THE FREE FALL ⇘ Bellamy Blake. [1]

| xlvi. RIVERS AND ROADS

• •

CHAPTER FOURTY SIX;

RIVERS AND ROADS
RIVERS . . . TIL' I REACH YOU.

• •

THE DAY THAT HAVEN GREY SMITH HAD DIED ABOARD THE ARK—A PIECE OF BELLAMY BLAKE HAD DIED WITH HER. It was a profound fragment within him, an untouched sanctum that only her soul had the power to illuminate. From their first, fateful encounter, Haven had woven absolution into his sins, drawing forth hope and dreams from the deepest, most barren crevices of his mind. In her eyes, he found sanctuary; through her existence, he envisioned a future—one unshackled by the sterile confines of Medical, or the suffocating narrowness of Factory.

        He believed in a life . . . together.

        Her presence was a hymn, a quiet prayer whispered in the dark, breathing life into the harsh expanse of their orbiting world.

        And then . . . she died.

        At least, Bellamy had thought so.
       
        He had spent an entire year grieving her, mourning her, helplessly clinging to any traces of the magic she had woven within him . . . desperate to honor her memory, to feel her.

His mind was relentlessly besieged by the vibrant echoes of her laughter. Visions of her smile flickered through his consciousness, ephemeral and tormenting in their fleeting joy. Every breath was fraught, an agonizing reminder of the shared air he once breathed with her—now starkly absent. His heart scorched with the phantom caress of her fingers, each touch a searing brand upon his flesh, igniting fires of longing and loss that no passage of time could ever possibly heal . . . ever.

        He was nothing.

        Bereft of her light, Bellamy's existence spiraled into shadow, a realm devoid of dreams, a wasteland where no future could flourish. What remained of him had pleaded for the dark release of death, to cast off the shackles of his mortal agony and to die alongside her. At least then, he could dance with her ghost, floating in the liminal space between salvation and damnation. Inevitably, she would ascend into the white light . . . while he was torn away, dragged screaming into the depths below.

        Yet, beyond the vast, insurmountable void that yawned within him, Bellamy still had a tether to life—his sister, even if only from afar.

        Soon enough, a grim opportunity had presented itself, one cloaked as a necessity: an assassination attempt that promised to end the Chancellor's life, yet whispered the opportunity to reunite with the one person he had left.

        He didn't think twice about shooting Jaha.

        In truth, had it been demanded of him, Bellamy would have laid waste to the entire fucking council—unflinchingly—a single, sweeping strike of vengeance. Broken, ruthless, ravaged by desperation, he saw this act not just as revenge, but as a desperate bid to reunite with the last vestige of his family. If annihilating the corrupt tyrants that had executed his mother offered a slender thread to his sister, to grasp at something tangible instead of white-knuckling his grief . . . he would do it.