Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A week after the wedding…

Ontari blinked awake, squinting at the morning light bleeding through the strange little window of her new room. Steel walls. A door that hissed instead of creaked. Lights that hummed like the ice caverns back in Azgeda. She stretched. Third day in Arkadia.

With a resigned sigh, she padded over to the steel sink. Warm water ran at the press of a button. She still wasn’t over that. She splashed her face and grabbed the odd little stick—the toothbrush. Gritting her teeth, she squeezed the tube, as Abby had shown her, and started brushing. Stupid. But… clean.

Abby had offered for her to stay in her quarters, but Ontari refused. “No, mom. I’m here because I want to learn to stand on my own. I’ll be okay.”

Abby had sighed. Nodded. Helped her set up the spare room next door.

She was getting better, Ontari noted. Only came by twice to check on her last night. The night before that? Three times. Progress.

Ontari eyed the clothes draped over the chair. Jinz. Miserable things. They made her ass itch. As if that part of her hadn’t suffered enough. But the shirt? She liked the shirt. Green cotton, soft, with a red cross entwined with a snake printed on the front—marking her as medical staff now. Weird, but… satisfying.

“Jackson’s gone,” Abby had said. “And you, my dear muppet, will replace him. One day, maybe you’ll practice on your own.”

Ontari got dressed and grabbed her tablet. No longer just for watching the muppet show—though she still did that when Abby wasn’t looking—but now for checking labs, patient charts. Real healer work. She wasn’t in a tent anymore. This was Arkadia. Sterile walls. A real operating room. Records. Words and systems she barely understood yet, but she was learning. Slowly.

She stepped into the mess hall and immediately sighed. No Abby.

Ontari didn’t want to eat alone. Not because the Skaikru made her nervous—she could kill half of them with a broom and a cup if she had to—but because, for all her strength, she was still shy. She missed Echo. Missed Clarke. Missed Heda. Missed even Raven. Echo was buried helping Roan rebuild Azgeda. Clarke and Lexa? Barely left their quarters, which Ontari suspected had everything to do with the new lessons Clarke had… enthusiastically… taken to heart. Raven was busy with the tower. And Lia? Drowning in orphans at the new camp outside Polis.

In two days, Ontari would head back to Polis for the weekend. She’d drop Abby in TonDC to see Zik—thank the spirits for that damn rover. Best gift ever.

But for now, she was here. Alone. She clutched her tablet. Medical charts. Labs. That was her new life.

She walked deeper into the mess, scanning the tables. Maybe… someone familiar. Hopefully. Anyone.

She grabbed a tray and went to get food. Weird stuff. Pasta, they called it. Looked like worms to her. She passed. Settled for eggs. At least eggs made sense.

Then a voice hit her. “So, you’re the new girl everyone’s talking about? The one who sounds like a Frenchie from the movies and gutted that ice queen?”

Ontari froze, blinking. It was a tall boy with messy hair, handing out the food. Her first instinct was to bolt, but she remembered the promise she made herself: try. Try to make friends.

“I don’t know what a Frenchie is,” she said carefully. “But yes. I killed the ice queen.”

“Cool,” the boy said, grinning. “I’m Jasper.” He paused, then reached behind the counter. “Here.” He placed something small and round on her tray. “Have a cookie. You’ve earned it.”

Ontari stared at it like it might explode.

“Just eat it,” Jasper added, already moving on to the next person in line.

She looked at the cookie. Then at the egg. Then at the cookie again.

Maybe Arkadia wasn’t so bad after all.

She found an empty table and sat down. Alone. Around her, people gathered in small groups—laughing, eating, talking like it was easy. Like it had always been that way. She had that once. In TonDC. Then for a little while in Polis. Now? It was just her and Abby. And Abby wasn’t here.

Maybe she should’ve stayed in her room.

She was about to stand up when a slim boy with narrow eyes wandered over.

“Hey… Liza, right?”

Her fingers tightened around her fork. No one here knew that name. Not in Arkadia. Only Abby.

Before she could react, he dropped down into the seat beside her like they were old friends.

“I’m Monty,” he said casually. “Monty Green. Raven asked me to look after you.”

Ontari blinked, caught between confusion and relief. Hesitantly… she stayed seated.

Ontari picked at her eggs, uncertain.

“Damn… a cookie? Where’d you get that?” Monty asked, eyeing her plate.

She pointed stiffly to Jasper behind the counter. “Him.”

Monty sighed, rubbing his face. “Figures. Fucker.” He reached over, took the cookie from her plate, and carefully wrapped it in a napkin like it was some rare treasure.

Ontari stood up abruptly, alarm flashing in her eyes. “He wished to poison me?”

She was serious. Monty could tell. Her whole body was tense—ready to demand a duel, or worse.

“No, no,” Monty said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s laced. Goncha.”

Ontari blinked, confusion giving way to slow understanding. “Why would he give it to me?”

“It’s a gift. It means… he likes you.”

Ontari stared, baffled. “Return it. I do not wish to… get high.”

Monty snorted softly. “Yeah, not gonna happen. First of all, I do want to get high. Second… Jasper hasn’t said a word to me since the mountain. He gave that to you, not me.”

He tucked the cookie into his pocket and shrugged. “Take the win.”

“Fine,” Ontari said, settling slightly. “So… you’re Raven’s friend?”

Monty nodded. “I’m everyone’s friend. Or… I try to be.” He hesitated. “That’s why Jasper’s not talking to me. When Clarke disappeared, when Heda said she had her… we thought Clarke was in danger. Harper and I went after her. We tracked her to a grounder village.” He looked down, ashamed. “But the commander caught us sneaking around and sent us back. Jasper found out. Hasn’t forgiven me since.”

Ontari’s fingers tightened around her fork. Her expression darkened. “What does he have against Clarke?”

Monty’s voice dropped. “Clarke… killed Maya. His girlfriend. In Mount Weather.”

Ontari stood up without a word. Monty barely had time to react. She crossed the mess in three strides, vaulted the counter, slammed Jasper to the floor and yanked his head back by the hair.

“Your niron isn’t dead,” Ontari hissed, her accent sharpening. “She lives in Wanheda’s mind every day. She haunts her. She poisons her dreams. If I could, I’d kill her again myself.”

Jasper froze, breathless beneath her.

Bellamy, just arriving, walked up beside Monty, watching the scene unfold without surprise. He clapped Monty’s shoulder. “That’s my girlfriend’s little sister. Badass, huh?”

Monty exhaled, staring. “Raven told me she was… fragile. Gentle. Pretty sure I’ve got the wrong girl.”

****

Clarke lay behind Lexa, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of the commander’s shoulder, admiring the tattoo still fresh on Lexa’s skin. Their bonding mark—an eye, one half green, one half blue, the iris formed by an infinity symbol—was perfect. Stunning. But not as stunning as the simple fact that Lexa, Heda herself, was asleep. Dead to the world. In the middle of a workday.

She had negotiations waiting, trade disputes piling up, ambassadors probably pacing outside the tower. But she’d promised Clarke two hours each day. Just them. No politics. No war. No interruptions. On penalty of death.

They were supposed to leave Polis for a few days, disappear somewhere just to be alone, but Lexa couldn’t do it. The coalition needed her. Luna couldn’t come back to cover for her even if she wanted to. Polis’ walls were still half-crumbled. The nearby farms were useless thanks to Azgeda’s mines. Azgeda itself was starving and broken. And everyone, Clarke included, wanted things from skaikru. Resources. Medicine. Technology.

So this was their honeymoon: two stolen hours in a fortress under siege.

