The next morning, Clarke's world began to crack.
It started with a whisper.
"Kira needs to see you. Urgently."
Lexa's voice was quiet but sharp, like a blade held behind silk. Clarke was barely out of bed when she found herself dragged into a secure chamber three floors below Polis' council hall. Raven and Linh were already there—Linh looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, fingers twitching from too much caffeine and too little sleep.
Kira sat at the center of it all, arms crossed, silent.
On the table between them: a single laptop.
Clarke frowned. "Is that...?"
"It's yours," Kira said. "Or at least, it belonged to your people. Rewired, restored, and decrypted."
Linh gave a small nod. "Courtesy of five years of spare parts and two working hands."
Clarke stepped closer.
"What's on it?"
Kira didn't answer. She simply clicked play.
The screen flickered.
Surveillance footage—blurry, old, but clear enough.
Abby Griffin appeared.
Smiling.
Talking to a man in a black cloak.
His voice echoed from the tinny speakers: "Prepare the sleeper protocol. If the Flame rises, burn the Shadow. Balance must be preserved."
And Abby, steady as a scalpel: "Understood."
Clarke's breath left her in one shattering exhale.
"No," she whispered. "No. That's not— That's not possible."
Kira watched her. Not coldly. But with a hard, steady gaze.
"Your mother helped design a plan to eliminate the Commander and anyone who got too close to her power."
Clarke stepped back, mouth open, hands shaking. "This... this has to be fake."
"I wish it was," Linh muttered.
Clarke turned sharply. "But she changed. She's not like that anymore—she couldn't be. She fought for peace."
"She also fought for control," Kira said. "And peace, for some, means power in the hands of the right people."
Clarke's voice broke. "She loved me. She loved—"
"She still does," Kira said gently. "But love doesn't stop people from making monsters out of their intentions."
For a long moment, silence filled the room.
Then Clarke whispered, "What do we do?"
Kira closed the laptop.
And said quietly, "We don't tell Lexa."
Hours later, Kira stood at the balcony overlooking Polis.
The city shimmered with heat. The Flame had chosen its bearer, and still the embers of revolt flickered in every shadow. The clans waited. The spies listened.
Lexa approached behind her.
"You're hiding something."
Kira didn't deny it. "I'm preventing collapse."
Lexa stepped beside her. "You think I can't handle the truth?"
"I think the truth might make you question the one person who still anchors you."
Lexa didn't answer at first.
Then: "Clarke."
Kira nodded.
"She deserves the truth," Lexa said.
"She deserves time," Kira corrected. "And you deserve not to fight a war in your own hall."
Lexa turned fully, eyes sharp. "You're asking me to ignore betrayal."
"I'm asking you to trust me," Kira said. "Like you did when I killed that traitor in front of Azgeda. Like you did when you gave me your sword and told me to protect your legacy."
Lexa's jaw tightened.
Then she stepped back. "You have until the end of the week. Then I want names."
That night, Clarke sat alone in the temple.
Not the grand one. A smaller shrine, built for silence.
The Flamekeeper was absent—Kira had arranged for that. Raven stood watch outside.
Clarke stared at the ancient flame in the bowl at the center.
"How do you forgive someone for thinking they were doing the right thing?" she whispered.
Kira entered quietly.
"Sometimes you don't," she said. "You just decide to move forward anyway."
Clarke turned, eyes red but dry.
"Why didn't you show Lexa?"
"Because you're not the one who made that choice. And because love doesn't deserve to be a battlefield."
Clarke looked back to the flame.
"She was trying to protect me. I know that. But... she was going to kill you."
Kira smiled faintly. "Wouldn't be the first person."
Clarke gave a broken laugh.
Then, finally, she said, "Thank you. For showing me."
And then, even softer: "For trusting me."
Kira hesitated.
Then stepped closer.
"I always have."
Their hands brushed.
A breath passed.
Then Kira pulled away.
"We're not safe yet," she murmured. "And I think... we're not the only ones watching the Flame."
Far from Polis, in a bunker lit by dying lanterns, a man kneeled before a makeshift shrine.
On the wall behind him, the symbol of the Ark had been carved into stone—twisted into something darker.
He pressed his fingers to a blood-marked page.
"Phase two begins."
"The Commander will fall."
"And the Shadow... will burn."
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