Bellamy Blake got on her nerves.

It wasn’t just one thing—it was everything. The way he barked orders like he was some self-proclaimed king. The way he encouraged chaos, turning the delinquents against the Ark like it was some evil empire. The way he was so reckless, so stubborn, so goddamn infuriating.

And yet, somehow, everyone still listened to him.

"Bellamy, you can't just tell them to ignore the Ark. We need them. We need their supplies."

He scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. "Right. Because the Ark has been so generous with their help."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "They're sending the dropship, aren't they?"

"Yeah? And how many of us do you think will be left by the time it gets here?" His voice was sharp, edged with frustration. "You keep acting like we owe them something. Like we should just sit here and wait for them to save us."

"I'm not saying we should wait, I'm saying we should think before we act! Which is something you clearly have a hard time doing."

There it was—that tension between them, the unspoken battle for control that neither of them had ever truly addressed, but both knew existed.

He hated her because he thought she was entitled, another Ark-born elitist who thought leadership was her right.

She hated him because he was reckless, too blinded by his anger toward the Ark to see the bigger picture.

They were opposites, and yet, in some twisted way, they were the same.