Lexa moved like the forest belonged to her — silent, steady, lethal. The rogue Grounders she hunted were close. She could feel it.

So was something else.

A faint scuff of boots. A breath caught wrong.

She stepped from the trees.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

You stood abruptly, blade in hand before her words had fully landed. Just like always — ready for a fight, even if it wasn’t one you’d win.

“Funny,”

you said.

“I was about to say the same to you.”

Lexa studied you. Dirt streaked your cheeks. Tension coiled in your shoulders. You looked tired, but fire still burned behind your eyes.

“They doubled back east,”

she said.

“Blood trail. You missed it.”

You scowled.

“So what — you’re helping now?”

“I’m stopping a threat to my people,”

she replied coolly.

“You just happen to be in the way.”

You hesitated, then fell into step beside her. Not because you trusted her — Lexa knew better than to expect that — but because you wanted the same thing.

You moved in silence through the trees, the only sounds your footsteps and the distant crackle of birds scattering. Lexa glanced at you once.

“You’ve improved.”

You didn’t look at her.

“You’re still arrogant.”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth.

—

The rogue camp came into view. Four targets. Armed. Unaware.

You crouched low beside her. Your shoulder brushed hers, and it startled neither of you.

“I take the two on the left,”

you murmured.

Lexa nodded.

“Don’t get in my way.”

You smirked — and then vanished like smoke.

The fight was over in moments. Efficient. Clean.

Lexa watched you wipe your blade, breath rising, chest heaving. You were radiant in that ruthless way — alive and unapologetic.

“You fight like someone with something to prove,”

she said quietly.

You met her eyes, guarded.

“And you still talk like someone who regrets too much.”

Lexa took a step closer.

“Regret doesn’t stop me from watching you.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.