The water was cold. Not enough to numb her skin, but just enough to send a shiver through her every time she moved. Lily waded forward in small, careful steps, the river reaching just above her knees. Mud and dead leaves stirred around her boots as she searched the bottom with her eyes, one breath at a time.
Her legs ached, and her shoes were heavy, but she didn't stop. Each step through the current was another thought she tried to silence. But the ticking in her head wouldn't go away.
Three hundred people.
She couldn't stop thinking about it.
So many people could have died. How many of them even knew what was coming? How many were already sentenced without knowing it, working their shifts in the colder sectors of the Ark? Maybe someone was eating in the mess hall with a child beside them. Maybe someone was laughing. Maybe, for one brief second, they felt safe. And then—it would have ended.
One order, and it would all be over.
That was the part that hurt the most. The way lives were reduced to calculations and numbers. Lines drawn on a list. Sacrificed behind the righteous mask of protection. But was it really protection?
Lily had never found an answer to that.
To her, every life mattered—and harsh decisions always felt like the safest way out. Especially because the upper class would never be the ones counted in such situations. They made the decisions, but they were never treated like everyone else.
She had seen the difference—back when she lived with her mother, and later, when she had been moved to a more privileged job, thanks to Marcus Kane. The Council would protect the elite. They were the only ones being protected.
They liked to speak of the Ark's strict rules as a way to maintain order and peace. But Lily had often wondered: where was the line between order and manipulation? What was the true reason behind this logic of "protecting the greater good" if it always led to hard decisions?
Decisions that killed.
Her jaw tensed as she pushed a tangle of branches out of her path.
There was no time to focus on that.
They had to find that radio, and stop from the Ark to do what it did best.
As she kept walking in the water, Lily glanced toward the riverbank. Bellamy was crouched near the edge, arms resting on his knees, completely still. He hadn't stepped into the water. Hadn't moved. His face was tight, jaw clenched, like a storm waiting to break—but he wasn't helping. He wasn't looking for the radio.
Lily let out a nervous scoff, seeing him there. A shiver ran along her spine, though she wasn't sure if it was from the cold river water or the sight of him, motionless, like this wasn't his mess to fix. It wasn't just the fact that he'd thrown the radio into the river that stung—or not only that.
It was this. Him not even trying.
He could have been searching. He could have been doing something. Anything to show he wanted to fix the mistake he'd made. But instead, he just sat there, detached and silent. Another impulsive choice. Another wall he'd built between himself and everyone else.
"Nice boyfriend you've got there," Raven muttered, not bothering to hide the bite in her voice as she passed by, eyes skimming the riverbed with sharp purpose.
Lily flinched—barely—but enough to feel the heat rise to her cheeks.
"He's not my boyfriend," she said quietly, voice low and flat.
She looked back down at the water, blinking hard. The current tugged at her legs, but she barely noticed it. A tightness had settled in her chest, as if Raven's words had pressed against something already bruised.
And stupidly, her mind betrayed her.
The memory came uninvited: Bellamy leaning toward her in the tent, shadows flickering over his face, his breath mingling with hers for just a second too long. The look in his eyes—unsteady, unsure—and how her heart had lurched as if something was about to happen.
God. How could she have let herself think of that now?
She pushed the thought down like a stone into the riverbed, willing it to sink and stay there. There were three hundred lives at stake. This wasn't the time for this.
Lily moved away from Raven without a word, putting space between them, and unintentionally, between herself and Bellamy too. She didn't want to see his face—not now. Not while her body was aching and her thoughts were filled with numbers and names she didn't even know.
The current pressed against her knees, tugging at her steps, but she kept going, eyes sweeping the riverbed in narrow, focused lines. She didn't know how long she'd been walking like that—just that her legs were sore and her breath shallow.
Somewhere to her left, voices broke the hush.
"I didn't think I'd see her again," Finn said, barely louder than the water.
Lily didn't turn, but her ears caught every word.
"You wouldn't take off your wristband," Clarke answered. Her voice was quiet, but the sharpness in it sliced through the air. "You still had hope. I get it. I was around, passably cute… and now it's over."
She hadn't meant to listen. And yet, the words clung to her like wet fabric.
She felt for Clarke—had sensed something between her and Finn before, in the way they gravitated toward each other, in how their eyes lingered a second too long. But now, they seemed miles apart. And it didn't take much to guess who they were talking about.
Raven.
Lily lowered her gaze to the water, the current still swirling around her knees, and for a moment she let herself feel the weight of it all—the silence, the tension, the cold seeping into her bones.
Then, without meaning to, her eyes drifted toward the riverbank.
Bellamy was still there. Still crouched. Still not helping. A dark shape carved out of tension and silence, like the world had narrowed to the tight set of his jaw and the stillness in his limbs.
Then he looked up—and met her gaze.
Lily's chest tightened. Something in his stare made her feel bare—exposed—and she hated how her breath caught without permission. She didn't move. Didn't blink. Her jaw tensed, yet she couldn't look away.
"I found it!" someone shouted, making Lily snap her head to the side. A guy—Jake, she remembered—had pulled the radio from the river. Raven was the first to run toward him, eagerly taking the device into her hands to inspect it.
Lily saw Bellamy take a deep breath before rising to his feet. His reaction made her drop her gaze. Why did he look upset? And why did she feel so disappointed?
She forced herself to shake off the thought. This wasn't about him. She had to know what was on that radio—and whether it could save those three hundred people.
