That Never Was - 3

by lileb

Aggie is no longer alone in her careless dances with fate; and if there's one thing that life is reliable for, it's giving you chances to teeter on the edge of death. Some chances, not even distance can save you from. Book three in the series: The Ghost

13. Chapter 12 - Stealing Fire

Day 158 – Feb. 17

After all these years of knowing the sarcastic little shit that is Jonathan Murphy, Myles would have never guessed she'd be where she is right now. One hand grips onto the bedsheets covered in her own dried blood that are braided with the bedsheets on Jasper's bed around the emergency rope from her pack. Her elbow presses awkwardly into her side from clutching onto the rope, keeping the pack slung over her head held securely to her ribs.

John Murphy is crushed into her other side, one of her arms wrapped around him tightly. His arm squeezes her to his side, the weapons in her braces pinching roughly into Myles' pale skin. They shift, Murphy anxiously adjusting his footing and causing them both to sway in the short windowsill. Both of their gazes are staring up at the material tied in a knot around the metal bar that frames the large window, the other end of the rope has been tied tightly around one of their legs each, trapping them together. The beam once made up the metal framework of a wall that was knocked out in favour of a luxurious window, but now it's their lifeline.

The pitch black night sky does no favours for them, the moonlight their eyes have adjusted to is only enough to see down the side of the forty-storey tower. Murphy gives one last forceful yank on the braided materials, testing its hold and Myles cringes. It's only a small movement, hardly a jolt, but it's enough for burning pain to erupt over her stitches. Dried blood from moving around clings to the stitches, every small movement causing the thick, dried gunk to pull at her stitches and her skin.

"You know what I just realised," Murphy states, looking from the knot that's tied to the beam down to the floor before finally glancing at Myles.

"That you're still stalling," Myles guesses, not playing into his game of trying to distract himself and put off what they're about to do.

Murphy tilts his head to the side, dark blue eyes looking exasperatedly at the redhead.

"Are you purposefully trying to emasculate me every time you say that," the brown-haired teen snarks, "or is it a symptom of your pride being hurt?" A red eyebrow quirks, and Murphy shrugs stiffly. "Just curious."

"Take a breath," Myles instructs, gently tapping the hand that's wrapped around him against his side to encourage him. "We're okay. We're only testing it."

"Yeah, well," Murphy scoffs, "testing it is immediately followed by jumping out of the window to plunge to our deaths, sorry if that doesn't fill me with enthusiasm." Murphy leans forward, looking down the long side of the Polis tower to see the ground. "If you listen closely, you can hear us hitting the ground allllll the way down there."

"Johnny," the red-haired teen appeals, dragging his attention away from looking at how high up they are. Dark blue eyes look at her hazel, flicking back up to the knot above them even though they're not relying on it yet. "I've done this before. We're gonna be fine."

"I know I spent the last twenty-four hours banging on that door," he responds dully, "but when I said 'I can't wait to get out of here', this isn't what I meant."

"I know," Myles patronises, trying to say anything to get them both out of this fucking room. "I'm proud of you."

"No," Murphy drawls out loudly, a dark, humourless smile across his face as he huffs a breath out his nose. "You have to be at least a level six friend to patronise me when we're hanging to our deaths."

"We're not hanging," the redhead corrects, a giggle erupting from her mouth.

"Yeah, laugh at me," the brown-haired teen mutters, scoffing bitterly. "It's not like I'm only doing this because you're my only friend."

"I am not," Myles refuses, flicking her hazel eyes between his two dark blue to check if he's joking.

"There has never been," Murphy doubles down, staring at her deathly serious. "And probably will never be anyone who I trust to hang out of a fucking window to our deaths with."

"You have Emori," the red-haired teen reminds him, lifting her eyebrows in a worried frown. Murphy does a double take to look at her like she's so stupid it amazes him. His face is holding a deeply insulting, condescending look that only the teen in front of her could manage. "Girlfriend has friend in it. That counts."

"If you are friend-zoning me for my girlfriend," Murphy threatens, "I am going to throw you out the damn window."

"I'm not friend-zoning you for Emori," Myles assures through an amused, carefree chuckle. "We've got this." Her laughing tone dies out seriously, her hazel eyes staring imploringly into Murphy's eyes to convey her sincerity. "There's no one in the universe I have more faith in than you." An old look of gratitude and admiration that Myles has seen in his dark blue eyes before swirls around carelessly. It's a look she's seen ever since she started slipping his family supplies, and it reminds her of how far this boy has come. "We're survivors. You and I are like cockroaches, we're bastards to kill." Murphy scoffs a laugh, smirking to himself and looking up at the knot. "A little drop has nothing on us."

"A litt - ?" Murphy repeats, leaning over the windowsill to look down again. "That's a hundred floor drop!"

"It's only, like," the redhead defends, and the Arker looks back at her, "forty floors."

"That's thirty-nine floors too many," the brown-haired teen remarks surely.

"Good," Myles tries, jumping on his words. "Then it's a good thing we only need to go down one floor."

"Yeah," Murphy retorts sarcastically, "good thing."

"Hey," the red-haired teen taps his side again, trying to get him to look at her. "We got this. How badass will it sound to Emori when you tell her you scaled the outside of Polis."

Murphy looks over the edge again, shifting his grip on the rope and looking back up at the knot on the metal bar.

"If we survive," Murphy drawls out morosely, "and you tell anyone that I was anything other than a badass, I'll gut you."

"I won't," Myles promises, lifting her legs to take her weight off of them. The sudden weight the rope has to hold up makes them sway rigidly as Murphy hesitates again. "It's just a test."

Reluctantly, Murphy takes his weight off his legs one by one, relying wholly on their grip on the rope to hold them up. Searing, white hot pain burns from Myles' stitched up bullet wound and spreads across her side at the straining position. Their arms shake on the rope, but their tight grips on it remain strong. It holds, letting them swing slightly from the weight shift and keeping them completely off of the floor. The extra length of braided bedsheets hangs down in a large hoop, grazing the floor beneath them.

Murphy shakily hums a disappointed sound as Myles tugs on the rope, triple checking the beam's sturdiness. The fabric rubs roughly around their wrists, their thighs and their backs, leaving behind angry red marks. About a metre and a half of extra length hangs under them, only enough to allow them to reach the window below. This keeps the reliance of holding their weight on the rope wrapped around their thighs, their wrists and around their backs, rubbing the skin there raw. Their ankles are spared from these small burns, the extra length allowing the end of the braided rope to sit comfortably around them.

The contraption works, and relief floods Myles' senses, knowing that they won't stay stuck in this room for any longer. They're halfway done, all they need to do is repeat this, but out the window.

"Good," Myles strains out, looking from the metal bar to Murphy's pale face. He's still staring up, and the redhead reaches a foot to the ground to pick up her weight. "See?"

"I was kinda hoping it wouldn't work," Murphy mutters once his boots touch the floor. Myles sighs, leaning over to sit on the short windowsill with her legs hanging down and looking back at Murphy. He pauses, yanking on the rope once more before trudging onto the windowsill. "At least if we fall, we'll die."

"We'll be fine," the redhead states again, flicking the extra length of the rope over the ledge.

Murphy slinks down beside her while Myles tugs tight the rope wrapped around their bodies. Pressing themselves close together, they wrap an arm around the other again. The brown-haired teen keeps his arm and wrist wrapped around the rope above Myles' grip, carrying most of their weight. His arms jitter, wobbling to make sure they're both secured and ready to go. Dark blue eyes glance down at the hideous drop beneath their legs.

"Whoo," the brown-haired teen huffs out, looking at the girl who's crushed to his side before looking up at the knot again. "Okay. Okay. Tell me how we're doing this again. One foot, then hand, yeah?"

"Yup," Myles agrees, trying to make her voice sound light and confident to counteract the nerves the boy beside her oozes. "The rope will keep us close to the wall, that's what we want. Step down a little bit at a time, then let the hand inch down a little bit. Never let go."

"Never let go," Murphy echoes, his words dripping with sarcasm. "You really think that'll be a problem?"

"We're okay," the redhead reminds him, nodding and remaining calm. "I'm holding below you, so if your hand slips, I'm the failsafe to hold us up while you get your grip again."

"Yeah," the brown-haired teen shrugs rigidly, "yeah. That simple, huh?"

"You ready?" Myles asks, keeping her grip tight and strong.

"No," Murphy replies, his tone hard and obvious. "I just push off?"

"Just push off," the redhead reassures, "we've got this."

"Okay," he pants, leaning forward, "okay. Okay."

A scraping on the double doors to the Skaikru ambassador's room halts them, both of their heads whirling around to stare at the noise. After a beat of hearing a metal rod dragging against the door, the two handles tilt down and the doors open. Clarke and Lexa strut into the room, the blonde's expression falling when she doesn't see anyone on the bed across from the door.

"Oh, thank god," Murphy huffs in relief, and both lovers snap their heads to them.

"What the hell are you doing?" Clarke exclaims, rushing forward as Murphy scoots off the windowsill, hopping on the floor to free his leg from the rope.

"The door was locked," Myles answers, turning to face them and lifting her legs to dangle them into the room with a pained cringe on her delicate features.

"Are you kidding me?" Clarke raises her voice, her expression pinched in frustration. Her hands stop Myles from leaning forward to untie the rope around her leg, her blue eyes levelling a pointed glare into the redhead's hazel eyes. Flicking down her frustrated gaze, Clarke's gentle hands pull up her shirt to check her wound. "You could've torn your stitches. It wasn't through and through, I had to dig the bullet out. You could've done internal damage. You don't have much more blood to lose."

"That makes it more fun," Myles quips, furrowing her eyebrows mockingly and locking her gaze on Lexa's amused yet reserved brown eyes.

The darkness that swells in the Commander's tired eyes strikes Myles, the pit of dread sitting heavy in her gut getting heavier at the sight.

"Apparently," Murphy drawls, stepping away as the rope they'd tied around his leg comes loose. His hands chuck the material to the ground, taking another couple steps towards the door. Stopping and turning his body to face the Arker's, Murphy lifts his arms in a shrug. "It's 'recklessly tempting death' in self-loathing time."

"You popped three stitches," Clarke lectures, standing over the red-haired teen in the windowsill. "You need to – "

"You need to listen to your radio," Myles counters, looking away from the eerily silent Commander to look up at her blonde friend as she cuts her off. "We need to go. Like, two hours ago."

"Go?" Clarke echoes in confusion, her hands stilling before pulling away from her friend entirely. "What happened?"

"Pike is an asshole," Murphy reminds them all, his tone bland, "with an obsession for anarchy."

"Marcus and Sinclair were arrested," the redhead relays with urgency, stirring into action. Myles pulls herself up gingerly with a pained grunt and a hand on the metal bar framing the window. Clarke's hands shoot out to steady her, trying to take all the strain off her injuries for her. "Pike shot the men who delivered the terms."