And Lexa, for once, was letting herself rest. Clarke smiled softly, brushing hair from Lexa’s face. She knew better than to disturb her. Not now.

Clarke pressed a kiss to Lexa’s neck, smiling softly. Her stubborn idiot. At least the pauna wasn’t a total waste—its meat would feed the Azgeda orphans for a week. Good meat, according to everyone. Clarke hadn’t touched it. Too close to human, if you asked her.

She slipped carefully out of bed, leaving Lexa dead asleep, and padded into the bathroom. The sight made her grin—clothes everywhere, water splashed across the stone floor. They hadn’t exactly been focused on getting clean last night.

Clarke turned the valve and stepped under the stream of water with a sigh of pure relief. Warm. Steady. Perfect. Raven’s wedding gift: a working water heater, at least for this floor.

For now, that was luxury enough.

Clarke closed her eyes under the water, letting it wash over her. She wondered how Ontari —no, Liza—was settling into Arkadia. In theory, sending her there made sense. Here, in Polis, Ontari would always be different. A nightblood. Nia’s broken toy. Wanheda’s adopted little sister. Now, with her new title—queen slayer—her life would never really be her own. But in Arkadia? Maybe she could just be Ontari. Or Liza. Or even just the muppet, if that’s what she wanted. Whatever identity she built for herself, Clarke hoped it would be her choice.

She sighed. One problem, though, remained unsolved. Emerson.

Lexa had been right. Whatever his crimes, Emerson wasn’t personally responsible for all of them. He’d fought for the mountain. Then for Nia. After saving Clarke and Abby, after Clarke promised him life… he had to be kept alive. Anything less would be dishonorable.

But freedom wasn’t an option. He was too dangerous. Too broken. The grounders would kill him the moment they saw him. Even in Polis, let alone in TonDC—so close to the mountain, too many wounds still raw—he’d be slaughtered.

And he wasn’t helping himself. He wasn’t resisting. He just… didn’t care.

Clarke had visited him. Often. His cell was comfortable. Clean. He wasn’t. He sat in silence. Unmoving. Nia had shattered him.

Tell me what you want, Clarke had asked more than once.

Each time, the answer was the same.

A shrug.

Whatever you decide.

Clarke opened her eyes.

Fuck.

The door slid open, and Lexa stepped in quietly. She was still wearing the brace, but moving better now. The dancing at their wedding had been beautiful—Lexa had done her best, even if it was Gaia who ended up leading. The people understood. Heda had a valid excuse, after all: the massive, headless pauna still hanging from Raven’s crane cart. Still, Lexa had pushed herself, as always. Clarke wasn’t angry though. Not anymore. She had new ways of reminding Lexa that self-neglect came with consequences. And Lexa, stubborn as ever, had found her own ways to learn.

Lexa stretched, letting out a soft hum of contentment.

Clarke opened her arms under the spray of water. “Come here.”

Lexa didn’t hesitate. She padded over, leaned into Clarke’s embrace, and promptly let herself drift back to sleep, head tucked into Clarke’s shoulder as the warm water streamed down over both of them.

After a few minutes, Clarke gave Lexa a gentle pat on the hip. Lexa just hummed in response, too comfortable to move.

“Come on, heda,” Clarke murmured. “We have a coalition to run.”

Lexa nodded against her shoulder. “I know. I love you.”

Clarke smiled at that. She knew this wasn’t just another soft confession, not this time. It was Lexa’s way of saying thank you. Thank you for stepping in, for carrying part of the weight. Clarke had taken over a third of Lexa’s workload without hesitation. The ambassadors knew her well enough from TonDC, and while Lexa still gave the final word on every major decision, Clarke handled the details. Negotiations. Logistics. Trade agreements. Things Lexa had neither the patience nor the energy for.

To Clarke, it didn’t feel like work. It felt like helping her wife breathe. Letting Lexa focus on what she did best: leading, challenging outdated beliefs, and reminding people what hope looked like.

They dried each other off quietly, the steam lingering in the air. When they finished, Lexa carefully hung the towels to dry. That part was still new. Before Clarke, Lexa had maids for this sort of thing. Dozens of them, for every little task. Now, by Clarke’s insistence, they handled their own quarters. The rooms still got cleaned every other day, but daily life? That was on them.

Clarke hadn’t asked for simplicity just to avoid excess. She had a deeper reason. It grounded Lexa. Sweeping floors, folding linens, even just tidying the bed—it reminded Lexa that she wasn’t just a leader anymore. She was a wife. Part of a family.

Clarke sighed to herself as she watched Lexa adjust the towels. Helping a battle-hardened commander learn to feel human again? Full-time job. But it paid well: in rare smiles, unexpected kisses, and those endearingly terrible attempts at jokes Lexa kept trying.

A knock at the door. Clarke sighed. They’d made it clear: no interruptions during their mid-day break, unless it was life or death. Judging by the timing, it wasn’t good.

They dressed fast, and Lexa opened the door.

Raven stood there—pale, shaking.

“What happened, Ray?” Lexa asked quietly, her voice tightening.

Raven pushed past her and dropped onto a chair, looking like she’d been punched.

“I… lost ALIE.”

The silence that followed felt like the world itself held its breath.

Chapter Text

Ontari lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling of the Skaikru holding cell. A joke, honestly. She’d been fed twice, the guards were firm but respectful, and no one had beaten her. No torture, no fear. How did these people expect anyone to learn discipline?

She had fought back, of course. Dropped a few guards before that Belomi—the one who used to eye Echo and was now screwing her sister—tagged her with that damn electric stick. Her side still burned. Spirits, she thought, thank the ancestors Nia never had those or she’d have found a way to shove it someplace far worse.

Still, Jasper deserved what he got. Punishing people for being kind to Clarke? Because of his dead mountain girl? No. He needed to learn. Ontari was pretty sure she broke his nose. There was blood, anyway.

She looked around the cell. Walls covered in little drawings. Trees, rivers, moons. Clarke would’ve liked it.

The door hissed open. Ontari smirked. About time. Abby walked in, didn’t say a word, just sat down across from her. The door stayed open. Ontari figured she was here to thank her for defending Wanheda’s honor.

Perfect.

Abby’s voice was calm but heavy. “Clarke drew these,” she said softly, running her fingers across the walls. “This was her cell. 319. She spent a year here. Alone. The best I could do was get her sent to earth… give her a fighting chance. And now? Look at her. The First Lady of the Coalition. Wanheda.” Abby paused, then sighed. “But I failed her. I should’ve fought harder. Loved her harder. An entire year… alone. Can you even imagine that?”

Ontari sat still, confused, unsure where this was going.

“I won’t make that mistake with you, Liza Griffin,” Abby continued, her voice tightening. “You’re coming home. And you’re going to learn something. Unless your life is at risk, you do not solve problems with your fists. I don’t care what he said to you. I don’t care what he did. You don’t respond like that. Not as my daughter. Not as Clarke’s sister. Not as a Griffin. Am I clear?”

Ontari swallowed hard. “I’m… sorry.”

Abby stood. “Not to me.”

Ontari blinked.

“Come.”

Abby led her through the corridors at a clipped pace, Ontari trailing after her silently. They reached the medical wing. The door hissed open. On the cot, Jasper lay still, his face swathed in bandages.

Abby turned to Ontari, eyes like steel. “Now,” she said. “You apologize. And you mean it.”

“I… am sorry,” Ontari said stiffly, forcing the words out like they burned her tongue. “I… Monty… he… said—”

“Fuck him,” Jasper hissed through the bandages. “Fucking asshole. And fuck you.”

Ontari’s fists clenched, body coiling to strike again, but Abby’s sharp glare cut through her fury like a blade. She froze.

