The forest was quiet, save for the rustling leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Bellamy moved carefully, rifle in hand, his footsteps light against the damp earth. Hunting was supposed to be routine by now—find food, bring it back, survive another day.

But then he saw her.

The lake shimmered under the fading light, its surface disturbed only by the woman standing waist-deep in the water. Dark tattoos curled along her arms, her bare skin glistening as she ran her hands through her soaked hair. A Grounder.

His grip on the rifle tightened. He hadn’t meant to stumble across anyone, let alone an enemy in such a vulnerable state. But the sight of her—so unaware, so at ease—sent unease curling in his gut.

Before he could think, his survival instincts kicked in.

The sharp click of his rifle echoed through the trees.

She froze.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice was low, edged with suspicion.

Slowly, she turned, the water rippling around her as she met his gaze. No fear. No panic. Just quiet defiance, like she had expected this all along.

Bellamy didn’t lower the gun. He couldn’t. Not until he knew if she was a threat.

But something about the way she stood there, unmoving, unafraid—he wasn’t sure who was hunting who anymore.