Clarke freezes, her body stiffening as her wide, frightened eyes snap to Lexa. The Commander has her head tilted back, a strange, disheartened look of apathy in her brown eyes that leaves a sense of foreboding hanging in the air. Nausea swims and swirls in the redhead's gut, her weak and pained body struggling to not get overwhelmed by the heavy sense of loss stuck in her throat.

Queries flash through Myles' mind, each one getting lodged in her throat and never reaching her lips. Murphy switches his weight from one foot to the other, his posture falling at the exchange.

"We still can't leave…" Murphy's dull voice enquires slowly, "can we?"

"Titus' trial is at sunup," Lexa announces stoically, locking eyes with the scruffy brown-haired teen.

"Wait," Myles blurts out in shock, getting the Commander's attention again. "He's still alive?"

"We've had our own problems here," Clarke informs her, her words snipped with tired frustration. "He's the only Flamekeeper."

"Being without a spiritual advisor leaves Polis," the Commander reveals, her soft words slipping past her regretful lips. "And my reign weak. Weaker than the peac – "

"Weaker than the peace we've fought to uphold does," the red-haired teen finishes for her, the young woman's usual slow-paced words weighed down by controlled emotions.

"The crimes Titus stands charged against," Lexa tells them, looking between Murphy and Myles with a tired look. "Isn't only against my authority, it's against your lives. I ask for you both to be present for the trial, but Murphy kom Skaikru is free to leave, if you wish." Dark blue eyes immediately snap to the two Arker girls, a nervous hesitance in his gaze. "I am afraid, Myles, that I must ask you to stay. The sway of Wanheda is large, and without the protection of a Flamekeeper…"

"Look, Lexa," Myles starts, but Clarke interjects, shaking her head with her eyebrows worried.

"You're in no condition to stop Pike and his army," the blonde scolds, staring at the pale and clammy redhead. "Jasper, Finn and Octavia can handle it." Disbelieving hazel eyes look away from her friend, staring at the ground and bringing a hand up to rub her aching temples. "If they need more hands for the plan, they have Ray and the resistors inside. They'll be fine."

Hazel eyes swivel back to the Commander a moment after Clarke finishes, blood red eyebrows pulled up in a worried frown.

"You know everything I've done to work alongside you," the red-haired teen laments, "to be your friend, to protect you and your people, even against mine." Her eyes flick downwards as her rosy lips open and close silently, her words leaving her for a second. "I don't know what I can do here that'll help. If you want me here for the trial, then of course I'll sit in, but I don't know how to help you more than your guards can."

"I no longer know who here I can trust," the Commander divulges in an airy whisper, her eyebrows raising. "All I know is I can trust you and I can trust Clarke."

Myles' eyes find the floor again, her resolve cracking. Her thought process is shaken, and they're trapped once again. The redhead nods her reluctant head twice, lifting her slow and apologetic gaze to Murphy.

"If you stay for the trial," Myles offers softly, shaking her head in small movements as her mind whizzes through what to do. "I'll give you the map so once I'm done here, we can meet and find Emori."

"Don't bother," Murphy grumbles out, feigning disinterest and tapping one of his hands on the other before raising one to rub his nose. "I'm with you. I haven't made any terrible decisions lately. I'm starting to get bored."

"Thank you," Clarke tells him, her voice soft with pleasant surprise.

"I appreciate your understanding and your support," Lexa addresses Murphy. The brown-haired teen takes a step back, shrugging and fidgeting on his feet. Myles reaches a weak hand to her loose belt, pulling her walkie-talkie off the clip as Clarke's kind hands continue to help steady her. "I wish for you to know I will not let what Titus did to you be minimised or overlooked. You will get justice, Murphy kom Skaikru."

"Justice is overrated," the exhausted brown-haired teen drawls out. His dark blue eyes look down at his hands as the redhead brings the walkie to her mouth to call for her best friend. "Lasted this long without it, why waste my time with a fairytale now?"

"JJ?" Myles talks into the walkie, lifting her finger off the transmit button to share a sad look with Murphy at his words. Silence is all that answers her. "JJ."

"I thought I gave my people justice," the Commander discloses. "That the Commanders before me brought them justice, but I have learned justice is not vengeance, and you cannot have peace without justice."

"Anyone read me?" Myles asks, lifting her finger off the button again to look at Clarke with a worn down expression.

If they can't reach any of their friends, they'll keep waiting for help that won't arrive.

"Why isn't he answering?" Murphy enquires, a stormy look in his dark blue eyes as he furrows his eyebrows.

"No one's home," Clarke answers, before trying to reassure the red-haired teen whose anxiety continues to climb. "They'll figure it out. It's why we had all those plans, right? They'll be just fine."

Taking a deep breath in, Myles cuts it off suddenly when pain explodes in her abdomen from the gunshot wound.

"So," Myles starts, clipping her walkie back onto her loose belt and limping towards the Commander and Murphy. "You got any idea how you want to pursue this? With Titus?"

"Traitors in the villages get Death by a Thousand Cuts," the Commander describes, "and then they're fed to the bugs. Traitors against the Commander… it's customary to start with fire. Take their hands, tongues and eyes before starting the cuts." Murphy pales, shifting on his feet with bubbling anxiety. Lexa's brown eyes flick up to Myles' and the redhead recognises the look in her gaze; she's looking for validation. "But that doesn't invoke the peace we've fought for, does it?"

A small smiles touches the redhead's rosy lips, huffing a relieved breath out of her nose as the other two Arkers relax.

"No," Myles agrees, "it sure doesn't."

"We can't just banish him," Clarke announces, her tone unsure as her eyes switch between them. "It worked for Emerson, but it won't for him."

"It will if he knows what we swapped it for," Murphy asserts, rubbing his nose in a quick motion that betrays his confident words. "Fiery mutilation isn't exactly a very modest death for someone that self-righteous."

"I don't know," the red-haired teen mumbles slowly, quirking a red eyebrow. "I think he'd be too ashamed of dishonouring you. He wouldn't dare touch clan lands again."

"No sense worrying about it now," Lexa sighs, "the council still needs to be convened. It will be decided tomorrow." The young woman's brown eyes lock on Clarke's, having a conversation that seems too loud to come from a wordless exchange. Dark blue eyes watch the interaction curiously, before sharing an amused look with Myles. After a short moment, whatever reminder she was getting from her blonde-haired girlfriend prompts her to continue. "Being without a Flamekeeper does not only affect my spirit, but that of my Natblida. I have organised a training exercise for tomorrow to prepare them for what may be to come. Tonight, we will have dinner, to calm the uncertainty."

"Food?" Murphy inquires, already turning to gesture towards the doors. "I'm in."

There haven't been many times Myles has had the honour of sitting at the Commander's large table with so many people present. Lexa sits at the head of the table, Aden on one side and Clarke on the other. The Nightbloods sit together down one side, Murphy and Myles sit beside Clarke across from them. Around them are the handful of the clans highest ranked chieftains that make up the war council. Myles is glad to have gotten rid of the grey long-sleeved shirt covered in her blood, feeling a lot more comfortable in fresh clothes that don't crackle and tug on her wound with every movement. Myles pushes up the long sleeves of her faded light green shirt to expose her thin wrists, and leans forward to continue eating.

An array of food lays down the centre of the table, beautiful smells of cooked and seasoned meats and vegetables wafting through the air. Freshly baked bread, plain and oat, and others with nuts and fruit release a heavenly aroma that spills into the hallway. Candlelight flickers across shiny fruit, casting dark shadows in the bowls of soup across the table. Pitchers of juice, water, and alcohol keep the guests entertained, people reaching to grasp one and pass it down regularly.

Carefree chatter is as deafening as the sound of knives scraping against the flat, scorched clay plates holding their meals. Murphy's relaxed posture tenses every time Firo, a council member raised in Shallow Valley, talks to him. Even though it takes him by surprise, Murphy responds as if it doesn't. Leaning over her plate to look at the man on the other side of Murphy, Myles smiles despite the booming pain the movement incites inside of her.

"You only say that," Myles teases, "because you're happy you're not sitting next to Jasper."

"Rah!" Firo exclaims in amusement, pointing his knife at the redhead. The 'Y' shaped tattoo on his forehead crinkles as his eyebrows raise in a joking manner. "He smells the same." Murphy huffs a laugh, coughing to avoid choking on the food he's still chewing. The black-haired man with braids of red fabric matted into his long hair taps Murphy's shoulder, leaning over towards him. "I thank the spirits of the Commanders for you not talking the same."

"Nah," the brown-haired teen drawls with a smirk, swallowing his mouthful and prodding his food. "He's good."

"Good at talking," Myles quips, placing her flat, two-pronged fork down to pick up her cup of wine and lean back in her seat. "Don't lie, you miss him a lot."

"I don't miss him chugging all our wine," Firo boasts, and Murphy's body rocks as he chuckles to himself.

His dark blue eyes look up at the Commander on Myles' left, and his hand places his fork down to tap on the redhead's shoulder. Myles hums into her cup of wine in acknowledgment, bringing the cup back down to pay attention to her friend. Murphy gestures lazily at the Commander with his knife, and her hazel eyes turn to look at the head of the table.

Lexa is standing, pouring a dark orange juice into the Nightbloods cups to refill them, her soft smile and loving words showering them. It's a wholesome sight, a perfect example of the Commander's relationship with the children. The Commander sits back down, the smile never once leaving her soft features as she looks to Clarke. When she speaks to the blonde, her bright eyes radiate warmth, before turning back to the children with unconditional love.

"She's like their mother," Murphy murmurs, leaning close to Myles to keep their conversation private.

"She raised them," Myles whispers back, leaning to Murphy to utter the words. "When a Nightblood child is found, they're brought here, to the Capitol, to train to become the next Commander."

"Mm," the brown-haired teen grunts, fascinated by the exchange. "So much for the bloodthirsty, barbaric warriors we expected, huh?"

Hazel eyes lock on his dark blue, "there are no good guys, Johnny. Only survivors tell the story."

Myles' hand rubs across her forehead, tired hazel eyes staring at the Commander sitting across from her. The first few rays of sunlight pour in through the window of the throne room, illuminating the low table they sit at in a soft, dull glow. She's slouched in the wooden chair she sits on across from Lexa and her girlfriend, the hand against her forehead propped up by the elbow on her armrest.

Murphy mirrors her position in a chair about a metre to her left, but his posture is even more careless than the redhead's. Reclined almost flat, Murphy lies across his seat diagonally with his arms crossed on top of his chest. He takes a deep breath in, his whole body lifting with the motion as he recognises the second the words leave Clarke's mouth that it won't work.

"They will not accept a mere flogging," Lexa's booming voice denounces, "not for this."