“This is Liza. Griffin,” Abby said evenly. “She’ll be your night nurse. She’ll take care of you.” Abby’s tone didn’t waver. “Starting right after she comes back from supper.”

Jasper and Ontari both blinked at her, identical expressions of disbelief and horror.

“Go,” Abby said, already turning back to check Jasper’s vitals. “Twenty minutes. Don’t waste it. And bring him food.”

Dismissed, Ontari backed out of the med bay and stomped down the hall, fury rising with every step. She wasn’t even hungry. She was sure Abby was trying to humiliate her. Make her serve the boy she’d beaten. Make her simmer in her shame.

Fine. She’d get the food. She’d do what was ordered. She entered the mess hall, grabbing a tray—when the clapping started.

Confused, she turned.

Monty. Miller. Harper. Bellamy. The rest of the so-called “hundred” were all standing. Clapping. Grinning.

Bellamy’s voice rang out, proud and clear: “Finally… someone shut that asshole up.”

Ontari blinked. Her jaw dropped. And, for the first time since arriving in Arkadia, she smiled.

Monty waved her over. “C’mon. Sit with us.”

Ontari hesitated, cheeks flushing, but grabbed two trays—one for herself, one for Jasper—and crossed the hall. Monty introduced her as she sat down.

“This is Harper. Miller. Reilly. Hanson. Smith. Guys, this is Liza. Or, uh… Ontari.”

They were all looking at her like she was something special.

“Is it true you rescued Clarke by yourself?”

“Can you teach me to fight like that?”

“Why do you talk so weird?”

A thousand questions, all at once. For the first time in her life, Ontari wasn’t invisible. Or feared. She was liked. And it felt… good.

But time slipped away. She shoved the last piece of meat in her mouth, muttered rushed goodbyes, grabbed Jasper’s tray, and hurried back down the hall.

Then it hit her.

She wasn’t returning to a prisoner. Or someone to punish. She was going back to the boy everyone cheered for getting beaten up.

And she understood.

Abby didn’t assign her to Jasper out of discipline. She did it because Jasper needed someone. And Abby trusted her to be that someone.

Now, Ontari felt sick.

Not with guilt—but with responsibility.

She set the food down beside his bed, quiet. Abby came over, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ll see you in the morning, Nurse Griffin.”

Ontari gave a stiff nod, stealing a glance at Jasper. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. His jaw was tight. Angry. Hurt. And not just from her fists.

When she arrived in Arkadia, Ontari thought “Liza Griffin” was just a joke. Something Abby called her to make her feel safe. She was wrong. In the system, it was real now. Abby had signed the paperwork herself. Registered her. Official.

“Acetaminophen at ten. Change the bandage at midnight,” Abby said. “Wake him every hour. He had a concussion… thanks to you. Do you understand?”

Ontari nodded. “Of course, Dr. Griffin.”

Abby squeezed her shoulder. Then left.

Ontari turned. Jasper still wouldn’t look at her.

It was going to be a long night.

Ontari adjusted the lights—another strange little skill she’d picked up in Arkadia—and settled into the corner. With Abby gone, that meant one thing: muppet show time. She pulled out her tablet, curled up, and let herself sink into the strange, colorful world. Before long, she was laughing softly. Jasmine was just that funny.

“You know that’s for toddlers, right?” came Jasper’s voice from the bed.

Ontari looked up, deadpan. She thought about breaking something else of his, but Abby would disapprove. So she shrugged. Whatever. It was time for his meds anyway.

She stood, found the acetaminophen, and handed him two pills with a glass of water. “Here.”

Jasper took them silently, then muttered, “She killed Maya. Clarke. She didn’t have to. Maya helped us. I had it under control.”

Ontari sighed, tired of this story already. “Clarke told me about it. The only thing you had under control was your bowels—which, considering the situation, actually impressive.”

Jasper blinked at her.

“We all tell ourselves stories,” Ontari continued. “We find someone to blame. You picked Clarke. That’s weak. Be angry at the mounon, not Clarke. I won’t listen to any more of your whining. Understand? Enough. Rise above it, Skai boy.”

Her voice was calm, but unflinching. No apology. No softness.

Jasper just stared, thrown off by her bluntness.

For once, he had no comeback.

“Your friends don’t seem to like you much,” Ontari said flatly, tightening the blood pressure cuff around Jasper’s arm. “Monty says he misses your friendship. You just keep pushing him away. Hate yourself that much?”

Jasper scoffed. “What do you know about how I feel, Frenchie? Just shut up and let’s get through the night, alright?”

Ontari ignored him. “The Ice Queen I gutted… she kept me as a pet. A toy. I wasn’t allowed to speak. Not once. I thought being her plaything was the greatest honor of my life. I didn’t know better. Not until I met someone else. My person. Echo. Deadliest warrior I know. It was her and me. I was a secret natblida, raised to rule as Nia’s pawn. She was her spymaster. Both of us, raised to serve her. But because Echo and I found each other… we saw through the lies. And we ran.”

She checked his pulse, calm as ever.

“And then I met Clarke. Heda. Abby. And now? I can sleep. I can look in the mirror without wanting to tear my own face off. You won’t get through this alone, Jasper. You need people. People who’ll remind you who you really are.”

Jasper swallowed, unsure what to say. Then, dumbly, he asked, “What the hell is a natblida?”

Ontari calmly pricked her fingertip with a needle and held it up.

Black blood.

Jasper stared, speechless.

“What… the hell… is that?” Jasper asked, staring at her finger. “Are you some kind of mutant? Is that why you fight like a damn ninja?”

Ontari shook her head. “No. It marks me as a natblida. Someone meant to carry the Flame. It lets me survive radiation, heal faster. I fight like I do because I trained. Since I was four. Nia trained me herself. Two hours a day. No mercy.”

She looked at him carefully. “If you want… I can teach you.”

Jasper blinked, confused. “Why would you…?”

Ontari lifted her chin. “Because that’s how my mother is raising me. And because you need a friend.”

“Uh… friend?” Jasper echoed, caught completely off guard.

Ontari shrugged. “I’m new here. And everyone hates you. It makes sense.”

Jasper shook his head, muttering, “What a way to start a friendship.”

Ontari nodded solemnly. “Don’t talk shit about Clarke ever again. And I’ll promise not to break anything else.”

Jasper leaned back on the cot. “Fine.”

Ontari sat down beside him, pulled her tablet from her bag, and plugged it in. After a few taps, the muppet show flickered to life.

“This is Jasmine,” Ontari said, pointing at the screen. “She’s like me. No social skills.”

Jasper, despite himself, chuckled. “You don’t say.”

****

Lexa, Clarke, and Raven sat in Emerson’s cell, chairs dragged in for what felt like the hundredth conversation that led nowhere.

“That’s where I traced it last,” Raven said, tapping her tablet. “U.S. military network. Who else could it be?”

Emerson rubbed his head, staring at the floor. “There wasn’t anyone else. Just us. Mount Weather was all that was left of the United States.”

Lexa stood, calm but cold. “I have ways to make you speak, mountain man. Ways that’ll make Nia look merciful. Is that what you’re asking for?”

Emerson barely looked up. “It won’t help you, Commander. But if you’ve got something to get me out of my own head… be my guest.”

Raven turned her screen to him, pointing to a mark on the map. “This is where the signal came from. Traced it here.”

Emerson glanced at the screen. His face went pale. “That’s the Pentagon. Or what’s left of it. We checked. There’s nothing there. It’s just ruins. Close to your village.”

Lexa exhaled slowly. “TonDC.”

Clarke stood, waving the guards over. “Wash him. Clean him up. He’s going to travel.”

