𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 | the 100

10 | False Convictions

"You're right. I am a murderer."

‧ ✩ ｡ ✭ ° ☆ ･ _______ ･ ☆ ° ✭ ｡ ✩ ‧

"You son of a bitch!"

Amber looks up from where she sits to see Clarke furiously shove a confused Murphy back. He stumbles, but regains his footing.

"What's your problem?" he says with amusement, faintly chuckling at her aggression. Most of the other delinquents nearby pause to witness whatever is going on, more than happy to be distracted from their work.

"Recognize this?" Clarke asks and holds something up for all to see. Amber has to squint her eyes to see that it's a makeshift knife. She recognizes it.

"It's my knife. Where'd you find it?" Murphy responds with increasing hostility and tries to grab it, but Clarke snatches it away from him.

"Where you dropped it after you killed Wells."

The camp falls silent. Amber blinks, her mind scrambling to process Clarke's words that hang in the air like a storm cloud ready to strike. None of it makes sense. She glances at Murphy, searching his face for any sign of guilt, but he looks as taken aback as she feels.

"Where I what?" he demands Clarke to explain. He steps closer to her, tests her. There's no trace of his amusement left. "The Grounders killed Wells, not me."

Clarke leans in to meet his challenge and nods with conviction. "I know what you did. And you're gonna pay for it."

"Really?" He's put on a new smirk, but the growing audience draws closer like sharks smelling blood and Amber can tell that he notices too. He looks into the crowd in search of support. Stay out of it, Amber reminds herself.

"Bellamy, you really believe this crap?"

Bellamy stands a few feet behind Clarke, arms crossed over his chest. He tightens his jaw in silence. Murphy's face falls.

"You threatened to kill him, we all heard you," Clarke continues. "You hated Wells."

"Plenty of people hated Wells," Murphy says through gritted teeth, holding back a weight of tension. He turns to the crowd gathering and raises his voice to address them. "His father was the Chancellor that locked us up."

"Yeah, but you're the only one who got in a knife fight with him!" Clarke shouts.

"Yeah, I didn't kill him then, either," he bitterly reminds her.

"Only because you lost," someone corrects. Whispers and murmurs are thrown around, and Amber's gut twists until she can't sit back anymore. Heart galloping, she slips through the mass of people, forcing her way to the front.

"Come on, this is ridiculous," Murphy says from where he stands at the center of it all. A strained scoff punctuates his words and he glances around camp as worry splinters his cold exterior. "I don't have to answer to you. I don't have to answer to anyone!"

He's about to walk away when Bellamy finally speaks.

"Come again?"

Murphy stops in his tracks and looks at the man he's stood behind since they landed. Bellamy shows no sympathy, glaring at him like he's nothing more than an opponent.

"Bellamy," he says and walks over to him, still willing to hope that he'll take his side. "Look, I'm telling you, man. I didn't do this."

"They found his fingers on the ground with your knife," is all he gets in response. When Amber sees him realize that no one will defend him, her heart cracks.