𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 | the 100¹

28 | True Calling

"You were right from the beginning."

‧ ✩ ｡ ✭ ° ☆ ･ _______ ･ ☆ ° ✭ ｡ ✩ ‧

"I feel like shit." Amber sits with arms wrapped around her legs, hiding her sore eyes in her knees from the swelter of the bonfire.

"Yeah, you look like shit." Even now when they've finally reached the end of the day, Raven sits tinkering with something in her lap, and she simply cocks her head without looking up when she senses Amber's pained scowl. "It's what you get for trying to empty a whole bottle of Monty's moonshine. Save some for me next time."

Amber glances away, her frown now genuine. Apart from Jules, no one knows about her and Murphy's kiss and she'd like to keep it that way, but her heart threatens to erupt whenever the memory crosses her mind and she wishes she had someone to pour her excitement onto.

Jules has made no mention of it, and if it wasn't for her quiet rigidness, Amber wouldn't have believed the moment was a memory at all, but instead a sick figment of her imagination. But while much of last night is a dreamlike blur, Murphy's lips have burned onto hers. Her hand instinctively reaches for her mouth and for the hundredth time, she scans her surroundings for him.

The whole day has passed without a sign of his whereabouts. Facing him and what happened between them is something she both dreads and longs for—she needs answers to her never-ending stream of questions, whether she'll like them or not. Who are they now? She'd like to think he was driven by more than the alcohol, but she can't be sure. Is he intentionally avoiding her, or is it only the increasing workload at camp that's kept them apart all day?

She hasn't had time to search for him ever since a scouting party returned with an unconscious boy impaled by two Grounder arrows. With Clarke missing ever since the hunt, along with Finn and Monty, Amber's the boy's best hope. An unfortunate reality he's blissfully unaware of. But she's managed to keep him alive so far, which is the only protection against her mind completely spiraling.

"Hey." Raven's voice calls her back to the present. She leans towards her, the fire throwing a soft orange glow over her face. "There's no need to stay up just to keep me company. Go take a nap."

"No, I'm fine," Amber assures, then chuckles. "If I didn't know better, I could tell you the same thing."

"Good thing you do know better then." Raven smiles and leans over the device in her lap as she shoves a screwdriver into it.

"Hey, Amber!" Bellamy calls as he strides over to the circle of logs they're sat on. "Myles' awake."

She jumps up. "He is?"

Not waiting for an answer, she throws Raven a quick apology and hurries to the dropship, which she's stayed close to since Myles, the unconscious boy, was brought in. She may not be Clarke, but she's done her best, and if he's awake then that must have been enough. Maybe one day she'll be able to write over the names of those she's failed with names of people she's helped. It's with a light heart she slips through the dropship's tarp.

She's met by an assault rifle aimed at her face.

Halting at the entrance, she throws her hands up. But then she realizes that the person behind the rifle is Murphy, and her body relaxes. He lowers the barrel.

"There you are," she scoffs. She's about to tell him off, fearing what would have happened if someone else, like Bellamy, had walked in on him carrying a rifle when he's not supposed to. But then she finally picks up on the panicked despair in his eyes and the realization cracks into her heart. He's not happy to see me.