The dim, metallic interior of the dropship smelled of ozone and stale air. Clarke was frantically digging through the scattered metal panels and supply crates, trying to throw together a usable medical kit.
Wells limped into the room, holding a crude, makeshift bag. "There you are. When my father said they didn't leave us anything, he really meant it." He gestured to a scrape on his arm. "It's just a scratch."
Clarke barely looked up, though she tossed him a roll of clean gauze. "You're making friends fast. Keep it covered. It could get infected. Nice pack."
"Yeah, seat belts and insulation," Wells said, holding it up. "I also packed part of the parachute. I figured we could use it to carry out Jasper."
Clarke stopped moving, fixing him with a hard look. "Good. Give it to someone else. You're not coming with us."
Wells frowned, shifting his weight. "My ankle's fine."
"It's not your ankle, Wells," Clarke said sharply. "It's you."
Wells swallowed the hurt, stepping forward. "You came back for reinforcements. I'm gonna help."
Monty pushed his way into the dropship, looking frantic. "Clarke, he's right. We need him. So far, no one else has volunteered."
"I'm sorry, Monty," Clarke said softly, her expression softening. "But you're not going, either."
"Like hell I'm not," Monty fired back, his voice cracking. "Jasper's my best friend."
"You're too important," Clarke insisted. "You were raised on Farm Station and recruited by engineering."
Monty threw his hands up. "So?"
"So, food and communication. What's up here," she tapped her temple, "is gonna save us all. You figure out how to talk to the Ark, and I'll bring Jasper back."
Aleksander stepped from the shadows near the back of the dropship, calmly wiping a speck of dirt off the curved steel of his karambit. His presence instantly cooled the heated argument. He reached into a ripped wall panel, pulled out a tangled cluster of scorched wiring, and tossed it to Monty.
"Focus on the comms board, Monty," Aleksander instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Bypassing the Ark's telemetry lock requires a physical hardware bridge. It's a puzzle, and you're the only one here who can solve it. If you haven't cracked the frequency by the time we return, I'll help you rebuild the transmitter."
Monty looked at the wires in his hands, then between Clarke and Aleksander. His shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat, and he gave a stiff nod.
Finn leaned against the dropship doorway, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked pale, the carefree spacewalker persona completely shattered.
"Hey," Clarke said, walking over to him. "You ready?"
Finn shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither should any of you. That spear was thrown with pinpoint accuracy from three hundred feet."
"So what, we let Jasper die?" Clarke demanded, her voice rising in disbelief. "That's not gonna happen. Spacewalker? What a joke. You think you're such an adventurer. You're really just a coward."
Finn's jaw tightened. "It's not an adventure, Clarke. It's a suicide mission."
"It is only a suicide mission if we repeat yesterday's mistakes," Aleksander countered. He walked toward the door, fluidly spinning the karambit around his finger before making it vanish into his coat. He stopped right in front of Finn, forcing the older boy to look at him.
"And you're wrong about the strike, Finn," Aleksander said, his voice chillingly analytical. "It wasn't just accurate; it was deliberate. A weapon that heavy, thrown with that much force, should have blown straight through Jasper's ribcage and stopped his heart instantly. It didn't. They missed his major arteries on purpose. They pinned him. They took him alive."
Finn blinked, the reality of the math sinking in. "Why?"
"You don't take prisoners unless you want information, or you're setting a larger trap," Aleksander explained coldly. "They are studying us. I intend to study them back. But if you want to stay here and hide behind the walls, feel free."
Leaving Finn to his shame, Clarke and Aleksander walked out of the dropship. A few yards away, Bellamy was kneeling in the dirt, carefully inspecting the thick, blood-stained bandage on Octavia's thigh.
Octavia groaned softly as he adjusted the fabric.
"What the hell was it?" Bellamy asked, his voice tight with protective rage.
"I don't know," Octavia breathed. "The others said it looked like a giant snake."
Bellamy said, "You could have been killed, O."
"I wasn't," Octavia replied. Her eyes darted over Bellamy's shoulder, locking onto Aleksander as he approached. A faint, breathless smile touched her lips.
"Aleksander saved me. You should have seen how he took it down. He didn't even hesitate."
Bellamy stiffened, glancing back at the Alpha Station boy.
Before Bellamy could speak, Aleksander stepped past him and knelt briefly beside Octavia. He didn't ask permission. He lightly pressed two fingers just above her bandage, secretly pulsing a tiny fraction of his magic into her skin to ease the lingering ache.
"The swelling is down," Aleksander murmured to her, his voice entirely different from the cold tone he used with Finn. "Keep your weight off it today."
Octavia leaned into the touch for a fraction of a second, her smile widening. "Yes, doctor."
Bellamy watched the interaction, a complex mix of lingering hostility, suspicion, and undeniable gratitude churning in his gut. He stood up, blocking Aleksander from his sister.
Octavia pushed herself up on her good leg as Clarke stopped in front of them. "You guys leaving? I'm coming, too."
"No, no," Bellamy said immediately, pushing her gently back down. "No way. Not again."
"He's right," Clarke agreed without hesitation.
"Your leg's just gonna slow us down." She looked directly at Bellamy. "I'm here for you."
Wells, who had just walked up behind Clarke, grabbed her arm. "Clarke, what are you doing?"
"She is making the only logical play," Aleksander said, stepping up beside Clarke. His dark eyes locked onto Bellamy, issuing a direct, calculated challenge to the older boy's ego. "We need firepower, and we need someone who isn't going to flinch when the blood starts pouring."
Aleksander tilted his head, his gaze piercing. "You want to prove to this camp that you're their protector, Bellamy? Now is your chance. Or would you rather sit here playing guard dog while the privileged kids go out into the woods and do the actual fighting?"
Bellamy's jaw clenched. Aleksander knew exactly which buttons to push. Bellamy didn't like being recruited, but he couldn't back down from a direct challenge to his leadership in front of his sister and his followers.
"Murphy," Bellamy barked, not breaking eye contact with Aleksander. "Come with me. Atom?"
A tall, broad-shouldered delinquent stepped forward.
"My sister doesn't leave this camp," Bellamy ordered. "Is that clear?"
Octavia glared at him. "I don't need a babysitter."
Bellamy ignored her, pointing a finger at Atom. "Anybody touches her, they answer to me." He grabbed the stolen gun, checking the magazine with a sharp, metallic click. "Let's go."
As Bellamy and Murphy fell into step behind them, Wells grabbed Clarke's shoulder, pulling her back slightly. "Those guys aren't just bullies, Clarke. They're dangerous criminals."
Clarke didn't even blink. "I'm counting on it."
Further back in the line, Murphy matched Bellamy's pace, looking thoroughly annoyed by the excursion into the deadly woods. "Since when are we in the rescuing business, huh?"
Bellamy kept his eyes on Clarke's back, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "The Ark thinks the prince is dead. Once they think the princess is, too, they'll never come down."
He shifted the strap of the rifle on his shoulder, his eyes moving to the lethal, fluid way Aleksander moved through the brush ahead of them.
"And keep an eye on Aleksander," Bellamy added quietly, his tone thoughtful. "I am having a talk with him after this. Turns out, we actually have common ground."