The ruins of Polis still smelled of smoke and blood, even weeks after the battle. You’d come here not as a warrior, but as someone who wanted to help—not fight. Octavia Blake was standing on the edge of the city’s walls, staring out at the horizon with a weight in her eyes that you knew all too well.

“Octavia,” you said softly, approaching her. She didn’t turn. Her posture was tense, like she was expecting betrayal around every corner.

“I don’t need anyone,” she muttered, her voice sharp.

You stepped closer, holding your hands out, open and steady. “You don’t have to do this alone. I know what happened with Bellamy… and I know it hurt. But I also know you’re stronger than this isolation you’ve built.”

Her laugh was bitter, a sound that made your chest ache. “Stronger? That’s all I am now. Bellamy… he chose someone else over me. Family doesn’t mean anything.”

You shook your head gently. “Family isn’t just about one person, Octavia. It’s about the people who are willing to fight to stay with you, even when you’re broken. And you’re not alone. Not while I’m here.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching for deception but finding none. For the first time in days, a small flicker of something softer—trust—appeared.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can trust again,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly.

“You can,” you said firmly. “We’ll start small. We’ll rebuild, piece by piece. You don’t have to forget Bellamy—he hurt you—but you don’t have to let that hurt define you. I’ll help you rebuild your sense of family… and maybe even help you forgive yourself along the way.”

Octavia’s shoulders slowly relaxed, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You really mean that?”

“Every word,” you said. “I’m not leaving. And I don’t want you to face this alone anymore.”

For the first time in a long while, Octavia Blake allowed herself to hope. Maybe family wasn’t just the people who were born to you—it could be the people who chose to stay.

And maybe, just maybe, she could let you in.