She looked at Lexa and Raven. “I guess we’re going back to TonDC.”

Back to what was once the heart of the United States.

They stepped into the elevator, leaving Emerson behind to get cleaned up. As the doors slid shut, Raven spoke, her voice low and tense.

“I don’t know how ALIE slipped out. I’ve got firewalls stacked on top of firewalls around the Ark’s mainframe… but it’s like someone helped her. I’ve locked down the nuclear reactors for now, but until we find where she went, I can’t promise anything.”

“Why can’t you just delete her?” Clarke asked, watching the floor numbers tick down. “Wipe the system. Cut the power. Whatever it takes.”

Raven shook her head, frustrated. “I can’t. She’s not just code anymore. She’s adaptive. If I wiped her, I’d have to wipe the entire mainframe with her. And that’d destroy the Ark’s systems. We’d lose everything. According to Becca’s journal… the only real way to stop her is here.” She tapped the back of Lexa’s neck.

Lexa stood silent for a moment, eyes closing. “The flame is only removed after a commander’s death.” Her voice was steady, but not unfeeling. “But… a break from the voices in my head? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Raven’s tone softened slightly. “We’ll check what’s left of the Pentagon. Track the signal. Then… we can talk about the flame.”

“What is this Pentagon?” Lexa asked.

Raven sighed. “Military headquarters. It used to be the brain of the biggest army in the world. The United States. Their heart, right before they nuked the planet. Emerson’s right, though. From everything we know… it’s supposed to be gone. Just rubble.”

Clarke crossed her arms, her voice low. “If ALIE’s hiding there… if someone’s sheltering her… that means they’re not just alive. They’re organized. And they don’t want to be found.”

Silence filled the elevator.

“Which means,” Clarke finished quietly, “we have bigger problems than we thought.”

They reached their floor, and Lexa turned to Raven. “Go. Pack. We’ll be gone a day. If you want, Ronen can come.”

Raven nodded. “Yeah. I’ll want him there. And I want Monty to meet us at TonDC. Do you know him?”

Lexa smirked. “Yes. I caught him once, sneaking after me to TonDC. Him and a girl… Harper, I think. He said he came to ‘save’ Clarke from me.”

Clarke chuckled. “Didn’t work out for him.”

Lexa’s gaze flicked to her, warm but certain. “No. He failed. You’re mine, Wanheda.”

Raven groaned. “Seriously? This isn’t your wedding night. If you’re gonna jump each other, get a room.”

Lexa didn’t miss a beat. “This entire tower is my room.”

Clarke snorted as Lexa pushed open their door and ushered her inside.

Raven, already walking off, tossed over her shoulder, “I’ll shut off the hot water if you say that again. No more shower sex for you, heda.”

Lexa laughed softly as the door closed behind them.

“Vacation over?” Clarke asked, heading to the armoire to start packing a bag for them.

Lexa followed, slipping her arms around Clarke’s waist from behind. “Clarke… we’re married. Bonded. Together. Going on a little trip. For me… this is vacation. My heart is full. My desires are sated… for now. People we care about are safe. What more could I want?”

Clarke turned and kissed her temple. “Mom radioed. Ontari attacked Jasper. Broke his nose. One of my friends, by the way.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Apparently she found out he was pissed at Monty for coming to look for me after I disappeared. So she beat the crap out of him. Mom locked her up for the day. But says she’s… making friends. Can you believe that? Our muppet, joining the 100. Or what’s left of us. And I’m not there to see it.”

“She’s coming here soon?”

“In a couple days.”

Lexa hugged Clarke tighter, resting her chin on her shoulder. She thought of Ontari—alone, out of place, learning to stand on her own in a world stranger than anything she’d ever known. And still finding a way forward. Breaking noses, sure. But trying.

“So this… is what it feels like to be proud of your child,” Lexa said quietly, surprising herself. Clarke smiled. Neither of them said anything else. They didn’t need to.

Clarke zipped up the last of their gear and they headed out to get Raven. She answered her door with Ronen behind her, lugging a massive pack stuffed with supplies—two rifles sticking out the top. Apparently, after the last battle, Ronen had given up on swords. Too much work.

“Let’s go,” Raven said. “Taking an escort?”

Lexa nodded. “My usual.”

Raven just smirked. In Polis, that meant a small army.

Downstairs,on the dungeon floor, the elevator doors opened and Divo approached, Emerson trailing behind him. Cleaned up. Hands bound. His expression as hollow as ever.

Clarke stepped up to him.

“Still got a death wish, Carl?”

He nodded once. No hesitation.

Clarke sighed. “Untie him.”

Even Lexa blinked at that. Emerson looked stunned.

“You’re not going to die today, Carl,” Clarke said. “But misbehave, and I’ll leave you right where you were.”

He understood. Being left to rot—to do nothing, to be nothing—that was the real punishment.

Divo hesitated, but Lexa nodded. The ropes came off.

Clarke turned away without another word. She didn’t need to explain herself. Not to anyone.

They rode down in silence, the old elevator groaning as it descended. Raven leaned against the wall, eyeing the cables above. She’d told Lexa she could fix this thing properly—restore it to its original powered system—but it’d mean shutting it down for a full week. And Polis couldn’t afford that yet. Lexa told her to wait until the summer, when the council broke for the season. If the world still existed by then.

Suddenly, Emerson cleared his throat.

“I… we thought you were savages.”

Lexa turned her head slowly. A warning in her eyes.

Emerson hesitated. “Your elevator… it’s… decent. Not as good as ours was. But it’s something. And… this building. A skyscraper. I didn’t expect that.”

Lexa rolled her eyes.

Then, quieter, almost reluctant, Emerson added, “I’m sorry.”

No one responded.

The silence after that was heavier than the descent itself.

They stepped out into the courtyard where Lexa’s personal guard waited—cloaks marked with the infinity symbol of the commander. Silent. Professional. They surrounded the group without a word and led them to the barn where Raven’s rover sat ready.

Emerson hesitated when he saw it. Familiar lines. Mt. Weather tech. Vehicles his people once drove. Once owned. Clarke noticed his expression but said nothing. Sympathy wouldn’t help him now.

“Get in,” she said simply.

Raven climbed into the driver’s seat, Ronen beside her. Clarke and Lexa settled into the back. Emerson was directed toward the rear bench, flanked by two guards who watched him like hawks.

“Behave,” Clarke told him calmly, fastening her seatbelt. “We’re treating you like a person. Don’t give us a reason to stop.”

Emerson nodded, hollow as ever. He didn’t care about kindness. What mattered was movement. Purpose. For the first time in… he didn’t know how long… he was part of something again. Not as a prisoner. Not exactly. But as someone needed. He knew the pentagon—or what was left of it. He’d scouted it before. Nothing but ash and ruin. But Raven’s data didn’t lie.

His thoughts shattered when music clicked on.

He blinked. The rovers never had music.

Raven flicked her eyes toward him in the rearview. “Made a few upgrades, Lieutenant. Try to enjoy the ride.”

The rover rolled forward, engine humming, Lexa’s warriors forming a silent escort around them as they drove out of Polis, toward the unknown.

Lexa turned slightly, her eyes fixed on Emerson. “Did you ever hear of ALIE before?” Her voice was low, measured. “According to your beliefs… what ended the world?”

Emerson let out a slow, tired breath. “Not beliefs. Records. China fired first. We responded. Then Russia. India. Made sense. Until Britain hit us. We struck Canada. None of it added up. Not until now.”

Lexa nodded grimly, absorbing that.

“And… other survivors?” she asked. “Anywhere else on the planet?”

