3. HUNTING SHADOWS ᵇᵉˡˡᵃᵐʸ ᵇˡᵃᵏᵉ

5. the tinder box

-THE TINDER BOX-
"Shadows are predictable... and I've learned how to hunt them before they even realize I'm there."

##

The gates of Arkadia creak open as Sairah arrives, her horse's hooves echoing against the stone pathway. The guards offer her a nod of recognition, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern as they observe her hurried entrance. Sairah dismounts with a wince, her muscles protesting after the grueling hours of riding. She leads her horse through the gates, her breath coming in uneven gasps, the weight of her recent experiences heavy on her shoulders.

As she takes in her surroundings, the juxtaposition of normalcy strikes her—the Arkadian citizens going about their daily lives, children playing, and groups chatting as if the impending catastrophe were a distant worry rather than an imminent reality. Her heart sinks at the sight. How could they be so at ease when so much is at stake?

Her eyes narrow as she spots a group of her own clan's warriors mingling with the Arkadians. They straighten and bow in respect as she approaches, their reverence stark against her turbulent mood.

"Trikova," they intone in unison, their voices carrying a note of deference.

Sairah offers a curt nod in return. "Where's Clarke?" Her voice is low, laced with urgency.

"Inside, Trikova," one of the warriors responds, his eyes fixed on the ground before him. After a moment, he adds, "You're here to stay, Trikova?"

"No," Sairah snaps, her tone firm. "Neither are you." She doesn't wait for further questioning, her mind already racing ahead. "Grab your things. We're leaving when I'm done here."

Without pausing to see if they comply, she hands her horse off to one of the warriors and strides towards the entrance of the main building. The bustling activity inside contrasts sharply with her sense of dread. She scans the room, her eyes eventually landing on Clarke and Niylah, who are huddled together in quiet conversation.

"Niylah," Sairah greets, her voice a mixture of relief and urgency. Niylah's eyes widen in recognition, and she lowers her head in respect, her expression shifting to one of concern. Sairah offers a fleeting smile before turning her attention to Clarke. "Clarke," she says, her voice taking on a more somber tone.

Clarke looks up, her brows knitting together in confusion and concern. "Sairah," she mutters, her gaze searching Sairah's face for answers. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to warn-" Sairah's urgent warning is cut short by the piercing, desperate cry of Harper.

"Clarke!"

She swivels around, her gaze locking onto the frantic scene unfolding before her. Her eyes widen at the sight of Ilian, a figure she recognizes from her time in Polis, cradling a bloodied Octavia in his arms. Harper is by his side, her face etched with fear.

"Octavia," Sairah breathes, her voice trembling as she hurries towards them. Clarke follows closely behind, her own worry evident in her quickened pace.

"She just stopped breathing," Harper explains, her voice breaking with distress.

Clarke's eyes dart around the room before she spots a nearby table. Without hesitation, she clears it of its contents, tossing everything to the floor with a clatter. "Get her on the table now," she instructs Ilian with a commanding tone.

Ilian, his face pale and strained, complies immediately, laying Octavia down on the table. Sairah moves to the other side, her heart sinking as she takes in the sight of Octavia, battered and unconscious, with a deep stab wound in her lower abdomen. Blood stains the table and her clothes, a grim reminder of the violence she has endured.