When Songbirds Fly | Bellamy Blake

Chapter Thirty-Four: Add It Up

Shouts echo down the seemingly endless corridors of Alpha Station, a blur of words that I cannot make out. Sunlight peers through the cracks in the walls and stains the floor with broken lines, interrupted by scuff marks and shadows. The metal of my surroundings only amplifies the unexpected warmth of this late January day.

The doors slide open to reveal a crowd of people seeming to glow with the perspiration forming on their skin. The air stinks of heat and sweat.

Wrinkling my nose at the smell that I should be well accustomed to by now, I shrug my backpack further up my shoulder and limp into the room. The clacking of my rust dappled walking cane against the floor ruins any hope I may have had to remain unnoticed.

Several heads turn in my direction, including those of the two men sparring in the middle of the room. The sun forms a spotlight around them, shining off their bare torsos. Both are well-built but one is taller and much more bulky, the tattoos and scars on his back seeming to ripple with the movements of each muscle.

My attention, however, is drawn to the other — the one who appears like a statue carefully sculpted in gold. The look of pure concentration on his face falters for a second as his gaze lands on me.

His body is yanked away. Grunting as he falls hard, Bellamy's fist slams against the thin mat below him. He immediately jumps back to his feet and, rushing forwards, punches Lincoln in the stomach. The jump kick he delivers sends the Grounder staggering backwards.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the doorframe and take some weight off of my leg. It aches, almost as if in sympathy for the bruises he is likely to sustain from such a harsh landing. I can't help the impressed raising of my eyebrows as I watch him stalk towards his opponent.

Bellamy swipes again. Dodging, Lincoln grabs onto his arm and throws him back to the floor. There is a moment of hesitation as the Grounder's fist remains poised above his face.

Lincoln stands once more and turns to address the group of former delinquents and civilians. 'He had me, but he was too aggressive.'

I don't miss Bellamy's quiet huff as he begins to pull his shirt back on. 'Whatever you say.'

A few chuckles interrupt the tense silence and I join in, smiling when I catch Harper and Monroe's eyes.

The latter isn't as quick to return the gesture. Ever since the truth got out about Ezri and I, she has harboured some resentment towards me. I can hardly blame her. I lied to all of them.

'Quitting so soon?' Lincoln almost seems to tease.

'Mapping run, Sector Seven. Harper, let's get this over with.' She nods and tosses Lincoln a small duffel bag. Bellamy eyes our newest friend with a little wariness, 'Council wants you to have that.'

Pulling out the jacket that lies inside and examining the Guard's emblem patch stitched onto the shoulder, Lincoln's jaw clenches. 'I'm Trikru.'

'Uniform doesn't change that. This is our home now, Lincoln. We fought for it. Too many of our friends died for it. In the Ark, the uniform meant something different. Down here, it means what we make it mean. Together. My sister will understand that eventually.'

Bellamy approaches me. The corners of my lips curl into a bashful smirk. 'Love it when you get all speech-y.'

He smiles but doesn't respond, obviously deep in thought about something. He scratches his temple awkwardly, revealing the ratty hair elastic that is knotted around his wrist. I can't help but grin when I see it.