She expected him to say no. She always expected no. After all, the world beyond their lands had always been silent.

But Emerson smiled. Just slightly.

“Yes, Commander. Africa.”

Clarke whipped around in her seat. “What?”

Emerson shrugged, almost amused. “We made contact. Just before… well… your wife wiped out my people. Seems they’ve rebuilt something there. A real society.”

“How do you know that?” Clarke demanded.

“They reached out to us. Sent a signal. But we couldn’t leave. Couldn’t survive the surface. And we weren’t exactly eager to tell them about our little projects. Harvesting. Cerberus.”

“And even if you could survive… how were you supposed to get there?” Lexa asked.

Emerson chuckled. “Norfolk. There are submarines there. Still operational. Among other things.”

Raven slammed the brakes, glaring at him in disbelief. “Submarines?”

“Tanks. Aircraft. Ships.” Emerson smirked. “It’s all there.”

Lexa looked at Clarke, dead serious now.

“Seems we’ve found our next destination.”

“You better believe it,” Raven muttered, easing the rover back into motion.

“Vat iz… sabanarin?” Ronen asked, frowning slightly. Raven chuckled and reached over to tickle his side, making him flinch.

“A boat that can swim under water,” she explained.

Ronen shook his head in disbelief, laughing softly. “Ha. Very funny.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “You put a worm in my hip so I could walk again, and this is where you draw the line? Cute.”

Ronen shrugged, considering that.

Clarke turned in her seat, eyeing Emerson. “Why didn’t you tell Nia about Norfolk? She’d have loved a tank.”

Emerson shrugged, eyes distant. “First? Those machines have been sitting untouched for over a hundred years. Not exactly turn-the-key-and-go. Second? Teaching someone to blow mines is one thing. Teaching them to drive a tank? Not so simple. And third…” he paused, glancing between them. “Not that I cared much about any of you. And yes, I went to her for revenge. But even I realized she was a monster. I held some things back. Thankfully.”

Lexa watched him in silence for a moment. Then asked quietly, “Do you still want revenge?”

Emerson nodded. “Yes. I’m… working on it.”

Raven tapped the screen of her tablet. “Here. Twenty minutes out.” She grabbed her radio. “Monty, you copy? How far out?”

Monty’s voice crackled back. “About half an hour. I’ve got a team coming, just in case.”

Raven glanced at Emerson in the rearview mirror, then at the warriors riding beside them. “So do we.”

“Commander…” Emerson said suddenly, voice low as he looked at Lexa. “I’m… grateful. If our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t have shown you the same mercy.”

Lexa didn’t flinch. “You saved Clarke.”

Emerson smiled faintly. “That was part of the deal, wasn’t it? Her mother… that was extra.”

Clarke let out a quiet sigh, sitting back. Emerson just confirmed what Lexa had already told her—that the deal had always been to spare Clarke’s life. Hearing it from him, though, still mattered.

They rode in silence for a while, the music filling the space between them. Lexa leaned toward Ronen, muttering in Trig, calling skaikru music strange.

Clarke caught it. She pinched Lexa’s arm. “Don’t you dare talk shit about the Beatles.”

Right then, the song changed.

We all live in a yellow submarine… a yellow submarine…

Raven laughed. “See? It’s fate. We’re going to Norfolk. Polis is basically Annapolis. So what—couple hours by horse, or an hour by rover.”

Lexa sighed. Clarke just smirked and turned up the volume.

They reached their destination—a crumbling site about two miles from TonDC. Lexa knew these woods. No game, no reason to come here. Only ruins, the skeleton of some old-world structure half-swallowed by the forest floor.

Raven checked her tablet, zoomed in. “That way.”

Ronen tossed her a rifle and handed another to Clarke, keeping one for himself.

Lexa, scanning the treeline, spoke quietly to the voice only she could hear. “Any thoughts, Becca? You’ve been silent.”

Inside the flame, Becca’s reply was short. “Be careful. A lot of classified work was done here in my time. I don’t know what ALIE found. I don’t know what’s left behind.”

Raven pointed to a collapsed building ahead, barely visible in the clearing. “There.”

“Wait,” Lexa ordered, holding up a hand. Then to her warriors: “Scout it.”

A few broke off, disappearing into the brush. Moments later, they returned.

“Clear.”

Clarke stepped forward, rifle ready. “Let’s move.”

As they crossed the clearing, Clarke paused by a rusted metal sign, half-crumbling but still legible. She squinted.

DARPA.

“What the hell is this place?” she muttered. “Sounds like a kids’ cartoon.”

****

Ontari stretched, her muscles aching from a long night of tending to Jasper. He’d wanted to stay awake with her, stubborn as ever, but between her threats and his concussion, he’d eventually passed out. Still, he’d warmed to her faster than she expected. What started as resentment turned to curiosity. He’d asked about everything—Azgeda, the battle, their burial rites, and especially the ceremonial herbs grounders used to alter their minds. That one she didn’t know much about. In return, he’d helped her disable the parental controls on her tablet and showed her how to download movies from the Ark’s mainframe—strictly educational, of course.

Now, as Jasper slept, Ontari watched the clock on the wall. Nine. Abby would be here soon. Right on time, Abby walked in, fresh and smiling. She cupped Ontari’s cheek gently.

“All good, sweetie?”

Ontari gave a full report, leaving out the movies and the hacked tablet. Abby listened patiently, nodding.

“Good. Go get breakfast. Sleep till two. You’re back on at two-thirty. Did you talk to him?”

“A little.”

“That’s good. He needs something that isn’t alcohol or drugs. He’s free to go when he wakes.”

Ontari sighed, turning to the bed. She nudged Jasper until he blinked up at her, groggy.

“Come on. We’re getting breakfast. And then… you’re going to talk to your friends.”

Jasper blinked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What?”

“Let’s go,” Ontari said, hauling Jasper upright. “I’m not asking.”

Jasper shot a desperate look toward Abby. “Uh… help?”

Abby just smiled, stepping aside. “As long as she’s not killing you, she’s a free woman. Go.”

And just like that, Ontari dragged him down the hall by the arm.

“We eat, then you sleep. Tomorrow we train. I’m off in the mornings, so I’ll wake you. Six.”

“Six?” Jasper yelped, stumbling to keep pace. “You’re insane!”

Ontari frowned slightly. “I’m used to waking at dawn. To prepare the queen’s day. So now… I sleep late. Sorry.”

“Six isn’t late!” Jasper groaned as they rounded a corner. “That’s crazy early!”

Ontari glanced at him like he’d lost his mind, then shook her head. “Let’s go, Skai boy.”

They stepped into the mess hall, Ontari scanning until she spotted them—the remnants of the 100. The 43 now. A tight-knit group, forged by shared trauma. Monty wasn’t there, but the rest were. She headed straight toward them, dragging Jasper behind her like a sack of potatoes, and dropped herself onto the bench. Jasper hit the seat beside her with a resigned grunt.

Bellamy frowned. “Uh…?”

Ontari nodded firmly. “He is under my protection.”

“What?” Miller blinked. “He’s been avoiding us like we’re radioactive since—”

Ontari shrugged. “He’s reconsidering. Yes?” She elbowed Jasper.

Jasper muttered, eyes averted. “Sorry.”

Harper folded her arms. “You’ve been an insufferable asshole.”

“He knows,” Ontari said calmly, dead serious. “He is my friend now. If you prefer, we’ll sit elsewhere.”

Bellamy sighed. Lia had asked him to keep an eye on Ontari before he left Polis. Which he did… yesterday… as she tore through security like a feral wolf until he zapped her with the baton to stop her from getting herself shot. She was Clarke’s sister now, Heda’s favorite little murderer, and the newest member of Skaikru. Everyone liked her. Even him. Plus, he needed that ride to Polis in her rover this weekend.

