The group arrived back at Camp, the scattered chatter of the delinquents died down as the scouting party stepped through the perimeter. Aleksander, Clarke, Wells, Octavia, and Monty walked into the clearing, their shoulders heavy under the weight of the stuffed canvas bags.
Bellamy was standing near the center of the camp, barking orders at a group trying to sharpen wooden stakes, but he stopped mid-sentence the second he saw them. He crossed the dirt in quick, long strides, bypassing Clarke and the others entirely to pull Octavia into a tight, desperate hug.
"I told you I'd be fine," Octavia muttered, rolling her eyes slightly, though she hugged her brother back.
"Okay, but don't think you can sneak out without me knowing," Bellamy breathed, the relief evident in his rough voice. He pulled back, checking her over for any injuries before his eyes fell to the massive, heavy packs they had dropped into the dirt.
Bellamy knelt, pulling back the heavy canvas flap of the nearest bag. The sunlight caught the dark, pristine edges of the high-carbon steel tools.
"Machetes, felling axes, wire saws..." Bellamy muttered, his eyes widening as Clarke pulled out the advanced trauma kits and Monty excitedly revealed the seed vaults and water purifiers.
Bellamy looked up, scanning the haul. "This is a massive score. No guns?"
"Axes don't run out of bullets," Aleksander replied smoothly, dropping his own heavy pack near the fire. "And they don't jam in the mud. Hand them out to your strongest builders. We need the wall finished by tomorrow night."
Bellamy nodded, running a hand over the grip of a sleek, dark grey machete. He could instantly see the tactical value. It wasn't the firepower he wanted, but it was exactly the infrastructure they desperately needed to survive.
Aleksander didn't linger to watch the delinquents marvel at the supplies. He caught Bellamy's eye over the crowd and gave a subtle, sharp tilt of his head toward the heavy metal doors of the dropship.
Bellamy paused. He recognized the cold, calculating look in Aleksander's eyes. It was the exact same look the Alpha Station boy had given him by the fire last night—a look that meant he had information that was not meant for public consumption.
"Miller, Murphy," Bellamy called out, standing up and instantly taking charge of the crowd. "Inventory these tools. No one takes an axe without my say-so. Clarke, get those meds to Jasper."
Leaving the camp to organize the haul, Bellamy turned and followed Aleksander through the heavy metal doors of the dropship.
The heavy metal doors of the dropship were just about to seal shut when Octavia slipped through the narrow gap, refusing to be left out of the debrief.
Bellamy crossed his arms, looking between the two of them. The tension radiating off Aleksander was entirely different from the calm, calculating aura he usually carried. It was sharper. Colder.
"Alright," Bellamy prompted, lowering his voice. "What happened out there?"
"We were ambushed," Aleksander stated, his voice clinical and entirely devoid of adrenaline. "A scouting party tracked us to the ravine. Ten Grounders, fully armed."
Bellamy's posture instantly stiffened, his protective instincts flaring. He looked at Octavia, checking her over for a third time. "Ten? Without guns, how the hell did you all get out of there?"
Octavia stepped forward, her eyes locked on her brother. The lingering shock and awe from the ravine were still plain on her face. "We didn't do anything, Bell. He took out ten Grounders by himself."
Bellamy froze. He stared at his sister, making sure he had heard her correctly, then slowly turned his head to look at Aleksander. He remembered the boy casually swatting a four-hundred-pound mutated jaguar out of the air, but taking down ten armed, territorial warriors was a completely different level of lethal.
"All ten?" Bellamy repeated, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Are you out of your mind? If you just started a war—"
"The war was already started the second this ship hit the ground," Aleksander interrupted smoothly, his dark eyes locking onto Bellamy's. "They were exiles. Criminals who had been banished by the larger Grounder Coalition. They were hunting us for sport. If I had let them retreat, they would have followed us right back to these gates and slaughtered half the camp in their sleep."
Bellamy's eyes widened slightly, the sheer, ruthless brutality of the act taking him entirely off guard. Even with his rough upbringing on the Ark, this was a level of calculated violence he hadn't expected from an Alpha Station prodigy.
"Why leave him alive?" Bellamy asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to grasp the tactic.
"As a warning," Aleksander answered softly. "Right now, the Grounders think we are soft. They think we are sky-fallen children waiting to be picked off. When the rest of their people find that clearing, they will see that we are not prey. It will make them wary. It will make them hesitate."
Aleksander held Bellamy's gaze, driving the tactical reality home.
"Hesitation buys us time," Aleksander continued. "And time is exactly what you need to get those axes into the hands of your builders and finish that wall. Because the exiles were just the vanguard, Bellamy. There is a massive, organized army out there, and eventually, they are going to come looking for us."
Bellamy narrowed his eyes, processing the sheer scale of the threat. "You said they were exiles. Criminals. How the hell could you possibly know that? Did you stop to ask them before you slaughtered them?"
"I didn't have to ask. It was written all over them," Aleksander replied smoothly, his tone shifting into the cold, clinical cadence of a tactician giving a briefing.
He took a step toward the metal console, leaning against it with absolute, relaxed confidence.
"First, their gear," Aleksander explained. "If there is a massive, organized army out there capable of surviving a nuclear apocalypse for ninety years, they would have a standard of weaponry, also the spear used on Jasper was high quality. But these men carried rusted swords, mismatched leather, and crude wooden clubs. It was piecemeal. Scavenged."
Bellamy crossed his arms, listening intently. The logic was sound.
"Second, their markings," Aleksander continued, his dark eyes sharpening. "The leader had heavy, intricate tribal knotwork tattooed across his face and neck—a mark of status or clan affiliation. But there were fresh, jagged scars cutting directly through the ink. You don't deface your own honors. Those marks were intentionally ruined. He was stripped of his rank and cast out."
Octavia looked at Aleksander, a shiver running down her spine. During the chaos of the ambush, she had only seen terrifying monsters in the woods. Aleksander had been completely surrounded, fighting for his life, and yet his brain had been calmly dissecting their enemy's sociopolitical status in real-time.
"And finally, their tactics," Aleksander finished, his voice dropping slightly. "They didn't fight like trained soldiers. They fought like starving, desperate dogs. They were reckless, disorganized, and broke formation the second they smelled blood. A real military force—an army that controls this much territory—would have sent scouts. They would have assessed our numbers, our weapons, and our perimeter before ever engaging."
Bellamy uncrossed his arms, the heavy weight of reality sinking in. "So, we're in no-man's land. And these were just the bottom-feeders."
"Exactly," Aleksander nodded, his expression completely serious. "These exiles are surviving in the contested borderlands because if they cross back into their own territory, their people will execute them. But the fact that they were here means we are loud enough to attract attention."
Aleksander pushed off the console, walking slowly toward Bellamy until he was standing just inches away.
"This rogue group was a gift, Bellamy," Aleksander said quietly. "Their deaths will make the real group hesitate when they finally find us. But that hesitation won't last forever."
Bellamy met the Alpha Station boy's gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between them. The games were officially over. The Ark's politics didn't matter anymore.
"I'll get the work details organized immediately," Bellamy said, his voice hardening into the ruthless leader the camp needed him to be. "No one sleeps until that wall is finished."