The walk back to camp was significantly heavier with the added weight of the assault rifles and ammunition, but the mood was triumphant. For the first time, they weren't just surviving; they were armed.
Before the wooden walls of the camp came into view, Aleksander stopped the group.
"When we get inside, Bellamy and Clarke will address the camp," Aleksander instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate. "But I am setting a hard rule right now. These rifles will not be handed out to just anyone who asks. Before a single person touches a trigger, they come to me. I will read their mind. If they have ill intentions, a volatile temper, or cannot be trusted, they do not get a weapon."
Bellamy nodded instantly. "Agreed. The last thing we need is some panicked nutjob shooting up the camp because they got spooked in the dark."
"It's the safest way," Clarke agreed, visibly relieved that there would be a strict, magical vetting process.
When they pushed through the gates holding military-grade rifles, the entire camp ground to a halt. Murmurs of shock rippled through the teenagers, quickly swelling into a rising tide of excitement.
Bellamy climbed up onto a large crate near the fire pit, hoisting his rifle into the air.
"Let the Grounders come!" Bellamy shouted, his voice echoing off the walls and igniting the crowd. "We've been afraid of them for far too long, and why? Because of their knives and spears! I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being afraid."
The camp erupted into cheers, the oppressive fear of the last week momentarily forgotten.
Clarke stepped up beside him, raising a hand to temper the adrenaline with a dose of reality.
"These are weapons, okay? Not toys," Clarke projected loudly over the crowd.
"And there are plenty more where these came from," Bellamy added, grinning fiercely at the crowd. "Tomorrow we start training. If the Grounders come, we're gonna be ready to fight."
Near the edge of the crowd, Aleksander watched the display with cold approval. But his empathy suddenly spiked, catching a wave of deep, self-righteous frustration. He shifted his gaze and locked onto Finn, who was standing near the dropship, staring at the guns with outright disgust.
Before Aleksander could address Finn's silent tantrum, Raven jogged down the dropship ramp.
"Hey," Raven called out, spotting Aleksander. She wiped a smudge of grease off her forehead. "I'm trying to patch up the radio, but I'm hitting a wall with the signal degradation. You said you know how to punch through the jamming field?"
Aleksander nodded, seamlessly transitioning from warlord to technician. He followed her into the dropship.
Working together, they quickly realized that a full voice transmission was too heavy to push through the interference.
"We downgrade it," Aleksander suggested, tracing the circuitry with his finger. "We bypass the audio entirely. Send a simple, continuous code signal—Morse code. It takes a fraction of the bandwidth. Once we establish that they can hear the code, we can strip the transponder parts from your pod to boost it into a video signal later."
Raven's face lit up. She grinned, grabbing her soldering iron. "You're a genius. A Morse code ping will absolutely punch through. Let's do it."
They didn't get far. Ten minutes later, Finn stormed into the dropship, his jaw tight. He looked at Clarke, Wells, Bellamy, and Aleksander, demanding an immediate meeting of the core group.
Once they were gathered on the middle deck, Finn didn't hold back.
"Guns? Really?" Finn demanded, looking directly at Clarke as if she had personally betrayed him.
"The Grounders haven't exactly showed themselves to be safe, Finn," Clarke countered, crossing her arms defensively. "They threw a spear through Jasper's chest and tried to kill us in the woods. We have to be prepared."
Finn scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah. Our ancestors wanted to be prepared, too. So they built bombs. Look how that turned out."
"Rifles are not the same as nukes, Finn," Clarke argued, her patience already wearing thin.
"In Bellamy's hands, they are!" Finn shot back, his voice rising in panic. "Clarke, come on. You can't predict what he's gonna do. He's reckless."
"There's no perfect answer, Finn," Clarke sighed, rubbing her temples.
Aleksander, who had been leaning silently against the wall, finally pushed himself off. He stepped into the center of the circle, his dark eyes locking onto Finn with lethal, analytical precision.
"Your logic is incredibly flawed, Finn," Aleksander stated, his voice completely calm but cutting through the argument like a knife.
Finn glared at him. "How is it flawed? Violence just breeds more violence."
"Your ancestors built bombs and wiped out the planet," Aleksander countered smoothly. "The Grounders build wooden spears and use them to hunt down teenagers. Violence does not require advanced technology, Finn. It only requires intent. Disarming ourselves will not stop them from wanting to kill us; it will only make their job easier."
Finn opened his mouth to argue, but Aleksander stepped closer, shutting him down entirely.
"As for your concern regarding Bellamy's unpredictability," Aleksander continued coldly, "Bellamy is not the one deciding who touches those weapons. I am. Every single person who holds a rifle in this camp will have their mind thoroughly vetted by me. Only those who possess the discipline to follow orders will be armed."
Finn looked around the room, expecting someone—especially Clarke—to back him up. But Bellamy just looked smug, Wells was nodding in agreement with Aleksander, and Clarke completely avoided his gaze, she agreed with Aleksander.
"You want peace, Finn," Aleksander said, his tone dripping with cold reality. "But peace is a luxury bought by those who have the strength to defend it. If you walk out of those gates with empty hands and a smile, you will not broker a treaty. You will bring a massacre. So keep your outdated pacifism to yourself, and let the adults handle the survival of this camp."
Finn stood frozen, entirely isolated from the leadership he had so desperately tried to cling to. Without a single word of support from Clarke, he turned and stormed down the ladder, his illusions of control completely shattered.