"Can you fix it?" Clarke asked Raven, urgency lacing her voice.
But the flicker of hope died when Lily saw Raven shake her head. "Maybe," she said with a scoff. "But it'll take half a day just to dry the components enough to see what's broken."
Lily exhaled, dread sinking into her chest. "We won't make it," she realized aloud. Without the radio, there was no way to tell the Ark they were alive.
"Like I said," came Bellamy's voice beside her—calm and cold—"It's too late."
Did he even care?
"Bellamy, just don't," Lily muttered, barely louder than a whisper, but she knew he heard her.
His words made Clarke's eyes flare. She stormed toward him, fury radiating from her face. "Do you have any idea what you did?" she snapped, standing inches from him. Lily crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes briefly meeting Finn's. He looked angry too. They all did.
"Do you even care?" Clarke continued, voicing exactly what Lily had been thinking. She glanced at Bellamy, hoping to see him flinch or nod or something. But he said nothing. His eyes remained cold, though his jaw was clenched—and his shoulders, tight with tension.
"You asked me to help," he said, arms now folded across his chest, his dark eyes locked on Clarke with unreadable detachment. "I helped."
"Three hundred people are going to die today because of you!" Clarke shouted, her anger rising. But before he could respond, Raven's voice cut in, drawing everyone's attention.
"We don't have to talk to the Ark," she said, her tone urgent.
"What do you mean we don't?" Lily asked, stepping closer to her. Raven's eyes sparkled with something—excitement?—and Lily's confusion deepened.
"We just have to let them know we're down here."
"Yeah," Finn added quietly, "But how do we do that without the radio?"
Raven's grin widened. And despite everything, something in her expression made Lily feel the stir of hope again. Fragile. But real.
"We need to get back to the pod," Raven said, already turning toward the riverbank. "We're going to build missiles."
Clarke's eyes went wide as she followed her. "Can that work?"
Raven nodded firmly. "We just have to be quick."
Lily let out a shaky breath. Maybe… maybe they could make it. They had to. Those three hundred people couldn't die because of one mistake—because of his mistake.
Her eyes found Bellamy again. He hadn't moved. Still a few feet away, face hard, body tense.
"At least try to pretend you're at least relieved by this," she murmured.
Their eyes met. For a moment, neither of them looked away.
Then, as she moved to walk past him, Bellamy reached out, catching her arm and making her turn. The gesture surprised her; his grip was firm but not rough—just enough to draw her back to him. Lily truly hoped he'd tell her something, anything, about how he felt about what he had done. That he wanted to make it right. That he was sorry. But he said nothing. He just looked at her—closer than he had been since the night before—but his eyes remained cold. His jaw clenched again before he let her go, stepping past her to follow where the others had disappeared.
"Bellamy…" she called after him, but he didn't turn. He just kept walking.
Could he really be that cold-hearted? It was easier to believe that he was—but she didn't want to. She had seen him take care of Charlotte, had seen the sorrow in his eyes after her death. She had seen him angry, regretful. He was capable of feeling so much, and yet he had learned to hide it so well.
But what if he wasn't hiding it this time? What if he could feel deeply for some people, but not for others? Still—how could he not care? Three hundred innocent people were going to die because he had thrown the radio into the river. How could anyone feel nothing?
A strange flare ignited inside her, and she quickened her pace to catch up to him. When she saw Bellamy just ahead, she broke into a run, placing herself directly in front of him. He stopped short, his steps halting to avoid colliding with her.
"I don't believe you," she said, breathless, but firm.
"You don't believe me," he repeated, his eyes fixed on hers.
"No," she said with a shake of her head. "Someone who'd do so much to protect his sister can't feel nothing about this." He didn't respond. "Someone who tried to save a twelve-year-old girl. Who helped me when I was scared."
The memory struck her with unexpected clarity—his voice low and steady, the surprising gentleness in the way he had spoken to her that night. No sarcasm. No dismissal. Just calm reassurance. His hand had rested lightly on her back, grounding her, helping her catch her breath when fear had taken it away. He had stayed. And that had been enough to make her feel safe.
She noticed him drop his gaze for a moment before looking back at her.
"Move, Lily," he said, though he sounded more tired than anything.
"Bellamy," she said, restraining herself from reaching out to him, "just talk."
"What do you want me to say, huh?" he snapped.
"Something," she said. "Anything! I know this isn't who you are—but you don't trust anyone, Bellamy! You always think you have to do everything on your own, that you can control every damn thing around you. But you can't!" Her voice cracked on the last word, raw with emotion.
Still, he remained silent, jaw clenched, eyes locked on hers as if searching for something.
"There are people here who care about you," Lily continued, her voice quieter now, trembling. "People who would help you without even thinking twice. But you never let them. You just… keep pushing everyone away. And then you do bullshit like throwing that damned radio in the river."
Her eyes filled with tears. She turned sharply, scrubbing at her face, not wanting him to see her cry.
"Nobody could have helped me," Bellamy said softly behind her. His voice was almost broken, as though the words themselves hurt.
Lily stopped. She exhaled shakily and turned back to face him, blinking against the sting in her eyes. Her voice came out soft, but steady. "You keep telling yourself that," she said. "But I just wish… I wish you'd trust more, Bellamy."
She held his gaze for a long moment, her breath catching like she wanted to say more. Then she turned abruptly, blinking back the tears as she walked away.