15 | Chaos

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TW // Depictions of hanging






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Thena and Monty worked for what must have been hours before someone entered the dropship once more.

"Thena, we need you. Come on."

It was Clarke who said it. Thena, who was still in the midst of her non-stop working mood, didn't notice the shakiness in her voice and urgency.

"I'm working here, Clarke." She called back, not turning around.

"It's important. It's about Wells."

Both Monty and Thena stopped before she slowly turned around. She saw her face, in anguish, pain, and fear.

"I'll be back, keep working." She whispered to Monty before striding over to Clarke.

She led her to a tent, barely able to inspect the changes in the camp, specifically the walls.

They entered to see a group around a table. It was Bellamy, Octavia, and Jasper. On the table were Wells' fingers and a knife.

She knew that knife all too well. It was Murphy's.

"This knife was made from the metal of the dropship," Clarke stated the obvious. Thena watched with hardened eyes, cogs whirling in her head.

She blocked out all her questions about Wells' death when he was buried in the ground and she—in turn—buried herself in work. Now, she was dug up from the hazy glaze she placed herself in.

She remembered the stab to his neck, specifically to a major artery. It was clean—too clean—for a grounder kill. The same group who speared Jasper and strung him up as live bait.

"Who else knows about this?" Bellamy asked.

"No one. We brought it straight here." Octavia replied.

"It means the grounders didn't clear Wells," Clarke gulped. "It was one of us."

Thena only hummed in acknowledgment. Well, that part is pretty obvious, she thought.

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫 ── 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞¹Where stories live. Discover now