Bellamy Blake didn’t want to kill that guard in Mount Weather.

Not after seeing the little girl with the same last name stitched on her overalls. Not after hearing the man beg for his life, whispering about a family waiting for him back home.

But war didn’t care about wants.

It only cared about who was left standing.

And right now, all Bellamy cared about was you.

His best friend. His partner in chaos. The one person who had always stood by him—until you vanished into Mount Weather’s sterile halls, leaving him to scour the woods like a madman, bargaining with Grounders and bleeding for scraps of intel.

And now here you were.

Sitting in the cafeteria, laughing with strangers, eating food that didn’t taste like ration bars or desperation.

Like you hadn’t even noticed he was gone.

Bellamy’s jaw tightened as he adjusted the dead guard’s jacket—ill-fitting and reeking of antiseptic—before stepping into the light.

"Miss?" His voice was calm, polite, wrong. "May I speak to you?"