Amber, weary and restless, found herself unable to sleep in the cold, hunger gnawing at her. She sat in the cave, her thoughts turning dark, dissecting her past and scrutinizing every misstep and uttered word. To her right, Charlotte slumbered peacefully, oblivious to the weight of their situation. On the other side of the cave, Bellamy sat, sleepless like her, his eyes fixated on a knife he absentmindedly toyed with. She could sense his mind drifting elsewhere. As Amber caught herself staring at him, she quickly averted her gaze, exhaling a little too loudly, her head meeting the rough cave wall.
Silence enveloped the space, intensifying the feeling that it was just the two of them—strangers who shared an underlying unease. Amber knew of Bellamy's natural leadership qualities, his strength and persuasive nature, and his unwavering devotion to his sister. Their only significant interaction had occurred after she had punched Wells, met with his unyielding stare. She had resolved not to let him intimidate her. While they had never engaged in a genuine conversation, the tension between them stemmed from a lack of understanding. But Amber had no desire to know anyone beyond John. The loss of those around her had shaped her resolve to protect John at all costs. Now, trapped in a cave with a man she hardly knew and a young girl, Amber's restlessness grew. She couldn't stay still or keep silent.
"Why did you ask me to come hunting?" Amber broke the silence, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling, her hands picking at the skin around her bitten nails.
There was a brief pause, and for a moment, Amber thought Bellamy wouldn't respond at all. "Thought you'd be skilled with a knife," he finally replied, his voice filled with a hint of uncertainty.
Amber's head snapped down, her eyes meeting Blake's, surprised by his statement. She wasn't offended; instead, she felt a sense of awe. Her mouth hung open, silent.
Bellamy realized the weight of his words and quickly backtracked. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that," he stammered, his demeanor almost unfamiliar to her. He thought she was genuinely offended, and he was apologizing. It was an unusual sight.
"It's fine, I get it," she responded, her tone laced with sarcasm, a habit she often resorted to. Brushing her hair away from her face, she revealed her wide, bright eyes. Though she avoided making eye contact again, Bellamy's gaze remained fixed on her.
"I meant... because of what happened the other day. You jumped in front of that panther without hesitation. We need that down here. Hesitation—it's what gets us killed," he explained, his voice carrying the weight of their survival.
"Right, yeah," Amber nodded, meeting his eyes.
"Why'd you come?" Bellamy asked, a genuine question.
"John pissed me off." Amber said without looking, and Bellamy's lip twitched into a slight smile at that. A sudden breeze sent chills down her spine, causing her to blow warm air onto her hands and rub her bare arms in an attempt to dispel the goosebumps that dotted her skin.
Bellamy's brows furrowed as he noticed her lack of proper attire. "You didn't get a jacket?" he questioned. All prisoners were provided with weather-proof jackets and thick combat boots before being sent to the ground. Her thin, worn black canvas shoes and non-weather-proof clothes were ill-suited for the harsh environment.
"Apparently not," Amber muttered, noticing the sympathy in Blake's expression, which only fueled her anger. She refused to be seen as weak. Unexpectedly, Bellamy shrugged off his own guard jacket and extended it towards her. She shook her head vehemently, her voice hard, but softened as she realized his sincerity. "No," she began, turning towards the small girl sleeping beside her, "uh, she needs it more than me." Reluctantly, Amber took the jacket, but instead of wearing it herself, she draped it over Charlotte.
Forty-five seconds of silence passed before Bellamy spoke again. "Why did you save Octavia—and me?" His eyes held a gentler gaze now, and Amber couldn't look away. She pondered for a moment on how to answer, unsure of what to say. All she could find was the truth.
"I'm not afraid to die," she stated simply, her voice devoid of emotion. Her face remained expressionless, but in Amber's bright golden eyes, Bellamy could discern a glimmer of honesty and raw emotion. He knew she was being genuine.
"So, what you're saying is you'd rather die yourself than let someone else perish?" Bellamy attempted to comprehend the girl sitting across from him.
Amber nodded. "I should be dead right now anyway," she scratched her forehead. "What difference would it make? I deserve it, don't I?" Her voice turned cold and accusatory. She looked away, perhaps in shame. Something within Blake resonated—he felt a peculiar connection. She carried no more guilt than he did, yet everyone on the ground knew of her crime while his remained concealed.
"No one deserves to die," Bellamy insisted.
"Tell that to Chancellor Jaha," she muttered through clenched teeth, her sarcasm returning. They both chuckled, a shared moment of laughter. Bellamy was bewildered. This girl possessed a hidden personality, brimming with humor, emotion, and a carefree demeanor that few dared to witness. It seemed as though she kept everyone at arm's length, and he couldn't blame her for it. But her smile, though rare, held an irresistible allure. The laughter subsided quickly as they both realized they were expected to dislike each other.
"You and I aren't so different, Blake," Amber remarked.
"How so?" he inquired.
"You'd do anything to protect your little sister," she began.
"And you'd do anything to protect your little brother," he finished her sentence.
"No matter what it takes." Amber's tone turned slightly menacing, but before Blake could respond, the sleeping girl they sat beside began to scream. Bellamy swiftly came to her aid.
"Charlotte, wake up," he urged, placing his hands on her legs. Her eyes fluttered open as she sat up.
"I'm sorry," Charlotte's small voice squeaked.
"Does it happen often? The nightmares?" Amber asked, moving closer. Bellamy noticed her concern. Did she have nightmares too? Charlotte only sighed, displaying her stubbornness. Perhaps, just perhaps, Bellamy thought, Amber could see herself in this little girl.
"What are you scared of?" Bellamy probed. When Charlotte didn't reply, he continued, "You know what? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you do about it."
"But... I'm asleep," Charlotte replied, her brows furrowing in confusion.
Blake shook his head. "Fears are fears," he said, his gaze briefly shifting from Charlotte to Amber. Then he returned his attention to the girl, continuing, "Slay your demons when you're awake... They won't be there to get you when you're asleep."
"Yeah, but... how?" Charlotte questioned. Amber silently observed their interaction, unable to tear her eyes away. She couldn't help but notice the careful way Blake spoke to the kid. Despite her initial dislike for him, she was beginning to see him differently, much to her dismay.
"You can't afford to be weak. Down here, weakness is death," Blake explained, and Amber continued to stare at him intently. "Let me see that knife I gave you." Charlotte reached for her knife and handed it to Blake. He held it out in front of her. "Now, when you feel afraid, hold on tight to that knife and say, 'screw you, I'm not afraid'."