They ran through the woods, as the rays of sun started to filter through the leaves of the trees, over them. But even though the sky seemed to announce a clear day, there wasn't anything that made her feel lighter in her heart.
Clarke was nervous and livid as they followed Finn. He had been tracking Bellamy's tracks for a while now, and Lily found herself feeling a strange kind of anticipation at the thought of meeting Bellamy, and knowing what he might have done. She needed to know why he was so obsessed to not let anyone of the Ark come down.
"Should we split up?" Finn proposed without stopping his run.
"Yeah," Clarke said, "I'll go this way." Without another word, Lily kept running ahead of her as Clarke and Finn split in two different directions.
The forest grew quieter around her, the pounding of their steps fading behind the branches. Every breath she drew felt shallow, like her lungs were tight with questions she couldn't voice. She didn't know if she was hoping to find Bellamy or dreading it—but the uncertainty clawed at her.
He was always one step ahead. Always disappearing just when she thought she was starting to see him clearly.
Why did he have to make everything so hard?
She ducked under a low branch, her boots kicking up leaves and twigs as she kept moving. The light through the canopy shimmered like it was mocking her, bright and golden, so at odds with the heaviness twisting in her chest.
She kept walking, slower now, ears tuned to every crack of branches, every gust of wind. Minutes passed—ten? twenty? It was hard to say. The adrenaline had burned out, replaced by a nervous energy that made her skin itch.
No sign of him. Just the rustling of leaves and the distant call of some bird she couldn't name.
Her thoughts drifted back to Bellamy again. If he was doing something reckless, something irreversible—could she stop him in time?
She wasn't sure. She couldn't really tell if he'd listen.
She paused near a tree, resting one hand on the trunk to steady herself. Her breath came out slow, misting in the morning air. And then, just as she turned a bend in the trail, a shadow moved between the trees. A figure. Broad shoulders, dark hair, striding with fast and nervous steps.
Bellamy.
He hadn't seen her yet.
Lily froze, her breath catching in her throat.
There he was.
And in the pit of her stomach, the unease curled tighter. Lily knew she couldn't let him go. Every instinct told her to move, to call out his name, to stop him before he did something he couldn't take back.
But her feet felt rooted to the ground. What if he didn't want to be stopped? What if he turned around and looked at her like she was just another person trying to get in his way?
She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
A single breath. That was all it took.
Then, without letting herself think any further, she stepped forward.
"Bellamy!" she called, her voice cutting through the stillness of the forest like an arrow.
He didn't stop. But she saw it—the slight hitch in his step, the way his shoulders tensed, as if her voice had struck a nerve. He kept walking, slower now, more deliberate.
"What are you doing here?" he said without turning, his tone low, unreadable.
Lily didn't answer right away. She pushed forward, her boots catching on roots and underbrush as she moved after him, her breath quickening—not just from the run.
"You've found it, haven't you?" she asked, and saw him exhale sharply.
"Go back, Lily," he muttered, still refusing to face her.
She caught up to him, close enough to see the tense line of his jaw, the clenched set of it. He was avoiding her gaze on purpose.
"Bellamy—" she said again, her voice softer now.
Still no response. Just silence, and the sound of their footsteps—his ahead, hers right behind.
Frustration twisted in her chest. She hadn't come all this way to speak to his back.
"Bellamy!" she exclaimed, and her hand shot forward.
The moment her fingers closed around his sleeve, something shifted in the air. That same jolt from the night before pulsed through her, sharp and immediate. Heat surged beneath her skin. Her touch made him stop, made him turn. And when their eyes met, she saw the hitch in his breath—brief, but there.
For a second, he stood completely still.
Lily realized how close they were. She let go of his arm and took a step back.
"Where did you put it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as steady as she could. His jaw clenched as he looked at her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, turning to walk away. And for a moment Lily watched him taking a few steps. There was something in his eyes and in his posture that just confirmed to her that there was more to that then he was letting all of them know.
"I know you're hiding something," she called after him, noticing how he stopped his steps without turning to her. But that didn't stop her from walking forward so that she could put herself before him, "What are you scared of, Bellamy?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. Bellamy stood still, eyes fixed on her, and something shifted in his expression—just barely. The harshness in his face didn't vanish, but it softened, as if her words had cracked through a layer he hadn't meant to let fall. His brows drew together slightly, not in anger, but in conflict. She had already seen that gaze on him, just the night before. After Charlotte.
He looked like he might speak. His lips parted just enough to let a breath out, but then Clarke's voice came from behind them, calling for Bellamy. And Lily saw his eyes get cold again, quickly passing by Lily.
"Where's the radio?" Clarke asked with a tense tone as she followed Bellamy's steps.
"Hey princess," he said, trying to mask how tense he was with the sarcasm. "You out for a stroll in the woods too?"
But Clarke ignored his words and grabbed his shoulder, she forced him to stop, "They're getting ready to kill 300 people up there."
Lily's eyes widened, and her heart hammered in her chest as she stepped towards Clarke.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, alarmed, sharing a look with the girl.
"They are trying to save oxygen," Clarke explained urgently. Lily's eyes went to Bellamy, meeting his gaze, for a moment before Clarke spoke again, "And I can guarantee you it won't be council members," she said, "It would be working people. Your people."
