that was willing to cross the Dead Zone and the forests to save the rest of his people? The same man that confessed his worsts sins to her, just to make her feel less pain?

She couldn't wrap her mind around how that John and this John were one in the same. At first, she assumed, he had just changed. So much more must have happened to him between then and now to make him into this new wounded, but caring man. But then she remembered the other sides of him, the sides she saw when he spoke to Jaha or, quite frankly, anyone that wasn't her. Even when they had first met he was cold and sarcastic, seemingly empathetic. Perhaps that was the real him? Maybe this caring side he showed her was just a facade to get what he wants. Maybe it wasn't the real him at all.

Maybe he hadn't changed. Maybe he still was that same man who killed out of vengeance and hate.

That thought frightened her most of all. She couldn't just let it go. She needed to know the truth.

That night, when they lay down to sleep, she leaned her head close to his, so no one would hear them.

"I need you to tell me why you did it," she said.

He knew exactly what she was talking about, she could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders. It was as if he'd be expecting this question for days.

He sat up next to her and looked down at the dagger in his hands.

"I did it," he began, in a hoarse whisper, "because these people, who I thought were my friends, put a rope around my neck and hung me up, no hesitation, for something I didn't do. Then they kicked the box out from underneath me." He said the last line through clenched teeth. Odette could hear the malice in his voice. "And after that, I just couldn't let it go. The betrayal. How quickly they would have offed me if they could. Then they banished me. Left me for the Grounders, who tortured me for three days. And those days, Odette, those days..." he trailed off, turning the dagger over in his hands.

She couldn't imagine how savages tortured their captives, luckily, she didn't have to.

"They beat me and stabbed me, peeled my skin, pulled off my nails, bent my limbs in ways they were never meant to go." He shook his head, "and that whole time, through all that pain, I could only blame them. I could only think, if they hadn't blamed me, if they hadn't betrayed me, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be feeling this."

He didn't look at her once, just at the dagger. He just kept turning it over and over and poking the sharp end as if to check if it'd make him bleed. It did.

"When I finally got back to camp, my hatred for them was not only because they strung me up, but because of all that pain. It was all mixed together." His voice slipped, just barely.

They were both quiet for a moment. She rolled over onto her back, next to him, staring up at the stars. It was so surreal to her that that's where he came from. This boy from the stars came down from the sky like something out a fairytale, but it was no fairytale. No, in fact, it was just the opposite.

"Do you regret it?" she asked, simply.

He shook his head and snorted to himself. Then he finally looked at her, that half smile on his face, "I wish I could say I do. But I don't know. The truth is I don't know, Odette. And I'm sorry."

She looked away, not knowing what to make of that. Why couldn't he have just said yes? All he had to do was say yes, I regret it, and she would have felt better.

But then, she realized, he had been honest with her. Completely honest, completely transparent. He told her exactly what he did and exactly how he felt about it. He didn't hide behind a lie to make himself sound better. He just told the truth.

Then he laid down again, their heads nearly touching as they looked up at the sky.

"Honestly, if I hadn't done it, they'd probably be dead already, anyway," he said.

She didn't respond, and he rolled over away from her.

"I don't expect you to trust me- not like you did," he said softly.

"I trust you," she said, finally, and it was true, perhaps it was out of her best interest, but she did still trust him. He'd never done anything to harm her, only protect her.

"Good," he said, "because I don't want to kill again. But I would kill anyone who hurt you."

She kept silent. They lay next to each other, an arms length away, yet part of her felt like it wasn't far enough. And the other part felt like it wasn't close enough.