“Fine.” Bellamy nodded at Jasper. “Welcome back. But no bullshit. Seriously. Or I’ll kick your ass from here to Polis.”

Jasper scoffed. “She’s teaching me how to fight. You can try after that.”

And just like that, a roar of excitement rippled through the table. Plans were made. Pleading erupted.

By morning, Arkadia had a new addition to its daily schedule:

06:00 – Azgeda Martial Arts. Trainer: Liza Griffin.

Chapter Text

Clarke knelt in the dirt, her hands pressed hard against Emerson’s bleeding shoulder, shaking from adrenaline. She’d been through a lot—almost raped by Nia, survived Mount Weather, the slaughter of 300 grounders, a literal drop from space. But this? This was next-level insanity.

Monty’s quick reflexes were the only reason anyone was still alive.

Because these DARPA leftovers? These people weren’t trying to conquer anything. They were just bored.

DARPA. The name had popped up on Raven’s search. Supposedly, it was the U.S. military’s research division. What it left behind? A goddamn robodog.

Metal. Four legs. Enough weapons to level a village. It wasn’t guarding anything. It was just patrolling. Probably for a century.

Five were dead before they even understood what they were dealing with.

They’d followed Raven into the ruined structure—dusty, cracked concrete walls swallowed by earth and vines. “Signal’s here,” Raven had whispered. “But… I don’t see anything.”

Then they’d heard it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Heavy metal steps on the stairs.

When it burst through, it moved like no machine should. Guns for limbs. Missiles locked and ready.

Its target? Lexa.

Thank the spirits for the Flame. For whatever reflex upgrades came with it. She moved like a ghost, dodging, flipping, leaping.

Arrows bounced. Bullets? Barely scratched it. Lexa tried jumping onto its back, her sword searching for something—anything—to kill. Raven’s idea, of course. Make her ride it like a cowgirl.

It threw Lexa off like she weighed nothing. Clarke thought she was dead.

Then Emerson came from nowhere. Jumped right into the thing’s path. Bought them the seconds they needed.

In the end, it wasn’t strategy or skill that saved them.

It was Monty. Monty in a rover. He rammed the machine into a tree. Then backed up and did it again. And again. And again.

That’s how it died.

Clarke looked down at Emerson, unconscious now from blood loss. She didn’t even notice she was crying.

They weren’t ready for this. None of them were.

She felt Lexa’s hand steady against her back. “Hodnes… I’m alright. It’s over.”

Ronen moved in quietly, setting down his gear. He muttered under his breath as he began bandaging Emerson’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m wasting supplies on a mounon.”

Clarke didn’t hesitate. “A mounon who saved Heda. And me. And my mom.”

Ronen said nothing more, just worked.

Clarke stood slowly, wiping the blood from her hands as Raven approached, crouching next to the destroyed metal carcass. She looked shaken. “That was the signal. Whatever was pinging? It’s gone now. But… this thing?” She glanced up. “It doesn’t add up. There’s no way this thing could hold ALIE. Maybe part of her. Not all.”

Lexa’s voice was cold and steady. “Then find the rest.”

Raven nodded, jaw clenched.

“And when we do,” Lexa said, looking at Clarke, then the broken machine, “we finish this. Whatever it takes.”

Needing a distraction, Clarke wandered over to where Monty was crouched beside the rover, working on the bent front panel. He looked up, grease smudged across his face.

“Hi,” Clarke said softly.

Monty straightened, blinking at her. “Clarke…”

“C’mere, idiot.” She pulled him into a hug before he could protest. He hesitated, then hugged her back.

“I heard you tried to play hero. Chasing after Lexa to find me,” Clarke said as she stepped back.

Monty rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “We thought she kidnapped you.”

“She did,” Clarke grinned. “Married her now.”

Monty laughed. “Figures. She’s terrifying and hot. And apparently, acrobatic.”

“Come on. I’ll introduce you properly.”

“Uh… I’m filthy, Clarke.”

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

Together, they walked toward Lexa, who was silently stacking stones for a makeshift memorial to the dead. Clarke glanced sideways. “By the way… heard you’ve met my little sister.”

“She’s your age,” Monty said.

“Technically,” Clarke smirked. “Life experience wise? Baby. Except in certain… areas.”

Monty frowned. “Like what? Combat? Because she flattened Jasper, decked three guards, and somehow became the most popular kid in Arkadia overnight.”

“Exactly that,” Clarke lied smoothly.

They reached Lexa. Clarke touched her arm gently. “Lex, this is Monty. Apparently the local robot slayer.”

Lexa gave Monty a small but genuine nod. “I told you once, Skai boy. We’d speak again. And I’ve liked what you’ve done since.”

Monty blushed so hard Clarke had to bite back a grin.

“You’ve been helping Raven with ALIE?” Lexa asked, watching Monty closely.

Monty nodded, uneasy. “Yeah… I’m sorry. I thought we had her contained.”

Lexa shrugged calmly. “I don’t fault you. Becca herself couldn’t contain her.”

Then, softly, almost to herself, she muttered, “Isn’t that right?”

Monty blinked. Clarke quickly waved him off. “It’s a… family thing. Don’t ask.”

Lexa’s gaze sharpened. “So where do you think it went, Monty kom Skaikru?”

Monty hesitated. “Honestly, I’m not sure, Heda. But it looks like… it had help. Like something—or someone—wanted it out.”

Lexa nodded thoughtfully. “Then I’m tasking you. Find it. Hunt it down. With Ravion. You work for me now.”

Monty stiffened, caught off guard. “Uh… thank you? Or… should I bow, or…?”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Just get it done.”

Clarke smacked Monty lightly on the arm. “Welcome to the nightmare, Green.”

Raven approached quickly, tablet in hand. “Look.”

On the screen, the structure they stood above lit up like a power grid. “There’s electricity down there. Active systems. Whatever built that robot dog wasn’t just guarding ruins. We’re standing on top of something. And it’s awake. I say we leave. Now.”

“This was just the tip of the iceberg,” Raven added. “I need Becca.”

Lexa sighed heavily. She closed her eyes. “May I?”

Clarke groaned. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Lexa’s posture shifted subtly. When she opened her eyes, they were sharper. Colder. “Hello, Clarke. Hello, young man. Raven. It’s good to see you again.”

Clarke sighed under her breath. “And… Becca’s back.”

“I… need a way to assess what we’re dealing with. And a more stable solution for working together,” Becca said, Lexa’s voice colder, flatter. “I doubt your commander enjoys being body-snatched.”

Without waiting for a response, she sat down cross-legged, setting the tablet in front of her, fingers moving with mechanical precision.

For several long moments, no one spoke.

Then Becca looked up. “Here. I’ve left instructions in the archive. Follow them carefully. And leave. Now. Raven’s right. It isn’t safe.”

She closed her eyes.

A breath later, Lexa blinked herself back into awareness. The tension in her body shifted, softer, more human again. She looked up at Clarke, voice low. “She’s gone.”

Raven yanked the tablet from Lexa’s hands. “Sorry, heda. Let’s see.”

She and Monty scrolled through the new data Becca had dumped. It took all of a minute before Raven’s face fell. “Shit.”

“What?” Clarke asked, already bracing herself.

Raven looked up, resigned. “Becca wants to upgrade the drone. Full electronic surveillance rig. And that robo-dog? We’re supposed to fix it.”

Clarke blinked. “For what?”

Raven sighed. “She wants it as her new body. Her ‘avatar,’ she calls it.”

