The mid-day sun beat down relentlessly on the dropship camp, turning the dirt clearing into a stifling, humid oven. The frantic energy of the morning had settled into the grueling, repetitive labor of building the perimeter wall.
Near the southern edge, Aleksander and Bellamy were doing the heavy lifting, hauling massive, freshly felled pine logs into position.
The heat had forced Aleksander to shed his heavy coat and overshirt. He worked with a terrifying, effortless efficiency, his Dark Fey strength allowing him to casually hoist timber that should have required three men to move.
Stripped to his undershirt—and eventually shedding even that as the sweat and dirt accumulated—his physique was on full display. He wasn't just built; he looked like he was carved out of marble. His muscles were lean, densely packed, and shifted with a smooth, predatory grace beneath his pale skin.
A few yards away, Octavia and Clarke were sorting through a pile of salvaged wiring and canvas, though neither of them was paying much attention to their work.
Octavia leaned back against a crate, her arms crossed, watching Aleksander's chest and shoulders flex as he drove a wooden stake into the dirt with a heavy mallet. She didn't even try to hide her blatant, appreciative staring. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
Beside her, Clarke was attempting to maintain her professional focus, keeping her eyes on the medical supplies. But every few seconds, her gaze involuntarily drifted back toward the wall. When Aleksander wiped the sweat from his brow, his dark hair falling across his forehead, Clarke caught herself staring and quickly looked down, a slight flush rising to her cheeks.
Octavia noticed and let out a quiet, knowing laugh. "You can look, Clarke. I won't tell anyone."
Clarke's face turned completely red. "I'm just... checking to make sure they aren't overexerting themselves. Dehydration is a serious risk."
"Right," Octavia teased, her eyes drifting back to Aleksander. "Dehydration."
Across the camp, Bellamy had stepped away for a breather. He stood near the tree line, aggressively practicing knife throwing. The heavy, rhythmic *thud* of the blade sinking into the bark echoed in the clearing as John Murphy lounged nearby, casually flipping his own knife.
Their practice was interrupted when Atom and Jones jogged over, both looking anxious.
"Bellamy," Atom called out, stopping near the tree. "We've got a problem. Trina and Pascal are missing. They missed their shift on the wall, and no one has seen them since breakfast."
Bellamy pulled his knife from the bark, his jaw tightening. "Did they go past the perimeter?"
Murphy scoffed from his spot in the dirt, entirely unbothered. "Relax, Bellamy. It's a nice day. They're probably just taking a trip to pound town in the ferns."
Bellamy shot Murphy a dark look. Before he could snap back, Aleksander walked over, grabbing his shirt from a nearby crate and pulling it over his head.
"We cannot afford to lose numbers," Aleksander said quietly, stopping beside Bellamy. His voice was calm, but it carried the chilling weight of what they had seen in the ravine. "Every person in this camp is a set of hands for the wall, or a body to hold a weapon. If they wander into the wrong clearing, they die."
Bellamy met Aleksander's eyes, the unspoken reminder of the slaughtered Grounder exiles passing between them.
"Atom, Jones, tell everyone to keep their eyes open and stay inside the gates,"
Bellamy ordered firmly. He turned to the others. "Wells, Murphy, you're on perimeter watch. Clarke, Octavia, keep the work details moving. Aleksander and I are going hunting."
"Hunting for food, or hunting for idiots?" Murphy drawled.
"Both," Aleksander replied coldly, already walking past him toward the tree line.
Once they slipped past the camp gates, the tracking took almost no effort. For Bellamy, the forest was a confusing maze of brush and shadows. For Aleksander, it was an open book. His Fey senses easily picked out the snapped twigs, the disturbed moss, and the faint, lingering scent of cheap Ark soap.
Less than a mile from camp, Aleksander raised a hand, signaling Bellamy to stop.
In a small, secluded clearing bathed in sunlight, Trina and Pascal were completely oblivious to the danger around them. Trina, a thin girl with pale skin, long brown hair, and bright brown eyes, was sitting against a tree, laughing at something Pascal had just said. Pascal, sporting short brown hair, blue eyes, and an average build, was leaning in close, a flirtatious smirk on his face.
They were entirely unarmed and utterly defenseless.
The romantic moment was violently shattered when Aleksander stepped out of the brush, his dark eyes devoid of any warmth.
"Get up," Aleksander ordered, his voice cutting through the clearing like a blade.
Pascal jumped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled away from Trina. "Hey! We were just—"
"I don't care what you were doing," Bellamy barked, stepping out right behind Aleksander. He stormed into the clearing, furious. "You broke perimeter! Do you have any idea what is out here? We are trying to build a wall to keep things out, and you two wander off into the woods like it's a park!"
Trina's pale face flushed with embarrassment and fear. "Bellamy, we were just taking a break. It's safe here."
"Safe?" Aleksander stepped closer, his imposing presence instantly suffocating the clearing. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Less than four miles from here, there are ten dead men bleeding out into the dirt. Men who know this forest, who are armed, and who kill for sport. If they had found you instead of us, you wouldn't be taking a break. You would be in pieces."
The color completely drained from Pascal's face. Trina swallowed hard, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at Aleksander's unblinking, predatory gaze.
"Get back to camp. Right now," Bellamy ordered, pointing back the way they came. "And if you ever leave the gates without my permission again, you won't get any rations for a week. Move!"
Properly terrified, Trina and Pascal didn't say another word. They scrambled past Bellamy and Aleksander, sprinting back toward the safety of the dropship as fast as their legs could carry them.
Bellamy watched them go, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He dragged a hand down his face. "Idiots. They have no idea."
"They will learn, or they will die," Aleksander stated simply, turning his back on the trail to camp. He reached down to his belt, his hand brushing the hilt of his hybrid battleaxe. "Come on. We have the rest of the day, and the camp needs meat."