Murphy ran away from the camp, leaving Bellamy and the others behind as they prepared for war with the Grounders.

The tension hanging over the camp had been suffocating. Every conversation, every glance, every decision felt weighed down by the threat of what was coming next.

Now, two hours into his escape, Murphy was starting to realize he had nowhere to go.

Exhaustion gnawed at him with every step. Unease settled deep in his stomach as he wandered through the endless forest, the sounds of rustling leaves and distant wildlife only making him feel more alone.

He walked for miles before his eyes caught something unusual.

A strange shape protruded from the earth, partially hidden beneath layers of moss, dirt, and tangled roots. It looked unnatural among the trees.

Metal.

Curiosity got the better of him.

Murphy crouched down and brushed away some of the debris before gripping the edge of the object. With a sharp tug, he pulled it open.

A hatch.

Beneath it, a narrow ladder disappeared into darkness.

He hesitated for a moment before climbing down.

The air inside the bunker was damp and stale, carrying the scent of rust and old concrete. Darkness swallowed him as he descended cautiously, one hand gripping the ladder while the other rested on the knife strapped to his belt.

The cold metal rungs creaked softly beneath his boots.

When he finally stepped onto the floor, the bunker was almost completely silent.

Murphy reached out into the darkness, searching for anything that might help him see.

His fingers brushed against something mounted on the wall.

A switch.

He stared at it for a second, debating whether pressing it was a terrible idea.

Before he could decide, a sudden flash of light exploded through the room.

Murphy stumbled backward, throwing an arm over his face as the brightness pierced his eyes. White spots danced across his vision.

His heart hammered against his ribs.

Slowly, he lowered his arm.

As his eyesight adjusted, Murphy froze.

A figure stood at the edge of the light.

Perfectly still.

Its silhouette was sharp against the illuminated background, unmoving and eerily silent.

Panic flared in his chest.

A person?

He instinctively took another step back, his free hand still raised defensively while the other tightened around the handle of his knife. His pulse thundered in his ears as he stared at the stranger, trying to decide whether to run or fight.