They've been at this for a while, trying to make sure they don't come to the war council with a plea for mercy without adequate options for a replacement punishment. Murphy, even though spared of having to sit through many of these over the last three months, has immediately figured out exactly how draining it is. Appeals to humanity should be enough, but it's not; not in a society where Capital Punishment has been the norm since the war two-hundred years ago.

"The other ones are public, right?" Murphy offers, bored, "so make it public."

"Instead of everyone here getting a chance with the knife," Myles adds, "let them flog him, then banish him."

"They will demand something more permanent," the Commander refuses, "than a flogging."

"If it's in the same spot," Clarke tries, "it'll break the skin and scar."

"It's something," the red-haired teen amends when Lexa stays silent, Myles' dejected tone betraying her optimistic words.

A shrill female's voice echoing screeched screams drags their attention to the throne room doors, Murphy and Myles craning their necks. Lexa shoots up from her seat, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. The Commander walks to the strip of red carpet that lines the floor from the doors to her throne, Clarke following at her heels. Myles stands gingerly, an unsettling, heavy sense of foreboding plaguing her senses. Murphy hesitates, straightening and flicking his gaze across the other three before rising from his seat.

"What's happening?" Clarke asks, snapping her eyes from her girlfriend to the doors.

"I don't know," the Commander supplies slowly, her tone low in anticipation for whatever is coming from down the hall.

After a moment more of a girl shrieking wordlessly, the throne room doors burst open. Two guards drag in a screaming woman covered in black blood, their strong grips holding onto the struggling woman. She flails under their hands, her movements becoming purposeful and controlled when her brown eyes land on the Commander. An expression that Myles can only describe as hunger twists up her features, and the redhead recognises her through the blood.

It's Ontari, the Nightblood Azgeda had hidden and trained. She's dripping in thick, wet black blood, the tan coloured sack tied around her waist smeared with it. Myles' heart pumps hard and fast, stepping forward once in shock with her gaze glued on Ontari thrashing violently. Ontari tries to wrench her arms away from the guards again, and, this time, they let her.

"Chit dison bilaik?" Lexa's hard and authoritative voice bellows, unfazed brown eyes watching Ontari fall to her knees when the guards let her arms slip loose. [AN: "What is this?"]

A large, dark smile breaks across the blood-covered young woman's face. Black blood covered hands grasp the sack around her waist while she stands, determined hands slipping with the fresh blood. The knot in the material comes loose, and Ontari dumps the contents on the floor.

Myles freezes, her blood running cold and heart freezing before thundering in her chest. Hazel eyes can do nothing but follow the pale and lifeless severed heads as they land on the floor with a wet thud and roll towards the Commander's feet. They're the severed heads of all seven Nightblood children Lexa has raised and trained. Clarke reaches for Lexa, steadying the Commander who's trying desperately to collect herself from the shock.

"Yu nou ste rein fleimon-de," Ontari declares, her loud voice bouncing off the walls. Lexa's hardened and enraged brown eyes flick up from the heads of the children she cared for and loved as her own. "Yu nokoma klin osir komfon ogeda. Ai gada in throudon yu, en yu na slip daun thau yu Fleimkepa." [AN: "You are not worthy of the Flame. You disgrace our ancestors. I challenge you, and you will fall without your Flamekeeper."]

"Actually," Myles interjects when Lexa's nostrils only flare and her chest heaves. She speaks in English for the sake of the terribly confused Arker standing beside her nervously, not able to understand a word being thrown around. Ontari's disinterested and power-hungry brown eyes turn to her, her frightening glare intensifying. "You have to be an ambassador or a delegate to challenge the Commander."

"You," the black-haired woman growls, her features twisting up in fury.

The Azgedian charges forward and Myles doesn't flinch away, instead her hazel eyes watch as the guards snatch her arms and yank her back to the carpet. Their hands stay on her, forcing the woman to stop fighting. Her chest heaves with rapid breaths and her dark brown eyes are set ablaze.

"You're neither," Myles finishes pointedly, causing Ontari to wrench an arm free from the guards.

"The Order of the Flame," Ontari continues, scoffing a mocking laugh at the redhead and looking back to the Commander. "Knew you were weak when you started abolishing our ways. Dishonouring the traditions we hold dear for our survival." A burst of dark laughter bubbles from Ontari's throat, "you have no Fleimkepa. There is no one to stop me from killing you and taking your place. You have no Spiritual Order."

"Yes, she does," Myles refutes, lying through her teeth and stalking towards them at an obnoxious pace.

"Oh?" Ontari taunts, laughing and turning her body towards the red-haired teen. "You and Clarke could never become Fleimkepa, Wanheda. No Skaikru ever could."

"She wasn't talking about her or Clarke," Murphy's even voice pipes up, sauntering forward to stand between Lexa and Myles. "She's talking about me."

"And who are you?" The Azgedian sneers, bitterness twisting up her face to cover her shock from his words.

"Ai Fleimkepa," Lexa confirms, easily following the lie in a low rumble even as her voice shakes. "And you will respect him in this chamber. Guards!" Immediately, the guards swarm Ontari, but the young woman fights them, thrashing and shrieking. "Lok em daun!" [AN: "My Flamekeeper." "Lock her up!"]

Yanking her back towards the throne room doors, Ontari kicks and screams, trying to throw herself loose from their grip.

"Ai na frag yo op!" Ontari hollers, her voice and screeches disappearing down the hall. "En ai na laik fousen Heda!"[AN: "I will kill you! And I will be the rightful Commander!"]

Lexa looks to Myles when Ontari's shrieking reaches the staircase and they drag her down. The hard, detached look in the Commander's eyes remains, even after the throne room doors swing shut and the Azgedian's voice disappears down the stairs.

"We'll be having an execution today after all," Lexa declares quietly, switching her gaze to the severed heads on the floor and falling to her knees.

Murphy shifts on his feet behind Myles, all three Arker's standing close to the throne where Lexa sits. Clarke has a hand on her arm, but Myles and Murphy only stick close to offer the grief-stricken young woman comfort. Hazel eyes glance around the pitying and grieving faces of the council members sitting around the room. It doesn't take more than a moment for her gaze to get stuck on the same place Lexa's is.

The guards had cleaned up where the children's heads had fallen. Only smears of black blood leaving a vague trail in the hallway to the throne room remain, mocking them. Instead of a physical reminder of what was on the floor in front of them two hours ago, there's only a memory that will haunt them all. Those children were sweet and innocent, they were young and deserving of a fate that bears no resemblance to the one they got.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, the red-haired teen can't stop the soft groan that slips from her throat. The longer she's on her feet, the more pain she's in. It's been getting worse at a steady and relentless pace, the day's events not allowing her a moment to recuperate. Myles is still lightheaded from blood loss, the increasing pain making her dizzy mind swim. Her head pounds, as if the silence in the room is being beaten into her skull.

"What's taking so damn long?" Myles mutters, her pain making her irritable.

"You should sit down," Clarke instructs softly, "you're really pale."

"That isn't what I asked," the redhead retorts, bringing a hand up to her head and licking her dry lips.

"Sit down," Murphy orders, his tone lacking the gentleness the blonde's held. Hazel eyes look at him for a fight, finding his expression soft with concern and not matching his hard voice. Slowly releasing her breath, Myles relents, carefully inching herself to sit on the ground beside Lexa's throne, feeling Murphy's hands guide her down. "I didn't mean here."

"Wha – you said sit," Myles blurts in genuine confusion, hearing the Commander breathe out a small breath harshly.

Footsteps march down the hallway and towards the throne room, not faltering in their steady pace. The guards at the doors push them open when they approach, inviting the two men to walk in empty handed.

"What is this?" Lexa's rumbles, vibrating with anger and frustration.

"Titus kom Trikru is dead," one of them announces loudly, shocking the room.

Whispers and murmurs flutter through the council, Murphy's 'son of a bitch' getting lost in the commotion.

"How?" The Commander asks accusingly, causing everyone in the room to fall silent again.

"Slit his own throat," the other answers without hesitating, and Lexa allows herself to look shocked.

"Are you sure?" Lexa verifies, her tone low and confident as she collects her composure.

"Sha, Heda," one replies while the other nods, maintaining their attentive and respectful demeanours. [AN: "Yes, Commander."]

"Lid in Ontari kom Azgedakru," the Commander orders in a detached voice, and the two warriors turn to do as asked. [AN: "Bring in Ontari of the Ice Nation People."]

Myles' tired mind is still foggy from blood loss and pain, the conversation taking a moment for her to fully grasp an understanding of.

"Damn," Myles whispers, shocked.

"It's not the first death of the day," Lexa utters back, stone cold, "and it won't be the last."

"Can we abandon the peace thing," the red-haired teen implores with furrowed eyebrows. "Just for her? I say we do all Capital Punishments in one."

"Gee, letting her off that easy, huh?" Murphy quips dully, and the redhead rolls her head to look at him.

"Oh, come on," Myles urges, quirking her red eyebrows sarcastically. "You're not – "

"Aggie, Clarke," Finn Collins' frantic voice crackles over the radio. The quality dips a couple times as he positions the antenna in the right direction for the time of day. "If you can hear me, come in."

"Yeah," Myles answers after hastily unclipping the device, feeling a familiar heavy knot twist deep in her gut. "What's happened?"

"Where the hell are you?" Finn demands, his voice coming out rushed and panicked.

"Polis," the redhead replies, his frantic words making her own speed up. "We got held up. What the hell happened?"

"All the prisoners in lock-up were sentenced to death," Finn's fast voice reports. Myles' hand holding the walkie-talkie falls away from her face slowly in shock. "All the sick grounders, Kane, Sinclair, Lincoln." Wide hazel eyes look up, locking instantly on the Commander's worried brown and Clarke's terrified blue. "We're trying to break them out, but we need help. How soon can you get here?"

"Go," Lexa commands them, looking from Clarke to the two Arker's on her left and nodding in assurance. Murphy and Clarke's hands are already reaching to help pull Myles up before the Commander can finish. "I will handle the trial. Go save your people."

"We're on our way now."

Myles has her teeth clenched so hard that the muscles of her cheeks, jaw and throat quiver. A groan shakes the tense muscles when rover five jolts as it goes over a large tree root on the trail in front of them. Hazel eyes slip closed for a brief second, before opening again to guide Clarke. Her mind swims, blurring the bright green surrounding the uneven terrain Clarke floors the rover through. Even though she's in pain and has lost a lot of blood, Myles' tired, stressed, and foggy mind still recognises the path they take. Hints of tire tracks provide a calming validation to the redhead's recollection, letting her know they're still going the right way.

The rover loses some of its speed, making the red-haired teen roll her head to look at the steering wheel. Myles curses under her breath when she hears the sound that's been the bane of her and Jasper's existence for the last few months. The rover splutters, a strange whirring sound rumbling through it and a tired sigh pours from Myles' nostrils.