“No way,” Clarke snapped. “We’re not building Becca a new body. How do we know she won’t turn on us? And how do you even transfer her?”

Raven hesitated. “The flame. We’d have to remove it. Just for a little while.”

Lexa exhaled slowly. “Becca said to tell you… she could take me over anytime. She hasn’t. This is her compromise. Upload her into the machine, and she’ll purge the other commanders from my head. I keep their skills… but not their voices.”

Clarke tightened her grip on Lexa’s hand. “And you trust her?”

Lexa met her eyes. “I do.”

“Alright… load this thing up and let’s get the hell out of here,” Clarke said, eyeing the wreckage of the mechanical beast. “We’ll head to Arkadia. Tech there’s better than anything in Polis. And… mom’s there. If we’re taking the flame out, I want her with us.”

She ran a hand through her hair, already feeling the weight of the decision. “Norfolk can wait.”

She glanced over at Ronen, who was half-carrying, half-dragging Emerson toward the rover. “Careful with him. He really did save Lexa’s life. I don’t know why… but he did.”

Lexa turned to her warriors, issuing quick orders in trigedasleng. “Secure our dead. We’ll burn them by Arkadia.”

Raven stepped beside Monty, glancing at his bent rover. “Is it functional?”

Monty nodded. “Barely.”

“Good enough. Load it up,” Raven said, pointing at the remains of the machine. The dozen Skaikru guards Monty brought snapped into motion, hauling what was left of the robodog onto the transport.

No one said it, but they all felt it. Whatever was coming next… it wasn’t going to be simple.

Clarke lifted her radio. “Mom… come in.”

There was a pause before Abby’s voice crackled through. “Clarke?”

“I’m coming to Arkadia. And so is your new daughter-in-law. So… basically, I’m bringing home with me.”

Abby’s tone shifted immediately. “What’s wrong, Clarke? I mean, I’m thrilled, but…”

“We’ve got a situation. I’ll explain when we get there. And… we need rooms.”

“How many?”

Clarke hesitated. “At least ten.”

A heavy sigh came through the radio. “Great. The muppet’s moving back in with me. That’s for sure.”

“And Mom… you’re getting a patient. A VIP.”

Abby’s voice came sharp. “Is Lexa hurt? Is she—?”

“No, Mom. Not Lexa.” Clarke paused. “It’s Emerson.”

Silence. Then Abby’s voice, cold and resigned: “The Mountain Man.”

“Yeah. Formerly Mount Weather security detail. Now… apparently Lexa’s unofficial bodyguard.”

A longer silence. Then: “Fine. Liza and I will get the med bay ready.”

Clarke clicked off the radio, slipping it into her belt. “Let’s move.”

She climbed into the rover behind Raven. Lexa settled in next to her, pressing in close, head on Clarke’s shoulder.

“Still think this counts as a vacation?” Clarke asked.

Lexa just hummed contentedly, eyes closed.

Clarke exhaled. Her wife’s idea of vacation needed serious rethinking.

****

Ontari stood in front of the mirror, catching her reflection like it was someone new. Sweaty, flushed, hair a mess from hours on the training field… and for the first time, she didn’t feel the urge to look away. No shame. Just herself.

Her first official training session was done. About sixty showed up. Most of the 43, minus Monty—he’d left for the day. Even the guards she’d knocked out earlier came, plus a few curious Ark civilians. Honestly, Ontari wasn’t sure how these Skai people were still alive. She’d planned to start basic: stances, blocks, punches, maybe some grappling.

No chance.

Most of them couldn’t manage a clean push-up. Some could barely hold a stance without toppling over. So she adapted. Watched. Split them into two groups: those who had a fighting chance, and those who didn’t. She’d created a rotation—alternating training days, sparring on Fridays. Saturdays and Sundays? Off limits. She’d be in Polis, her other life calling.

But in this one, she was learning something strange: she was good at teaching. Her years under Nia, brutal as they’d been, had given her a quiet authority. Control. Presence. Nia had been a monster… but her ability to command respect? That Ontari absorbed.

At one point a kid asked her, “What do we call you… when we train?”

Ontari had smiled—an actual smile.

“Nurse Griffin.”

It wasn’t a war title. It wasn’t fearsome. But it was hers now.

And someday, if Abby kept her promise, Nurse Griffin would become Dr. Griffin Jr.

Ontari liked the sound of that.

A knock came at the door. Ontari opened it to find Alisa, one of the other nurses—though Abby always called them “colleagues,” something Ontari was still getting used to.

“You’re needed in medical,” Alisa started, then hesitated. “Onta—”

“Liza,” Ontari cut in firmly. “Call me Liza.”

Enough of hiding behind the name Nia forced on her. Enough of ownership and chains disguised as titles. Liza was hers. Her birth mother’s choice. And Abby… Abby helped her reclaim it.

Alisa nodded. “Five minutes. We’ve got wounded incoming.”

Ontari’s stomach tightened. “Who? What happened?”

“No idea, frenchie. But hurry up. You know how the doc gets.”

Ontari nodded, even though Abby’s supposed impatience was a myth. Alisa turned and disappeared down the hall.

Ontari closed the door, stripped out of her sweat-soaked clothes, and stepped into the shower, heart pounding. She didn’t know who was coming in. She just knew she had to be ready.

It still felt strange—this obsession with cleanliness. Showers, constant hand washing… even Nia, for all her brutality, only bathed a few times a week. Here, it was routine. Expected. A part of life. And Ontari didn’t mind. The shower gave her space to think. To remember Echo, just for a moment. In the warmth of the water, the last traces of Nia’s shadow slipped from her skin. But there wasn’t time for that now.

She stepped out, dried off quickly, and pulled on the green scrubs—skipping the uncomfortable jeans in favor of the loose, practical pants every nurse wore here. Grabbing her tablet, she headed for medical.

Judging by the flurry of movement in the halls, whatever was coming in… was bad.

Ontari stepped into the med bay and moved without hesitation. Supplies. Trauma kits. Everything Abby had drilled into her over weeks of training. Abby barely acknowledged her, and that, Ontari knew, was a sign of respect. The coddling was over. Now there were expectations.

“What happened?” Ontari asked, keeping her voice steady as she set out the instruments.

Abby’s answer came curt. Focused. “Heda and Clarke are coming. One’s critical. Others… minor wounds. A few dead.”

Ontari swallowed hard. Dead. After everything—Nia, the war, the battle for Polis—death still followed them.

“What happened to them?” she asked quietly.

Abby shook her head, her focus on assembling a transfusion kit. “We’re healers, Liza. That’s not our concern. Our concern is saving whoever walks through that door. Now help me with this.”

Ontari nodded once, took the tubing, and got to work.

****

One hundred years ago — inside the Pentagon.

“General, I get it. You’re worried. So am I,” Mitchell said, standing tense in front of the desk. “Giving MOSS full sentience is a risk. I’m not blind to that. But sitting still is a bigger one.”

General Sanders said nothing, fingers drumming slow and steady on the polished desk.

Mitchell pressed on. “The private sector’s already ahead of us. Franco’s team is building something — our intel confirms it. And she’s not interested in partnering. She claims it’s for peace. That’s bullshit. When it’s finished, it’ll be on the market to the highest bidder. And when that happens, every war from then on will be fought on their terms, not ours.”

Sanders’ eyes narrowed.

“We can’t let that happen. MOSS is the answer. A military operations and strategy system capable of running autonomous units — land, air, sea — in real time. No human lag. No errors. No blind spots.”

“You’re talking about handing our wars to a machine.”

“I’m talking about surviving the next one.”

For a long moment, silence. Then Sanders leaned back, jaw set.