They were doing that because they thought that they were all dead. The Ark was once again taking drastic decisions for the survival of its people. Lily felt her hands tremble at the thought of that order, and how many people were about to die. And then her mind went to her father. Was Marcus behind all that? She felt her mouth twitch, knowing that it was pointless to ask herself that. She knew he was behind this.
"Bellamy, you have to listen to her," Lily almost pleaded with him. "We need to let them know we're al–"
But suddenly someone shoved Bellamy aggressively, forcing him to take a few steps back.
"Where's the damned radio?!" Lily's eyes widened in seeing that Finn had been the one to push him. But Bellamy did not stand back, he charged forward, shoving Finn back with as much force.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" He exclaimed in Finn's face, and Lily quickly pushed herself in between them. Her fingers gripped Bellamy's arms, so that she could push him back from where Finn was standing.
"Stop it, both of you!" She said, giving a quick glance at her shoulders, feeling Bellamy still being tense under her touch, his eyes fixed on Finn. "Bellamy!" she called forcing him to look at her, "Enough!"
"Bellamy Blake?" Another voice made Lily frown as she turned sharply. A girl was approaching them, her olive-toned skin streaked with dirt, a thin line of blood dried on her forehead. Her hair was tied into a tight high ponytail, and she wore Finn's jacket. Lily had never seen her before. She wasn't one of the Hundred. Her eyes, however, were locked on Bellamy with unsettling precision—steady, almost accusing.
Was she from that dropship? Lily wondered, heart beginning to pound again, her hands still resting on Bellamy's arms. She could feel the tension rising in his body like heat through metal.
"They're looking everywhere for you," the girl said flatly, her voice devoid of judgment but filled with implication. Lily's breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned her head to look at Bellamy. He hadn't moved, but something shifted in his eyes—an instinctive flash of panic, quickly masked by a wave of hostility.
"Shut up," he hissed, the words sharp and immediate like a blade drawn too fast.
Clarke stepped forward. "Looking for him why?" she demanded, voice cold.
The girl didn't hesitate. "He shot Chancellor Jaha."
Lily stared at her, the words echoing in her ears like a blow struck too close. The blood drained from her face. Her hands slipped from Bellamy's arms as if burned. She stumbled back a step, blinking, her mouth falling slightly open in shock. Her gaze flicked to Bellamy's face, searching, begging for denial—but none came. His expression had turned to stone, jaw tight, shoulders squared like he was preparing for impact.
Lily's heart thudded wildly in her chest. She opened her mouth, but at first, no sound came. Then, barely above a whisper: "Bellamy… why?"
He didn't speak. His eyes darkened, but still, he didn't look at her.
Her stomach twisted, her breath shallow. She took another step back, as if space between them could help her make sense of it. He shot the Chancellor. That was bad, dangerous. He could die for this. He would die once Marcus and the Council had their hands on him. But why? Why would he do such a thing? What had been pushing him to do something so reckless?
And then it hit her. Like a puzzle suddenly locking into place.
He did it for Octavia, she thought, her eyes looking at him. His posture still stiff, his jaw still clenched. 'Someone has got to keep an eye on you' was the first thing he had said when he hugged Octavia in the dropship, the day of their landing. He would do anything to protect his sister, that Lily had many chances to see. But how helping Octavia involved killing Jaha? Maybe revenge? But if that was the case Bellamy had been wanting to kill him only for himself. Would he do that?
"That's why you took the wristbands," Clarke said in disbelief, her eyes wide. "Needed everyone to think we're dead."
"And all that 'whatever the hell we want'?" Finn said, a hint of disgust in his voice, "You just care about saving your own skin."
Bellamy's eyes stayed cold as he stared at Finn and Clarke, but Lily could see it—just for a moment—in the way his shoulders locked, in the tension rippling through his jaw. He was holding the line, retreating into anger, but toward who he was feeling that anger Lily was not sure.
Maybe I just want to find excuses, she thought bitterly at herself. She had just started to change her mind about him, maybe she just wanted to hold her grip to that idea of him. And maybe that was true, but she could not help but keep her eyes on his face. Those were not the eyes of someone who was proud of what he did. Bellamy was good at masking what he truly felt; he seemed arrogant, but he could be gentle and kind. And he could seem coldhearted, but she had witnessed him holding back, and feeling remorseful. And even now, she recognized that look. It wasn't indifference. It was fear wearing the mask of control. Like when he pushed that bucket under Murphy.
Slowly, without saying a word, she stepped closer again. Her hand moved gently, hesitantly, and brushed against his arm—not grabbing, just touching. Bellamy didn't flinch. But he didn't pull away either. She felt the tight coil of tension in his muscles beneath her fingertips, like a wire drawn too taut. He kept his gaze forward, jaw clenched so hard that a muscle ticked near his temple, but something in his eyes—just a flicker—lost its sharp edge.
"Hey, I know you're scared," she said quietly, locking eyes with him. She meant every word. He had every reason to be afraid—the weight of what he had done, the possibility of what would come next. "But, Bellamy, if there's even the smallest chance to save those people, we have to try."
He looked at her, just for a moment, and she saw something flicker in his gaze again. But then, slowly, he shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and took a step back. When he turned and started to walk away, it wasn't rushed, but heavy—like he was carrying something he couldn't set down.
"I know you don't want them to die," Lily called after him, her voice trembling slightly. "You're not like this!" But he didn't look back. That cold mask had settled over him again, shutting her out, once again.
"Hey! Shooter!" the other girl's voice rang out as she ran after him, and Lily's heart clenched at the word. Shooter. The weight of it felt suffocating. Bellamy didn't react, not visibly. But she could feel the tension in the group shift as Clarke and Finn exchanged a look. Without a word, they all started moving after him.
"Where's my radio?" the girl demanded stubbornly, stepping directly into Bellamy's path.
He stopped short, his shoulders squared. "Get out of my way," he said, his voice low and dangerous, like a warning that only barely hid the desperation underneath.
"Where is it?" she insisted, stepping even closer, unrelenting.
Something inside him snapped. His face twisted, jaw locking as he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "I should have killed you when I had the chance," he growled, his voice a harsh whisper.
Lily flinched—not out of fear, but from the sudden shift in him, the way his entire body bristled like a cornered animal. She knew it was a defense. But he was losing control, fast.
The girl's eyes sharpened. "Really?" she challenged, her voice steady, sharp like a blade. "Well, I'm right here."
In the space of a heartbeat, Bellamy moved. His hands clenched at the girl's shirt, roughly pushing her against a tree nearby.
Clarke, Finn, and Lily all moved at once, their boots crunching over leaves and branches as they rushed toward them. But as they got closer, they froze. The girl had a knife in her hand, and she was pointing it straight at Bellamy with unflinching focus. Despite being pinned, she hadn't hesitated. The steel of the blade glinted in the pale morning light.
Bellamy didn't move. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, but his grip stayed firm. They were locked in a dangerous stalemate—his rage, her blade, both on the edge of something irreversible.
"Okay, we've gone too far. Nobody's killing anyone!" Lily exclaimed, stepping in, her voice cutting through the tension as she moved closer to them, placing herself beside Bellamy without hesitation. "Put that knife away!" she snapped at the girl, her eyes flashing.
"Not until he tells me where my radio is," the girl replied, cold and sharp.
Lily let out a breath, her frustration rising. She turned to look up at Bellamy, voice quieter now, but firm. "Bellamy—let her go."
He didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on some invisible point ahead, jaw clenched, expression unreadable. For a few long seconds, it seemed like he wasn't going to move. Then, slowly—like the last thread of fight was unraveling—his fingers loosened their grip. He stepped back, releasing her without a word.
Without meeting anyone's eyes, Bellamy turned and began walking away, his back rigid, shoulders tight, boots heavy against the dirt.
"Jaha deserved to die," he said with a strong voice, "You all know that."
Lily dropped her gaze. Many had hated Jaha on the Ark—it wasn't a secret. But this... this wasn't justice. Killing him would have crossed a line. And now Bellamy's fear of punishment, of exposure, was leading them all toward something darker.
"Yeah," the new girl said, "He's not my favorite person either. But he is not dead."
Lily's eyes darted to Bellamy just in time to see the flicker of shock ripple across his face. His steps slowed, and for a breath, he looked almost boyish in his disbelief.
"What?" he asked, quietly.
"You're a lousy shot," the girl said, glaring at him.
Lily let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her hand came up instinctively to her chest, fingers brushing the fabric near her collarbone, where her heart was still racing. She didn't say anything, but her eyes stayed locked on Bellamy. The knot in her stomach loosened—just a little. Things hadn't gone too far. Not yet, at least.
"Bellamy," Clarke said, stepping toward him, her voice steady but intense, "do you see what this means? You're not a murderer."
Lily watched him closely. He looked stunned, confused, like he hadn't quite processed what had just been said. But was there relief in him? She couldn't tell. His face was a mix of fear and exhaustion, like he was still bracing for impact. Still hiding inside himself.
"You always did what you had to do to protect your sister. That's who you are," Clarke went on. "And you can do it again—by protecting 300 of your people."
His eyes dropped for a moment, and Lily felt her heart clench. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his jaw tensed—it was like watching someone trying not to drown. He looked hunted, not by them, but by the weight of everything he had done to survive.
Clarke's voice grew firmer. "Where's the radio?"
Bellamy looked up again. His expression was unreadable. "It's too late," he said quietly.
That made Lily frown. Her pulse quickened again. "Why?" she asked before she could stop herself. His gaze shifted to her, and for a moment he didn't speak. The silence stretched, heavy, and then—
"I threw it in the river," he finally said.
Clarke turned away, exhaling sharply. "Oh my God…"
And Lily stood frozen.
For a heartbeat, she couldn't move, couldn't think. The river? Her stomach twisted as the implication hit her like a punch. He hadn't just hidden it. He hadn't stashed it away for later, somewhere safe. He had gotten rid of it. Destroyed it, for all they knew. Her mouth went dry.
If the radio was gone—truly gone—how could they stop the Council from killing 300 innocent people?