"It's okay," the red-haired teen mutters, gingerly pulling herself to sit up. "We knew it was gonna happen."

"What do I do now?" Clarke asks, furrowed blonde eyebrows and wide blue eyes glancing from the dashboard to her feet.

"Take your feet off the pedals and pull up the handbrake," Myles explains, twisting around to look at Murphy and reach a hand out. "Nothing else will work on a flat battery. Can you pass me the pack?"

"You can't lift it," Murphy refuses, already walking to the back doors and carrying the heavy charger with him.

Huffing to herself, Myles opens the door and slides out, scrunching her face up at the pain the movement blinds her with. She hadn't bothered with her seatbelt or the weapon brace that goes around her waist, her abdomen far too sore to even consider the notion.

"No, I'll do it," Clarke offers quickly, unclipping one of the only two seatbelts in the vehicle.

"It's easier if I do it," the redhead waves off, waddling to the hood of the rover and facing it as Murphy walks up beside her.

Reaching a hand under the little lip on the hood, Myles' pale, slender fingers reach for the knob that locks it shut. Clicking it open, the red-haired teen starts to pull up the metal covering. Pain burns in her stomach, making her stop and lean over the bullbar for support.

"I got it," Murphy takes over, picking it up and holding it up with ease. "What do I do?"

Hazel eyes look up, bringing a hand out to pull up the thin metal rod tucked to the side of the hood. Sliding it up, Myles moves it to catch the hook at the end in a hole in the hood, letting the rod hold the metal up for them.

"Can you put the pack up here?" Myles requests, looking down at it on the ground.

"Yeah," the brown-haired teen replies, bending down to pick it back up and swing it to drop on the bullbar.

Reaching over, Myles unzips the front of the pack, reaching in and flicking three switches. Once they're in the right order, she twists the knob and presses on the button to start the charger. The heavy box makes a soft, high-pitched whirring sound and rattles, gently vibrating on the bullbar. With it on, the redhead pulls off the cylindrical plug that's attached to a thin metal hose and clipped onto the side of the charger. Holding it in one hand, the other flicks the locks on the battery in the rover. After unlocking it, the cap that protects the port slides away, and Myles presses the plug into it.

The sound the charger makes changes, becoming a quiet, dull thumping noise as the shaking intensifies. Myles leans forward, keeping one hand holding the cylindrical plug in the charging port and the other on the bullbar for support. Hazel eyes stare at the dial on the charging pack wearily, watching the already small number deplete.

"How long does this last?" Murphy enquires, holding the vibrating charger on the rover.

"The charging or the battery?" Myles questions back, looking to him.

"Both," the brown-haired teen amends, intrigued dark blue eyes scanning the mechanical interior of the rover.

"It won't take long to drain the charger," the redhead shrugs. "Two minutes maybe? It'll be enough to get us to Arkadia with a little to spare. Let's hope JJ's has more charge left in it."

"…all clear in Corridor F," the chatter comes over the radio. "Advancing south to Mess Hall."

They've been listening since they got within range, patiently waiting to hear the commotion that's happening and devise what plan of action to take. Hazel eyes are preoccupied, leaning forward in her seat to make sure Clarke parks the rover somewhere that won't give away the position of the cave.

"Corridor B is clear," another voice talks, "no sign of the intruders."

"A little bit further," Myles instructs quietly, "slowly get her into the bush." Clarke does as told, slowly inching the rover into the discreet position they want. Once the rover is exactly where the redhead is comfortable leaving it, she nods, looking to her blonde-haired friend with a proud smile. "Perfect. Told you you'd pick it up quick."

"It's amazing," Clarke gushes, turning the rover off. "Why did I put it off for so long?"

Myles opens her door with a smile, sliding out carefully and hearing her two friends press their doors shut. Copying their quiet actions, Myles slinks forward with purposefully silent steps. She keeps her hand over her walkie to hush the chatter on the radio from the Ark guardsmen, feeling it buzz from muffled words under her fingers. Swerving around a bend and ducking under a low rocky ledge leads the redhead to a large cave system. Slowing down to make sure Clarke and Murphy are following her, Myles continues forward to follow the soft gold dancing glow of a small fire.

A quick, soft sound rustles a second before Indra steps into view. The warrior's stance holds the self-respect the woman felt she lost on the field where Chancellor Pike and his men gunned down her army. Her right arm is in a sling, protecting it from being overused or being immediately within reach for an attacker to use to their advantage.

"Snap kom dalop, nami?" Indra's hard voice greets them, but her dark brown eyes don't harbour the animosity her words suggest. [AN: "Took you long enough."]

"Ah," Myles tsks, relaxing her approach now that she knows the cave is clear and safe. "I like to think of it as fashionably late."

"Aggie?" Bellamy calls, and the echoing sound of chains rattling drags her further into the cave out of intrigue. Rounding the rock wall Indra stepped out from, Myles sees Bellamy Blake is sitting on the cave floor. Chained to the rock, desperation is clear in his deep brown eyes and urgent voice. "Aggie, thank god. Unchain me, I can help."

"Would you look at that?" Murphy drawls out in amusement, coming to stand beside Myles when she raises a delicate red eyebrow at Indra. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Shut up, Murphy," Bellamy snaps, frustrated.

"Why is he chained to the wall?" Myles asks Indra, looking at her seriously and without a shred of doubt in her voice, knowing she has a reason for it.

"Mess Hall is clear," a voice crackles out from the walkie-talkie on Myles' loose belt. "Holding positions."

"He's been helping us from the inside," Clarke defends, her strong voice drowning out the voices coming from the radio. "He's on our side."

"I don't trust him," Indra informs them sternly, her dark brown eyes boring into the man.

Myles lowers her hazel eyes, understanding the reason he's here is Octavia wanted him out of Arkadia. Here, he's out of harm's way, and it eliminates the possibility of their plan somehow reaching Pike. In order for them all to be safe, he has to stay here. In order for Indra to feel like she's doing something to help, in order for her to feel safe with him, he has to be restrained and guarded.

"Aggie," Bellamy pleads, tilting his head to the side as he sees her accept the woman's answer. "It's a suicide mission. They've tripled security, he – "

"We know that," Myles cuts him off, locking her regretful hazel eyes on his. "My plan accounts for the guards to be quadrupled."

"Let me help," the curly dark brown-haired man begs, pulling on his chains. "If anything happens to – "

"If you think Myles or Jasper would let anything happen to Octavia," Murphy interjects seriously, "you deserve to be chained up."

"Where is Jasper?" Clarke panics, looking at Indra.

"Collecting the prisoners and guiding them out," Indra answers, looking to Clarke first before her gaze falls on Myles. "Plan S."

Myles tips her head back in acknowledgment, "with them all?"

"Yes," the dark-skinned woman confirms, "Jasper and Octavia are inside, handing them out. She's angry."

"Yeah," Myles huffs out, "I figured. Polis went on lockdown."

"Lockdown?" Bellamy echoes as Indra turns her head to the side, shock covering her sharp features.

"Chit don kom au?" Indra inquires, a tremble of uncertainty and fear in her tone. [AN: "What happened?"]

"Fleimkepa-de don bastab Heda in," the red-haired teen relays in a hushed tone, stepping close to the warrior. "Em don gouthru klin fou em sadon klin." Sparing a glance at the restless Blake brother, he's still tugging on his chains and looking at Myles like she's betraying him. Even though he can't understand her, Myles steps even closer to say the next words to give Lexa as much privacy as she can. "Natblida don flosh klin ogeda." Indra snaps her head to look at Myles, whipping her head to stare at Clarke and Murphy for verification. "Ontari kom Azgeda laik Natblida, em frag emo op ogeda disha sonop. Heda ste hed daun." [AN: "The Flamekeeper betrayed the Commander. He committed suicide before his trial." "All of the Nightbloods were killed. Ontari from the Ice Nation is a Nightblood, she killed them all this morning. The Commander grieves."]

Indra steps to the side in a daze, reaching her left hand out to a rocky wall of the cave to steady herself. Myles looks back at the other two sadly, and Bellamy catches both actions.

"What?" Bellamy quizzes, dread and fear in his voice as his hands still in their motions against the chains. "What happened?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Murphy snarks bitterly. "It's nothing that affects you."

"It will should – " Indra snaps in panic, stopping herself for a moment. "May Keryon kom Heda forbid it, if Lexa falls and an Azgeda Natblida becomes Commander… we're all doomed." [AN: "the Spirits of the Commanders."]

"That's why we were late," Clarke finishes softly, looking from a nervous Bellamy to Indra. "Without a Flamekeeper – "

The blonde stops, unable to finish her sentence out of fear that voicing it will make it come true.

"Unit Four," Chancellor Pike calls over the radio. "What's your status? Are the prisoners secure?" When only silence follows, hazel eyes flick between Clarke and Murphy's gazes. "Unit Four!"

"What if they haven't got them out yet?" Clarke frets, and her concerns reignite Bellamy's.

"Look," Bellamy pleads, "he trusts me. They have no idea I've been handing off information. I can help."

"Bell," Myles apologises, "I'm sorry." The Blake brother deflates, and Myles turns to Clarke. "If they haven't got them out, we go ahead with the backups."

"Medical," another voice crackles into the cave, "two guards down. Alpha Station corridor E. Need assistance now."

"Are you sure?" Bellamy's drained and begging voice enquires, his eyes only on Myles as the fight leaves him completely. "Are you sure it'll work?"

"She's Wanheda," Indra reminds him evenly, taking her hand off the wall to stand up straight, "the Ghost. You should know better than to doubt her."

"That's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say," Clarke mutters in astonishment, but a sad smile crosses Myles' face.

"Because you're leaving," Myles breathes, half of a sweet smile on her face and no trace of judgement in her voice.

"Leaving?" Clarke repeats in confusion, the sound of the chains rustling echoing sharply.

"No, you can't leave," Bellamy refuses in a flurry of panic. "O needs you."

"She doesn't need me," the warrior corrects him, reaching her left hand out to cross over both her body and Myles' to rest on the redhead's left shoulder. Myles copies the action, bringing up her right hand to rest gently on Indra's injured shoulder. It's a gesture she recognises as a show of great respect among high ranking warriors and chieftains, crossing an arm to rest a hand on the other's furthest shoulder. The redhead doesn't hesitate to mirror Indra's movement, appreciation shining on her delicate features. "She has Wanheda."

"Ride safely," Myles tells her kindly, the sad look in her eyes never leaving.

Indra claps the hand on Myles' shoulder down, before sliding it up to cup the back of her neck. The redhead copies the movement to cup the back of the woman's neck, and Indra leans her head forward.

"Hed emo op ogeda gon klirnes," Indra orders her, flicking her stern dark brown eyes between the teen's hazel. [AN: "Lead them all to safety."]