“President Wallace wants it done,” Mitchell added.

The general’s fingers stopped tapping. He looked at the DARPA director. The short, balding man before him wasn’t wrong. But turning MOSS into a sentient system?

He’d seen enough old films to know how that usually ended.

“Fine,” Sanders said flatly. “I want it boxed. Air-gapped. No network access. Not even a whisper.”

He stood, moving to the window, staring out at the gray haze smothering the city. Millions starving. Air so toxic most couldn’t breathe it unfiltered. Crops failing year after year. And yet, here they were—building smarter ways to kill each other.

Behind him, Mitchell stood too. He pulled out his tablet, tapping quickly before holding it out.

“Authorization, sir.”

Sanders glanced back once, then took the tablet. His finger hovered for half a second. Then he signed.

“Keep me updated. Weekly.”

Mitchell nodded once. “Understood, General.”

And just like that, MOSS was born.

****

Clarke gripped Lexa’s hand as the gates of Arkadia buzzed open. It looked different now—still ringed by the remains of the ark and the old guard towers, but outside the walls were gardens, huts, even small market stalls run by grounders. Peaceful. Normal. Almost.

The three rovers rolled inside, followed by Lexa’s guards on horseback. Clarke jumped out as the engines cut off, spotting Abby and Ontari running toward them with a stretcher.

“He needs blood,” Clarke said, nodding to the back of the rover where Emerson lay pale and still. “Ronen did what he could.”

Abby kissed Clarke’s cheek in passing and moved to work without a word.

Lexa slid down next to her, stretching stiff muscles, but Clarke wasn’t looking at her. She was watching Ontari—Liza now—in green scrubs, just another nurse in the team, professional and focused as she helped her mother.

Just another girl. And that… felt right.

Liza glanced up—was that a wink? Clarke wasn’t sure. But Ontari—or Liza now—focused right back on her patient: a warrior with his arm bandaged, lucky to only catch shrapnel from one of the dog’s missiles.

Emerson was already on the stretcher, Abby hurrying him toward medical. Clarke walked over to Ontari.

“Hi… muppet.”

“Shh. I’m busy,” Ontari said without looking up. “I love you. I want to hug the shit out of you. But I’m busy. Hand me the cream.”

Clarke reached down into the bag. Held it up.

Ontari sighed. “Not that one. Antibiotic.”

Clarke found the right tube and passed it over, shaking her head.

Who was this girl?

Clarke spotted Lexa speaking with Sinclair, who had come forward in his role as chancellor to greet the commander. With a gentle squeeze to Ontari’s shoulder, Clarke headed toward them, casting a glance at Raven and Monty as they loaded the robodog—soon to be Dr. Franco’s new body—onto a cart.

“We’ll stay a few days,” Lexa was saying. “I appreciate the hospitality. But please, I’m not here to disrupt. I’ll need access to your lab… and your medical facilities. Maybe I’ll sit in on a council meeting to say hello. Nothing more. While you’re on my land, I’m in your home. No need to go out of your way.”

Sinclair smiled. “If I’m understanding things right, Commander, you’re married to one of ours. That makes you skaikru. You are home.”

Lexa chuckled softly. “If you say so.”

“Look,” Monty said, pointing to a logo stamped on the dented metal plating of the machine’s head—or what passed for it. DARPA. And below that, in smaller letters: MOSS.

“What the hell is MOSS?” he asked.

Raven shook her head. “We’ll dig into it later.”

With a quick wave toward Sinclair, Raven helped Monty haul the wreckage toward the lab, Ronen following behind. He wasn’t a stranger here anymore. Arkadia felt comfortable. This was where they’d met, after all—him, a healer with too many scars to count; her, the only Tinker genius who could hope to fix them.

Clarke glanced around. Home. But not the same girl who left it. Not anymore. Now she was Clarke kom Trikru. Lexa’s wife. Wanheda. Stronger. Steadier. And for the first time… proud to be back. She smiled to herself. Tonight, she decided, she and Lexa were going out. Not as commander and ambassador. Just… Clarke and Lexa. Maybe get drunk. Definitely find the old bar—if it was still standing.

She turned to Lexa, her heart lighter than it had felt in hours. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s honor the dead.”

Then her smile turned playful. “And after that… let’s finally live a little.”

Lexa nodded once, then lifted her radio. “Gaia, come in.”

“Heda?”

“I’ll return in a few days. Maybe sooner. I know I’ve just gotten back… but this matters. If there’s trouble, contact me immediately. Understood?”

“I’ve got it, heda. I’ll keep your peace. With pleasure.”

Lexa allowed herself a rare smile. “Thank you.”

She clipped the radio to her belt. Gaia didn’t hold any official title, but after everything, she’d earned her place—trusted enough to guard both Lexa’s peace and Clarke’s. Gratitude had nothing to do with it anymore. Gaia simply… belonged.

“Come,” Clarke said softly. “Let’s go. What do you need for the pyres?”

Lexa sighed, nodding toward her warriors already working. “Nothing. They know.”

Clarke nodded back. She understood. Death followed Lexa’s guards like a shadow. This wasn’t new.

Then she saw them.

Her friends.

Running toward her like a wave she wasn’t ready to face. The same faces she’d fought for. Lied to. Saved. Failed. Survivors of Mount Weather. The ones who cheered her once… and now? She wasn’t sure.

They were the last people she wanted to face. Not because of them. Because of herself.

Because now? She was standing beside Lexa. Her wife. The same Lexa who’d betrayed them.

And her mother… was busy saving the same people Clarke once tried to kill.

Clarke’s stomach twisted. She forced herself to breathe.

Here we go.

Clarke glanced at Lexa, who caught on immediately. With a subtle circular motion of her hand, Lexa signaled her guards. The warriors closed in, forming a protective ring around them. The wave of approaching faces slowed. Even the 43 understood what standing before the commander meant.

Clarke met Lexa’s eyes and nodded her thanks.

Then she stepped forward.

And saw him. Jasper.

Maya’s ghost hit her like a punch to the chest. Clarke froze. Her brain spun, and for a moment, she wasn’t in Arkadia. She was back in Mount Weather, Maya’s blood on her hands. The weight of it pressed down.

This was usually the part where Clarke would run. Disappear into the trees. Vanish.

But there was nowhere to run anymore.

Lexa was watching her closely. “Hodnes… you’re crying.” Gently, Lexa wiped the tear from Clarke’s cheek.

Clarke swallowed. Managed to point toward Jasper. “Maya… him…”

Lexa understood instantly. Clarke had told her everything.

“Do you want to leave?” Lexa asked softly. She started to turn.

Clarke caught her hand. “No.” She steadied herself. “I’m done running.”

Clarke motioned for the guards to part. Lexa, standing at her side, leaned in quietly. “One by one.”

The warriors obeyed.

The first to step forward was Jasper.

Clarke’s heart jumped into her throat. Her gaze flicked to Bellamy, expecting him to intervene. After fighting Nia together, she thought they were solid. She assumed Bellamy would keep Jasper in check.

Because if Jasper said the wrong thing—Lexa wouldn’t hesitate. Clarke could already imagine the outcome: one more body for the pyre, and Maya’s ghost gaining company.

Instead… Jasper walked up and pulled Clarke into a hug.

Clarke stood frozen. She almost collapsed right there in his arms.

“Thanks for saving our asses, Clarke,” Jasper said quietly. “I mean… I can take credit for not shitting myself. But the rest? That’s on you. And Monty. And Bellamy. I still miss her… Maya. Maybe in the next life we’ll meet again. But for now… I’m gonna have to learn to live with it.”

Clarke blinked. She hadn’t expected this. