Rupture | Bellamy Blake ² [Discontinued]

❉| chapter twenty-five

❝to find fault is easy; to do better may be difficult.❞

-plutarch, philosopher

♛

AS THE SKY GROWS darker, fading into an inky black that makes our unknown surroundings even more foreboding, I sit beside Jasper and attempt to regain some warmth by huddling close to the fire. The waves continue to crash against the invisible shore from below our spot on higher ground. Salt lingers in the air, calming my senses the more I breathe it in.

Although the smoke burns my eyes, I blink away the sting and hug my knees closer to my chest. It's been about an hour with no sign of Luna. The rain has stopped, however, providing us with minimal relief. It doesn't help my damp clothes and how my hair is drying in a bumpy, wavy mess around my face. I should have tied it up before we left.

Bellamy has been standing alone for the entirety of the hour. Clarke had silently departed from our group to talk to him; I feel that there is more to be said between them than he and I can conjure, and so I stay in my place.

The three of us have been periodically tossing bits of the signal plant into the flames. The task has become almost a force of habit; even as my mind wanders, I find myself breaking bits off of the branches and mindlessly throwing them in.

"Oh my—" Jasper cuts himself off, scrambling backward a bit with a start. I follow his wide-eyed gaze and jump in fright.

People surround us in an instant, all armed with crossbows that they quickly aim at each of our chests. There are five of them in total, though it feels like much more with our small group. Their menacing gazes strike fear in my heart. I immediately note that with those expressions, nothing about this can be good.

"No, no, it's okay!" Octavia exclaims, holding her hands up in defense.

I jump up from my seat upon noticing two more people pushing a gagged Bellamy and Clarke back toward us. They both have restraints tied around their hands, forcing causing them to struggle until they're pushed onto their knees in the sand.

A bald-headed man with deeply tanned skin and a tattoo spiraling across his face demands, "Chon you bilaik? Hakom yu don flag raun?"

Octavia calmly replies, "Ai laik Okteivia kom Skaikru en ai gof gothru klir."

The man sneers and switches to English. "Skaikru, Bringers of Death. Why should we give you safe passage?"

Each of the members of Floukru raises their weapons a bit higher in warning. Fear strikes my heart, praying that we can get out of this without one of us getting impaled.

"Lincoln," Octavia responds confidently. "He sent us."

The man, presumably the captain, visibly softens his glare at the mention of our mutual friend and momentarily lowers his gaze to the sand. Gesturing to the two people behind Bellamy and Clarke, he orders, "Ban emo gaga we en lus 'mo meika au."