"Ai na, ai sis kom keryon," Myles replies, and Indra claps her hand on her shoulder once more before turning to leave. [AN: "I will, my sister of soul." This is Myles' way of returning Indra's compliment/approval.]

"So, you're leaving?" Murphy demands, shrugging obnoxiously. "Just like that?"

Indra stops walking to the cave's exit, turning to look back at him.

"I am a mother," Indra declares strongly, "the Commander grieves the loss of children. No one should ever understand that pain."

"There's something else you should know," Myles calls out before the woman can turn away again. Reluctant hazel eyes look up to the woman's dark brown, trying to think of a way to convey how heavily this affects Lexa. "They weren't just slaughtered. Their heads were delivered to her feet."

"Azgeda's cruelty knows no restraint," Indra grovels out when she recovers from the shock. "I will aid her as you've aided me."

With those last parting words, Indra turns, dashing out of the cave with a fierce determination in her strides. Myles watches after her until she's out of sight, then turns her attention back to the others in the room once the woman's steps are out of earshot.

"I didn't know she had kids," Bellamy says under his breath, and hazel eyes glide over to look at him.

He's not looking at them, his gaze instead focussed on the ground. Empathy cloaks his quiet and timid features, radiating off of him in heavy waves.

"We had dinner with them," Murphy utters, "they're good kids." Realising his mistake, he rubs his nose with one hand, a nervous habit of his, correcting himself in a detached, dark tone. "Were."

"Okay, S," Harper McIntyre's voice whispers in a rush through the walkie, "come in."

"Go ahead," Octavia answers, and red eyebrows furrow as Myles looks to Clarke and Murphy.

"S?" Bellamy inquires in confusion, talking over Harper's hushed voice. "Why are they using the radio?"

"Because we want the guards to hear them," Myles answers distractedly, trying to hear the dirty blonde-haired teen's words.

"Stay where you are," Harper instructs under their voices, "repeat. Stay where you are. The exit is not clear."

"This isn't part of the plan," Clarke frets, making Bellamy bristle.

"How many guards?" Octavia questions, and Myles talks over them to calm their nerves.

"They're improvising," Myles reasons, trying to quench the dread bubbling inside of her. "A distraction."

"Too many," Harper supplies immediately, "I said 'stay put'."

"Calling all guards," Monty Green, best friend to Myles and Jasper, interjects through the radio. "The prisoners are headed for the main gate."

Sparkling hazel eyes lock on Clarke's blue, "told you."

"The prisoners are headed for the main gate," Monty repeats hastily, "over."

"Unchain me," Bellamy implores them, breaking the quiet moment of relief that fills the air. "Bring me into the plan."

"They're already getting them out," Murphy restates. "Unless you want to become a magnet for Guard bullets, I don't see what you can do."

"I can help," the dark brown-haired man counters aggressively, his tone sure. "They can hand them off to me when they reach the fence."

"That's why you're here," Myles promises, drawing the Blake brother's attention. "This is the meeting place." Deep brown eyes soften, looking into the redhead's honest hazel. "We need someone to guard them here, and until they're all here, we need to make sure you don't go anywhere near Arkadia."

"If I knew that was the plan," Bellamy offers in a huff. "I wouldn't have fought back." Myles doesn't say anything, only sparing a hesitant glance at the other two Arkers. "I won't go anywhere."

Reluctantly, Myles' eyes flick back to his, no one making a move to unchain the young man.

"Team Two," a voice crackles out of the radio, "we're at the main gate. There's nothing here."

"Negative here," someone else confirms, "all clear."

"Do you think they made it?" Murphy enquires, a worried lilt to his dull tone as he shifts his weight from foot to foot anxiously.

"There's a small passageway," Myles reveals, "hidden in the wall in the Maintenance Bay off Corridor E. It's a straight shot under the fence. There's two more ways they could've gone, but it's a tighter squeeze and they come up before the fence-line."

"Old habits die hard, huh?" Murphy marvels, an amused smirk lifting up one side of his face.

"They said Corridor E was clear," Bellamy shakily recalls. Myles looks back at him in time to see his panicked deep brown eyes flick back up to hers from the floor. "They won't make it."

"They already have," the red-haired teen assures him, continuing when his stressed demeanour doesn't relax. "Plan S is for 'Stash'. They never left Corridor E."

"I have a message for the traitors in this camp," Chancellor Pike announces through the walkie-talkie. Myles' eyes leave Bellamy's, her red eyebrows furrowing as angst builds in her gut from his dark and ominous tone. "There will be an execution today." Worried hazel eyes turn to Clarke, both teens wearing matching expressions of fearful resolve. "Either turn yourselves in or the other grounder prisoners will die in your place."

"Fuck," Myles huffs out, already moving to the exit of the cave with her hand extended to Clarke. "Keys."

"Aggie, what are you doing?" Bellamy's fretful voice demands, panicked worry screaming through his uneven tone. Clarke hesitates for a moment, then pulls the keys from her pocket and tosses them to Myles with a worried frown. "You can't go in there, it's a suicide mission!"

"They'll turn themselves in," Myles declares urgently, catching the keys and turning on her heels to sprint out of the cave.

Adrenaline thumps through her veins, cloaking the ache and throbbing of her gunshot wound.

"For the record," Murphy drawls, following her and not staying with Clarke and Bellamy. "I hate this idea."

"Then stay with them," Myles counters, ducking under the rocky ledge they entered through, vaguely feeling her stitches tug.

Murphy doesn't, though, instead following her and matching her speedy pace.

"Nah," the brown-haired teen brushes off, "I hate it, but it's better than sitting with them and doing nothing."

"Good," the redhead agrees, skidding slightly as she abruptly slows her running down when they reach the rover. Looking over at Murphy and shaking the keys to get his attention, she tosses him the keys with a smile as she continues to the passenger door. "You can drive."

"You know," Murphy drawls, catching the keys and rounding the rover while Myles opens the passenger door and climbs in. "I'm starting to warm up to this idea." Murphy opens the driver's door, sitting in the seat and looking to Myles. "What do I do?"

"Put the key in the keyhole," the red-haired teen explains, leaning over and tapping the side of the steering wheel it's on. "Turn it as far right as it goes, then press the button on the top there."

Murphy does as instructed, neither teen worrying about a seatbelt. The rover rumbles to life, and a bright smile spreads across Murphy's face.

"Now what?" The excited brown-haired teen asks, looking to the redhead and resting his hands on the steering wheel.

"Push down on the last two pedals," Myles leans over to check he's doing it right, "the brake is the middle one and it won't go all the way down. Only use your right foot for the brake and accelerator. The far left is the clutch, once the clutch is all the way in, drag this," Myles shakes the gearstick, "into gear 1. Right here." Murphy does as she tells him and Myles takes off the handbrake for him. "Good. Now take your foot off the brake and slowly replace the foot on the clutch with the accelerator on the far right."

The rover revs up and moves forward, the bright smile never once leaving Murphy's face.

"When the rover makes an angry thunder sound," the redhead relays, "press the clutch down and shift up the gears one at a time." Levelling the teen with a pointed but soft look. "Push the accelerator to the floor and don't hit a tree."

"Here," Myles shouts, "stop!"

Murphy presses on the clutch and the brake, skidding the rover to a sudden stop. Myles and Murphy both get pushed forward from the sudden stop, and Myles is already opening her door.

"Twist the key towards you and pull it out," the redhead commands, slipping out of the rover.

As soon as her boots hit the grass and without shutting her door, Myles climbs onto the roof with pained grunts as cold rain softly spits on her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Murphy demands, the rover falling silent once he does as told. The teen slides out of the rover, looking up at his friend with a shocked expression on his face. "You're crazy."

"It's the fastest way in," Myles retorts, reaching up to grip the branch above her and pulling herself up onto it with a loud squawk of pain.

Despite the blinding pain that shoots through her, Myles doesn't stop or slow, knowing that the execution is happening now. Quickly shuffling across the branch and feeling it dip down as she steps on the thinning wood, the redhead hears Murphy climb on top of the rover and muttering curse words under his breath. When the branch looks too close to the electric fence for her comfort, Myles jumps forward.

The sense of her stomach rising to her throat as she falls is brought to a sudden and agonising end when she hits the ground. White completely cloaks her vision as her legs give out, making her stumble to her knees. Clambering forward to get to her feet again with her vision slowly coming back, the ringing in her ears finally registers. Leaning forward with a hand on her knees and the other wrapped around her abdomen, the ringing gradually fades to nothing but her pained and struggling, wet gasps.

A thump behind her and a hand on her back and arm tugs her forward, reminding her of the situation at hand. Swallowing around the lump of nausea in her throat, the redhead runs, allowing Murphy's hands to yank her along.

"You're okay," Murphy promises her breathlessly, "come on. Come on."

Looking up and willing herself to run faster, Myles looks around at the shocked faces of a handful of Arker's spread out over the grounds. They don't make a move to them, but the fact that not a single one of them is wearing a guard's uniform unsettles her. Slowing suddenly and reaching down to grab her spare, small pistol from her ankle strap, Myles straights again and hands it to Murphy. Murphy mutters something to her, but the redhead doesn't hear him.

The thick wave of adrenaline that pumps through her at the sight of a large circle of a gathered crowd coming into her view drowns out his words. Sprinting forward, hazel eyes dart around for where the commotion is stemming from. In front of Alpha Station, facing the small gate to the south-east of Arkadia, two guards push Lincoln forward. Pike stands in front of him with a dozen guardsmen behind him in solidarity, silently urging the Chancellor on.

Myles' whole abdomen burns, hot, thick liquid bubbling from her stitches that she can feel pull and tear with every movement. It doesn't just burn from the aggravated injuries, but the reminder that the weapons brace that wraps around her waist is still in Polis. She'd been way too sore to put the seatbelt around her in the rover, and even the thought of strapping weapons around her tender waist had sickened her. Adrenaline throbs in her veins, making the blood seeping from her wound taint her faded light green shirt speedily. The blood weighs her shirt down, joining the rain in making the material feel heavy on her shoulders.

They push Lincoln onto his knees in the wet dirt, the light rain muddying the ground and sloshing at his weight. Pike says something as the guards step back from Lincoln, and the reserved look his face, even from this far away, frightens Myles to her core. A guard behind Pike looks to the side, his eyes immediately falling on the two teens sprinting towards them through the soft rain. Clenching her teeth, Myles watches Pike raise his arm to point the pistol in his hand at Lincoln's head. Forcing her legs to go faster, Myles reaches both of her hands to her weapons straps on her loose belt.

Yanking out her knife in her right hand and her pistol in the left, the redhead grips them desperately. Myles swings her right hand out hard as the guardsmen yells and raises his rifle to the teens, thrusting her knife to the group. The blade leaves Myles' slender fingers and Murphy skids to a stop, yanking up his weapon. At the same time, the redhead's left hand brings her pistol up to catch it in her still outstretched right hand.

