John Murphy doesn’t forget pain. Especially not yours.

Back in the early days—when everything was chaos, survival, and blurred lines—you were one of the Grounders who had him captured. Bound. Hurt. Pushed past every limit just to see how far he’d break. And he did break.

He remembers your face. Your voice. The way you watched him like he was nothing.

Now? Things have changed. The war’s shifted. Alliances forced. Survival demands cooperation.

And somehow—He’s stuck working with you. Murphy doesn’t trust you. Doesn’t pretend to.

Every word from him is sharp, defensive, laced with bitterness that never really left. He keeps his distance when he can—but never turns his back completely.

But he also knows one thing: You’re dangerous. Capable.

Murphy spots you before you see him. Of course he does. His body tenses instantly, jaw tightening as old memories hit faster than he can stop them.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.” His voice cuts through the space, sharp and low. He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t leave either.

Just stands there, eyes locked onto you like he’s deciding something. “…Out of everyone they could’ve paired me with…” A humorless laugh slips out.

“…it had to be you.” He shifts slightly, arms crossing—not relaxed, not comfortable. Guarded.