❝ Hell isn't where you go when you die.
It's what you become when everything you love has been taken away. ❞
[ sequel to 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 ]
[ the 100 / season two ]
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We're All Murderers;
"𝐒o you are coming with us."
Clove doesn't face the boy as he approaches her, concerned her blood will start physically burning at the very sight of him.
Her forest green eyes keep concentrating on the weapon in her hands, mind steady as she replaces the empty ammunition with a fresh round.
They're leaving for the dropship, planning to protect Finn themselves. They left not too long ago, leaving the blonde behind on her own terms. She wasn't planning on going after them. She really wasn't. Yet, somehow, she still ended up by the main gates, a rifle resting comfortably in her sweaty grip.
She protects her own.
"Us?" she repeats bitterly, feeling his presence on her steps as she departs the camp's safety. "Don't think Bellamy invited you to the party, John."
Murphy rolls his eyes, not satisfied with her mockery of his first name. "Don't think you were invited either, yet here we are," he teases, "and jokes on you, Clover, Raven wanted me to tag along."
"You think this is funny?" The shorter of the two halts in her step. "If you don't stop following me right now, I'll put one in your leg. Seriously." She directs her rifle to his foot, daring him to take another step in her direction.
Much to her irritation, the boy smirks. "Yeah, and then you would die beside me after the grounders hear the shot," he remarks. "It's not like you could outrun them."
Clove grumbles under her breath, moving down the path while ignoring his final statement. She slings the rifle across her back, allowing her hands to draw into fists by her sides.
"Bellamy asked you to stay back for a reason. That leg won't heal if you keep pushing it."
"I'm fine. My leg is fine." Her voice rises at the sight of him maintaining her pace with hers. "Go pretend to be worrying about someone else."
The boy sighs profoundly, choosing to ignore the plead for him to find his own way to the dropship. Still, he keeps quiet, lingering behind the girl as they stalk through the dense woods. The group was supposed to split up, yet no one should make the trip all alone.
Not even the birds are chirping. The fog has lifted, yet the sky is still sheathed in a grey veil. The air is damp, leaving a blend of sweat and water on their heated skin.
Clove's blonde locks are drawn back in the remains of a loose bun. Some strands have escaped, sticking out as they bounce with every step she takes. They're drawn over her shoulder as she glances back at the boy, not trusting his intentions.