A bullet fires, but it's not from Myles, Murphy or any of the guards behind Pike.

"Stop!" The guardsmen who saw them bellows, pointing his rifle at the two of them as Pike's hand flies to the side. "Stop or we'll shoot!"

In the blink of an eye, all the guardsmen behind Pike have their guns trained on the two teens, and Myles slows to a jog, her boots slipping in the wet mud. Pike looks up at them, and Lincoln swings his head to the side, a gash across the side of his bald head dripping blood down to his ear.

"Back away from my friend," Myles orders, continuing forward and hearing Murphy follow hesitantly after her.

"Lower your weapons!" The guards shout over each other, all with their sights set on the two teens.

Myles keeps her gun trained on Pike, stepping forward to stand closer to Lincoln. Pike looks from the two teens to his right hand, the gun he held in it now flung to the ground from the force of the knife lodged deeply in his wrist. Red blood, the same shade of the stain quickly growing on Myles' shirt, pours thickly and rapidly from his almost severed wrist.

"Don't shoot!" Hannah Green yells to the guardsmen. "They're one of us!"

"Guards," Chancellor Pike orders, his voice thick, "arrest Miss Mylinski and Jonathan Murphy."

"Yes, sir," one replies instantly, and Myles moves her gun from Pike to shoot at the guardsman's feet when he steps forward.

As soon as they stop moving towards them, Myles moves her gun back to Pike. She finally stops, standing directly in front of Lincoln to protect him from the Chancellor. Murphy comes to a stop behind her, a step behind her and Lincoln, shifting on his feet in the mud.

"All I want," Myles relays seriously, "is for him and everyone in lock-up to walk out of those gates. Safely, and unharmed."

"You've seen what these people can do," Pike starts as one of his men wraps a tight tourniquet around his forearm and the redhead immediately interjects.

"I have," she agrees, "which is why I am advocating for them."

"They're murderers," the Chancellor argues, "they left our people to die in Mount Weather. They blew up our people in that same mountain."

"That wasn't Lincoln," Myles corrects him, a red eyebrow quirking, "it wasn't any of the grounders you've imprisoned."

"They're all the same," Pike counters, his tone so sure and intense that Myles understands why so many people bought into it.

"Myles," Lincoln calls from his spot kneeling on the ground behind her. "It's okay."

"No," Myles refuses, blinking heavily and lifting her eyebrows high as her mind swims with fogginess. "It's not."

"They'll kill them," the dark-skinned man pleads quietly, and Murphy shifts on his feet, the mud smacking and sloshing under his boots.

"I will not let you," Myles informs the Chancellor sternly, "or your men kill any more innocent people."

"Myles," Murphy mutters anxiously, inching forward half a step. "We're in over our heads here."

"He's right," Pike promises her, "you did a good thing on the Ark. But there are some people who don't deserve to have the Ghost help them."

The name, the pseudonym 'the Ghost', makes some of the guard's hesitate, their holds on their wet rifles shifting.

"Sir," a man Myles recognises, but can't remember the name of, calls out, stepping forward reluctantly. "The Ghost wouldn't do anything to jeopardise Arkadia."

"The Ghost is a traitor now," Pike announces, "and she will receive the same punishment we give to traitors. Arrest them."

"You want to execute them?" Hannah Green blanches, the black hair framing her face sticking to her skin from the rain. "Sir, with all due respect, they're kids."

"I have given you all an order twice," the Chancellor bellows, still cradling his right arm to his chest. "If I say it a third time, I will arrest you all for insubordination."

"You don't even want to try having peace?" Murphy snarks, "what, not being able to punch kids in the face doesn't appeal to you?"

"This isn't happening," Myles speaks up, raising her voice. "I won't let you kill people for the crime of wanting to try having peace."

"You can't stop this," Pike denounces, his tone sure and unwavering. "There will be an execution today."

"You're right," the red-haired teen agrees, hardening her resolve. "There will be."

Myles pulls the trigger, watching as Charles Pike's head tips backwards and a bullethole appears in his forehead. Blood sprays out of the back of his head, splattering thick, red mist over the guards behind him as people gasp and shout in shock. Pulling the magazine clip from her gun, Myles holds both the empty gun and the mag in separate hands, showing everyone she isn't going to do anything else.

What's a little more blood?

"Ghost," one of the guard's calls, stepping towards her with three others. "You are under arrest for the assassination of Chancellor Pike."

"No," one of the guards that hesitated refuses, stepping forward and shoving away the guards swarming the two teens. "They're right. We had peace until we moved the Farm Station survivors into Mount Weather. The grounders were ready to align with us over their own people."

"And look where we are now, Rivers!" The man snaps, gesturing in a short motion with his rifle. "In the middle of another war!"

"The Commander does not want a war!" Myles interrupts, shifting on her feet to steady herself as a wave of dizziness and tiredness washes over her with the cold rain. "She has the Coalition ready to dismiss the massacre two weeks ago. All they want is peace."

"They want to consume us!" A man shouts, "they want to own us!"

"All they want is for you not to gun them down," Murphy remarks bitterly, "again."

"Think about it," the first man, Rivers, implores, "we had peace before we moved Argo into Mount Weather. It's been two weeks since we killed the army, they haven't retaliated."

"What do you think the fucking army surrounding us is for!" The guard shouts back.

"They asked for Chancellor Pike," one the other guards answers, "one life for the three hundred we took."

"We can have peace," Myles adds when tensions remain high, but everyone only murmurs to each other. "We have to at least try. For our kids, our future."

"Stand down!" A guard orders the others with their weapons still on the two teens.

"Murphy," the redhead mutters quietly, "it's okay."

In the corner of her eyes, Murphy lowers his pistol, holding his hands up like Myles to show he's not a threat. The grip on her bullet magazine and her empty gun loosens without her consent, the two objects falling to splash in the mud at Myles' feet. Blinking blearily, the redhead tries to focus on the group of people still surrounding them.

"She killed the Chancellor," a man interjects, his words slurring together in her fading mind, "we can't just let her go."

"He was going to execute the grounders," Rivers reminds him, his voice sounding distant, "and our own councillors. You heard him. He had no intention of letting any of them go."

Suddenly, Myles feels like her stomach rises to her throat as the world tilts. The sensation of falling stops as abruptly as it started when Lincoln's cuffed hands reach forward to catch her from falling into the mud.

She doesn't know how long she's been sitting here. It could be hours since she left medical, much to doctors Eric Jackson and Abby Griffin's dismay. It could've only been minutes. The seconds blur together, becoming one long moment that lasts what feels like an eternity. Her hazel gaze doesn't move, only her blinking eyes and steady breaths displaying she's still alive.

One of her pale, slender fingers twitches on the gun in her right hand, her skin brushing against the dried mud from when she had dropped it. The cool feel of the chain of her necklace and its heart-shaped locket sits against her other hand. It had become heavy and hot, the locket seeming to bore into her with the weight of every life she's taken. Distant throbbing in her temples and stomach has become dull and muffled, swept under the rug of numbness that cloaks Myles.

Faded green stained with heavy, drying blood the same shade as her hair is still wet, hanging heavily off of her skinny frame like it's trying to smother her. Dragging her down deeper and deeper under the waves of self-loathing and remorse. She's drowning. The burning feeling of suffocating that makes it feel like her head is going to explode plagues every sense of hers, trapping her.

The door opens to the large, claustrophobic room she's in and two sets of footsteps enter. Neither one of their owners says a word, doing nothing to announce their presence. A fluttering thought leaves a sickeningly sweet sense of hope in her chest, telling her that it's two of Pike's most avid supporters coming to repay the favour.

They walk amongst the crammed rows, before turning to walk down the slim aisles Myles sits squished between. Myles still doesn't move her eyes from the one box directly in front of her that they're locked on, doesn't utter a greeting, doesn't flinch.

"Thought you'd be here," Jasper Jordan mutters, his footsteps slowing to stand beside her.

He slides down to sit beside her, his leg flush against the redhead's left leg and his body heat radiating onto her side.

"Aggie," Monty Green's shaky voice calls, "what are you doing with that?"

She knows he's talking about the gun in her hand, but she can't bring herself to look at him.

"I'm not gonna shoot myself, Greenie," Myles' bland, emotionless voice says instead.

"She won't," Jasper seconds, looking up at their best friend. "We've done this before."

Hesitantly, Monty steps over both of them to stand on Myles' other side. When he sits down, he doesn't sit with his back against the same row as his two best friends, instead sitting down against the other side to face them both. Monty's legs sit almost on top of the red-haired teen's muddy boots, but he doesn't make a move to shift away from them. His hand hooks over her thin shins, not caring that the drying mud transfers onto the long sleeve of his guardsman's uniform.

"I don't like seeing you with it in your hand like that," Monty voices his concerns gently, "you doing it before doesn't make it better."

"It's comforting," the redhead divulges, her voice monotone. "Knowing you have the cure to pain in your hand."

"Okay," the black-haired teen decides, quickly grabbing the loaded pistol from her loose grip. He places it on the ground beside him, away from her reach. "That really doesn't make me feel any better. Why would you even think that?"

"You didn't tell me when I radioed," Jasper scolds halfheartedly, "that you'd been shot."

Myles hums in acknowledgment, waiting a moment to speak again.

"I read in a book," the red-haired teen whispers, needing to say the words so they're not trapped in her mind forever. "Mass murderers kill four or more people in one location in one period of time. Serial killers kill multiple people in multiple locations multiple times. Spree killers kill multiple people at one time in multiple locations. I'm all of them."

"You're not any of them," Monty promises her softly. "You have a reason."

"They have reasons, too," Myles murmurs, her words shaking. "Pike had reasons."

"You did it to save people," Jasper comforts her, his tone so certain that Myles is tempted to believe that it's enough.

But it isn't.

"Pike did, too," the redhead counters, her voice so quiet it wobbles.

"No," Monty corrects, squeezing Myles' ankles, and it's the first time her hazel eyes leave the box in front of her. "Pike thought he was keeping people safe. You actually saved people."

At what cost? The simple, three word question bounces around her mind, but she doesn't say it out loud. He must see it in her eyes. He must see her whirlpool of darkness that swallows every good, hopeful, comforting thing into oblivion. Monty's expression falls, and it fills Myles' heart with sorrow to know she's the one who took it off her best friend's face. Unable to take someone else she loves thinking the horrible things she thinks about herself, she flicks her hazel eyes away. They go straight to the same box in front of her she's been staring at since she got here.

"Here," Jasper offers, nudging his flask of alcohol into her now empty right hand. Myles accepts it without a word, bringing it to her rosy lips and tipping her head back to get a good mouthful of it. Swallowing it with a vague grimace at the strong taste, the redhead hands the flask to Monty. "Clarke's pissed at you for tearing your stitches."

"I didn't think I'd ever see you drink," the black-haired best friend mutters, but it's more out of concern and empathy than judgement.

"Is she pissed that I tore my stitches," Myles croaks slowly after a moment, "or that I tore her small wound into a big wound?"

"Both," Monty answers, nodding and spacing out the syllables of his next words, "definitely both." His demeanour shifts, only slightly, but it's enough for the two best friends who grew up with him to notice it like he'd screamed it. Both lock their eyes on him, waiting for him to say what's on his mind. "Talking about being angry at you… so am I. Kinda."

"I'm sorry," the redhead tells him, and it's the first time since they sat down that her voice holds any form of emotion.

"You could've came with me," Jasper discloses, his voice soft and quiet.

"No, I couldn't," Monty refutes in a scoff. "The night you left, you told me you hated me. That it wasn't fair you had to be the one with nightmares and pain, but I had all that, too."

"I'm sorry, Monty," the short brown-haired teen vows, "I didn't mean that. I – I was so hurt and – and lost that I – "

"Needed someone to blame?" Monty guesses when his best friend cuts himself off and doesn't continue.

"Yeah," Jasper nods, looking at the Asian teen remorsefully.

"I was, too," the black-haired teen informs him, "hurt and lost. I needed my best friends."

"I'm sorry," Myles tells him, not trying to explain or excuse it, a nagging feeling of his imminent rejection stopping her.

"I know you had to," Monty mumbles after a quiet beat. "I just wish I didn't have to be the one that got left behind."

"You can come home with us," Jasper invites, "we built a house with a room for you in it."

"My mum's here now," he politely declines, his head giving a small twitch as if he was thinking of shaking it.

"You can visit," Myles clarifies. "It doesn't have to be forever."

"Yeah," Monty smiles, nodding, "that'd work. Would be good." This time, the silence that accompanies them isn't tense, there isn't the weight of unspoken words in the air, even though they have a lot to catch up on. Hazel eyes switch back to the box, not having to search it out amongst the crates and lookalikes surrounding it. "Maybe you should ask Raven. She's had it really hard."

"They can't fix her leg?" Jasper enquires, his tone soft with empathy.

"Nope," the black-haired teen drawls out, "been in a lot of pain. Abby thinks it's nerve damage, can't do anything about it."

"You can drink," Jasper quips halfheartedly, holding out his hand for the flask back from their best friend.

Monty hands it back, and Jasper takes a gulp before passing it back to Myles.

"Got a new job," the red-haired teen announces after taking a swig, handing the cool metal flask to Monty. "The City of Light."

"Mm," Monty hums in recognition through a mouthful of alcohol. "The thing Jaha went to find?"

"Yep," Myles confirms, "and he found it." Turning her head and eyes to look at Jasper, she continues. "As bad as we thought."

"Gross," Jasper remarks, and Myles looks back at the box.

"Why?" Monty quizzes. "What is it?"

"A cult," the brown-haired teen provides, shrugging like it's nothing.

"A cult with a flair for genocide," Myles elaborates mockingly. "Nothing brings in new loyal followers like the promise of a life without pain or suffering or death."

"All for the low, low price of devoting your life to worshipping an invisible woman," Jasper joins in. "Who can magically cure you of anything your heart desires if you're the lucky winner. Where they get you is you have to kill your whole village to prove yourself worthy to her."

"Super gross," Monty agrees, making a sour face.

"Why are we going after them?" Jasper asks, turning his head to look at their best friend.

"Because," the redhead supplies, "Jaha is the new earthly mouthpiece for this invisible woman in red. Johnny has a girlfriend who has a brother who is his right-hand man."

"Wait," Monty halts her. "Murphy has a girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Myles nods once, "smoking hot, too. He didn't tell me this, but I think she's a Frikdreina."

"What's that?" Monty questions, looking lost. "Is that a cult thing?"

"It means she has a deformity," Jasper explains. "Grounder superstition believes that people with deformities are stains on the bloodline and should be killed or abandoned."

"Mega gross," the black-haired teen mutters with a cringe.

"Mega cruel and fucked up," the redhead agrees readily. "She went looking for her brother and Jaha. They're hunting for new followers."

"New victims," Jasper corrects, "how are we s'posed to track them? Everything we know about the cult is from years ago."

"Well," Myles starts to sigh, cutting it off quickly with a groan when pain explodes through her. "Let's hope it stays that way."

"I think I get it now," Monty admits gently after a moment. "I get why you left and didn't come back. You're doing the Ghost thing, trying to balance out the bad in life with good."

"Something like that," the brown-haired teen shrugs, "sounds more heroic putting it that way, though."

"It is totally heroic," Monty asserts, looking at the two of them like they're strangers. "What did you think it was?"

"Suicidally stupid," Jasper answers without a second of hesitation. Turning his head to look at Myles, he continues. "Which is exactly what going after the City of Light is. We'll never get close."

The words repeat in Myles' mind, an idea forming slowly in her head. Her hazel gaze flicks away from the box for a second as she thinks it through. It clicks in her mind, and she turns to Jasper with raised eyebrows and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Jasper wasn't paying attention, but turns to meet Myles' eyes when he sees her look at him in the corners of his.

"Oh, no," he instantly refuses, stubbornness and a slight touch of fear glazing over his features. "No. No. Just no. We are not joining a cult."

"Yes, we are," Myles defends, mirroring his stubbornness.

"No, we're not," Jasper objects, his tone unshakable.

"I think I also get the suicidally stupid part now," Monty interjects with a hesitant tilt of his head. "That's an insane idea."

"Insane enough that it could work?" The red-haired teen implores, a light lilt to her voice.

"Maybe just insane," Monty shoots down instantly, nodding to himself.

"Citizens of Arkadia," Marcus Kane's voice calls through the P.A. system, filling every nook and cranny of Alpha Station. "We've had a rough few weeks, but I want to assure each and every one of you that it doesn't define us. It doesn't define our peace."

Myles looks at the only box she's been staring at, locking her gaze back on it as the councillors voice wafts through the cluttered and overcrowded room.

"We had three months of peace," he continues, "three months where two of our own worked tirelessly to open a door between our people and the grounders. And they succeeded. We were able to trade with the villages and the people sharing this part of their land with us. We were able to return that generous favour by opening our medical wing to them."

"But those two fought tooth and nail to show the grounders that not only could we have peace with them... We could earn it. Those two are children, and, I believe, the greatest representatives of our future. Jasper Jordan and Myles, who many of you know as the Ghost, but I am very proud to say that I helped raise that beautiful young lady."

Hearing the man who's done nothing but love her as if she were his child speak about her, Myles turns her head into her shoulder. Her shoulders shake, the force of barely restrained sobs quivering her back and shoulders. Wet tears slip down her face, and Myles squeezes her eyes shut, feeling her best friends grip and rub on her arm and leg in comfort. Breathing in jagged and wet, sharp breaths only makes the pain in her abdomen worsen, but she can't stop. Hearing the only person she's ever sought to make proud speak about her with his voice heartfelt and filled with pride causes her to finally break.

"They've made sure we have peace," Marcus carries on, "built such a strong alliance that even after what we've done in these last few weeks; massacring the army that was sent to protect us from further Ice Nation attacks… Telling them we want nothing to do with their offer of a peaceful alliance… Sending out teams to eradicate villages – even after all of that, the grounders are still willing to offer us peace. To open their doors to us, without fear or judgement."

"I know many of you are worried about this peace. That you are afraid it will mean they own us, that they can force us into battle, but that isn't what we've been offered. We've been offered a family. We've been offered a choice to have a say in what laws are passed and what we have to abide by. They don't want to own us, force us into battles or trades like we're slaves." Myles sniffs, wiping the tears off her face and squaring her shoulders to pull herself back together. "They don't want to live among us or force us to live among them. They want us to live alongside each other."

"I am proud to tell you all: this offer still stands, no matter who the Chancellor is. There are laws that we must abide by to have that peace, but they're no different to ours. No murder, no theft, no kidnapping or assaulting – a peaceful society, where we have the choice to trade or to keep, to visit or stay at home, to make friends or keep to ourselves. And I am even more proud to tell you that is entirely because of two brilliant, strong and caring children of ours. Let them be the beacon of hope in times when you are unsure or afraid of this alliance."

"I know I am not your Chancellor, and I may never be, but I would like to have peace. For ourselves, for our children, for our future. I would like nothing more than for you all to join me in a leap of faith that Jasper Jordan and Myles have spent the last three months carefully preserving, nurturing and building from the ground up for us. Thank you."

"That's our cue," Jasper murmurs, hearing the distant sound of applause echo through Alpha Station.

"Okay," Myles nods, sniffing and readying herself to go out there and fish out Murphy, Finn, Octavia and Jasper's dad.

"Clarke left with rover one," the brown-haired teen states, standing up. "So we've got rover five."

"Nooo," the redhead whines, dramatically slumping her shoulders. "It's flat."

"Why's it flat?" Jasper questions in confusion.

"I don't know," Myles complains, "it only had quarter charge in it when we left Polis."

"That's not right," the brown-haired teen counters, looking down at his two best friends.

"If it's an electric car," Monty offers, leaning forward in preparation of standing up. "I can look at it."

"Could you please?" Myles asks politely, relaxing when her best friend nods and stands in the skinny aisle.

Myles flicks her gaze to the box in front of her again, the cold necklace chain burning her fingers with shame. Monty and Jasper extend their hands for the redhead to grasp so they can help pull their best friend up, but Myles hesitates. Slowly, the red-haired teen rests the heart-shaped locket onto her chest and accepts the boys' hands. Standing hurts a lot more than she remembers sitting down in the cramped row did. Strained groans escape through her clenched teeth and make her jaw ache, one of her elbows reaching out for a box to steady herself.

They both let go of her hands, and Jasper turns to walk down the row and leave, but Myles makes no move to follow. Jasper stops a few steps away, turning to look at them with a concerned expression when he sees Myles staring vacantly at the box.

"Aggie?" Monty calls quietly, trying to drag her attention away from the crate.

It works, kind of. Blinking erratically a few times as she makes up her mind, Myles inches her hands up to the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" Jasper frets, eyeing her unclasping her necklace. "You haven't taken that off since you gave it to Bellamy at the dropship."

"It's not mine anymore," Myles mutters, the empty weight around her neck making her heart feel hollow.

The redhead cradles the necklace in her hands, bringing the locket to her rosy lips for a quick kiss. Gently, Myles lowers her hand into the box, sliding the necklace out of her hands as if it is the most precious thing to ever exist. And it is, to Myles at least, which is exactly why she's leaving it.

She doesn't deserve it.

Pulling her hand out of the box, Myles takes a step back, glancing at the letters she's stared at since entering the storage room.

'N. Mylinski Office – West Corridor D'

They could hear them before they walked through the threshold to enter the Mess Hall, but the commotion inside still jars them. It's a stark contrast to the silent storage room, and all Myles wants is to find her friends and leave. A few faces turn to them and brighten, but Myles redirects her eyes and continues weaving through the crowd to get away from them. Jasper and Monty smile, apologetically and thankfully respectively, chasing after her.

Hazel eyes flick around, spotting Finn talking with Wick and a woman wearing an engineers uniform and turns towards them. She doesn't make it very far, quick movement in the corner of her eyes stealing her attention. Lincoln stands with Nathan Miller and Bellamy Blake, the grounder waving the three best friends over. A dark patch of Myles' blood stains the front of his dark grey shirt, a flush of embarrassment washes over the redhead at the sight.

Looking back at her two best friends, the redhead slows with her halfhearted attempt at stalling. Monty speeds up, steering Myles towards them and she releases a long breath through her nose.

"Hey," Miller greets with a large smile, stepping forward quickly to hug Myles and slapping a hand on the boys' backs. "It's so good to see you."

"You, too," Myles smiles back, patting the teens back as he wraps her in a big hug.

"Where's your necklace?" Bellamy asks, worried lines appearing on his forehead.

Jasper scoffs, "like you care."

Myles rolls her eyes, pulling out of Miller's hug to shoot a pointed look at her best friend. Lincoln steps up to stand beside the redhead, putting a hand on her arm and squeezing before letting his arm drop.

"Woah," Monty exclaims, "where'd that come from?"

"We're mad at him," Jasper explains, and Myles shakes her head.

"He's mad at him," the redhead corrects, shooting an apologetic look to Bellamy who looks mortified.

"Why are we mad at him?" Monty implores Jasper, readily going along with the idea as confusion cloaks his face.

"He told Aggie he's glad she's not in charge," the short brown-haired teen elaborates, "because when she's in charge she gets everybody killed."

"Dude," Myles' other best friend blurts, looking at Bellamy with a betrayed look muddying his dark eyes.

"That's harsh, man," Miller tells Bellamy with a disappointed shake of his head.

"You told him," Bellamy accuses Myles, his tone hard.

"Excuse me," Jasper argues, pointing at himself, "best friend extraordinaire. Of course she told me."

"I met your friend," Lincoln says, looking to Myles and putting a halt to the altercation building up around them. "Murphy. He told me you're going after the City of Light."

Something in the dark-skinned man's voice tells Myles that there's something else he's wanting to say, so instead of answering, she squints at him. Whatever she's hoping to find, she doesn't, only seeing a patient and kind man with a cleaned bullet scrape on the side of his bald head. It's an unusual sight on the man who's normally upfront and straight to the point, this easy patience, waiting for Myles to give him some cue.

"Yeah," Jasper confirms, but Myles keeps silent, squinting at Lincoln and trying to see what he's looking for.

"It's a pretty big job," Lincoln vaguely states, and the redhead quirks an eyebrow, hearing the implication louder than the words.

"I didn't realise you were looking for work," Myles counters, her voice as vague as his.

"Looking for work?" Miller echoes, looking at Lincoln in shock. "Are you thinking of leaving?"

"It's safe for you here now," Bellamy reasons, "you and O can stay here without feeling trapped."

"I need a break," Lincoln divulges, "from – "

"All things Ark?" Jasper interrupts, sensing that the polite man wouldn't say it himself. Lincoln nods, seeming reluctant to accept such a blunt statement in front of people who might take offence to it. "You're talking to the right people, then."

"Does Octavia know?" Myles asks softly, looking between his dark brown eyes and already knowing the answer.

"I don't think that will go over well," the grounder brushes off, shifting uncomfortably at the question.

"She hates it here even more than I do," the redhead promises him, "and, trust me, I fucking hate this place. She'll be fine. What could go wrong?"

"What's this City of Light thing anyway?" Miller enquires, looking genuinely interested in knowing.

"Is that what you were telling Indra about?" Bellamy adds, and Myles starts shaking her head.

"No," the redhead denies, "it's some cult."

"Think Jonestown," Jasper describes, lifting his eyebrows high and gesturing with a small hand motion.

"Except more than once," Monty fixes, "with smaller groups."

"And an invisible woman," Myles tacks on, watching the other two Arkers clueless expressions.

"In red," Lincoln finishes, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "What's Jonestown?"

"A cult that orchestrated the mass suicide of over 900 people," Monty explains quickly, and Lincoln's face goes blank.

"I don't think the City of Light has ever done that," Lincoln refutes, his voice airy in shock.

"What have you heard about it?" Myles questions, scrunching together her eyebrows and listening intently to the man.

"Legends," the dark-skinned dismisses, continuing when the redhead lifts a prying eyebrow. "They come back from finding the City of Light, say they've seen a woman in red who guided them to it with strange birds. She holds promises of a paradise without pain and sadness, without death. Very few get the Key, then everyone in the village dies. The legends say they turn their weapons on themselves, giving their souls as sacrifice for one to take the Key."

"See?" Jasper points to Lincoln, staring at Myles. "Joining to get on the inside is the stupidest stupid plan you've ever come up with."

"I love you, Aggie," Monty announces, "but I'm with the drunk."

Jasper swings an arm out, smacking Monty on the chest. Monty quickly copies, smacking Jasper back with the same betrayed expression on their faces. Chaos descends upon them, a childlike hand smacking war breaking out. Myles is about to roll her eyes when her hazel gaze lands on someone in the distance and she stops.

"I'll meet you and O out front in an hour," Myles informs Lincoln, smiling politely at Miller and Bellamy. "It was good to see you."

"You, too, Aggie," Miller replies with a smile, watching her as she turns away.

"Aggie, wait," Bellamy calls, circling around the others to surge toward her. Myles stops and the Blake brother hooks around to stop in front of her. Deep brown eyes are soft and apologetic, a sea of things he wants to say roaming just under the surface. "Can we talk?"

"I can't," Myles shakes her head, trying to school the emotions that rise up in her from the last handful of encounters they've had.

"Please?" Bellamy prods, his deep voice kind and soft, pleading in a different, more subtle way than the way he had in the cave.

"I have to go," the redhead declines, looking at him sadly, "I'm sorry."

Bellamy sucks in his lips, looking to the ground before meeting her eyes again. The undercurrent of that look, that loving, adoring look, dances in his eyes. It had been there, hidden under a dozen other emotions and thoughts when he saw her in Polis, and when he saw her with Roan. When she came to see him after the massacre on the muddy field, though, it was completely gone. Looking back on it now, perhaps it had been swimming under the surface of other, louder emotions this morning, but it's out on full display now.

"Will you come back?" Bellamy questions, his tone broken with the expectance of rejection for his actions.

"Maybe," Myles hesitates, "we'll see. I need to go now, Bell."

"Yeah," the Blake brother nods dejectedly, sniffing and stepping backwards. "Okay."

Myles walks around him, feeling his deep brown eyes following her through the crowd. The redhead doesn't stop walking until she's in front of Murphy, and he turns to her as soon as she approaches.

"We're about to leave," the red-haired teen informs him, "just waiting on Lilo to get Octavia and JJ to get everyone else."

"Yeah, about that," Murphy drawls, moving his knee anxiously and reaching a hand up to rub his nose. "I might stay here. Make sure she'll have a place to go when you find them."

"Okay," Myles nods, understanding that everything they've seen has made him scared for what they'll find when they locate Emori. "That'll be nice. Being around people and not doing reckless stunts with me."

"If I get bored," the brown-haired teen tells her with smirk, tipping his head to the side and gesturing to her. "I know where to find you."

"Ugh," Ray Jordan groans in disgust from the passenger seat beside Jasper in the driver's seat. "That's horrible."

"Yeah," Myles agrees, looking at the body of Chancellor Pike wrapped in a cloth covering on the floor in the back with them. "It was really, really bad."

"How'd Lexa take it?" Finn asks quietly, like he's afraid of knowing.

"Really, really bad," the redhead answers again, nodding slowly.

"I can imagine," Jasper huffs out, "she raised them. Loved them."

"I think," Myles announces, "she's the only one I'm okay with them reverting back to old ways to punish."

"Wouldn't matter, anyway," Finn mutters, "at this point, she's already done that."

"I hope she enjoyed it," Ray grovels, "doing that to children, who could ever?"

"Someone who doesn't want to risk not becoming the Commander," the redhead drawls, tapping her boots on the rover's floor.

"There's Lincoln," Jasper calls back in confusion to Myles, signally her to get ready to open the back. "He's alone."

"Alone?" Myles echoes, opening the back door and climbing out to see for herself.

Lincoln walks out of the main gate, heading towards them in a calm pace. The rain has stopped, so the man's at no risk of getting wet again, and he takes his time.

"Hey," the red-haired teen greets him, raising her voice to make sure he can hear her. "Where's O?"

"She's not coming," Lincoln answers, his tone strange and strained.

"What?" Myles quizzes in confusion. "Why not?"

"She's angry with you," the dark-skinned man explains slowing his steps as he finally reaches the rover.

"For being late?" Finn queries incredulously through the metal slits in the back passenger side window. "She got shot and Polis went on lockdown."

"That," Lincoln confirms, "and for killing Pike." When the words only make Myles even more perplexed, he elaborates. "She thinks you didn't have the right to do it. You stole it from her and Indra."

"Well," Myles stammers as she slides her hand off the rear car door, unsure of what to say or do. "I'm sorry. Does she want me to apologise to her?"

"No," the grounder insists, "she doesn't want to see you."

"What… do we do?" Myles asks, feeling lost and remorseful.

"Leave," Lincoln supplies, walking around Myles and giving her a reassuring squeeze on her arm before climbing into the back.

Myles hesitates in shock, turning and climbing into the back in a daze.

"You don't want to stay with her?" The red-haired teen verifies, feeling guilty for taking the man away from her friend.

"She doesn't want me to," Lincoln laments, sitting down heavily and leaning his head on the car wall. "She broke up with me."

"She broke up with you?" Jasper repeats, turning around in his seat and not moving to turn the rover on.

"She's angry at me for wanting time," the dark-skinned man sighs, his whole body drained and worn down.

"Is she angry about needing time away from the Ark," Ray enquires knowingly, "or about wanting to spend that time with someone she's mad at?"

Lincoln doesn't answer the question directly, instead locking his eyes on Myles'.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln promises, "I tried to tell her – "

"No, it's okay," Myles assures him, leaning forward and clapping a hand on his knee gently before sitting back. "She's – she's new at relationships and friendships. All she grew up knowing is Bellamy and their mum. She's still learning. She'll come around."

"I hope you're right. I love her."

AN: Hey all! I'm back and have big things planned!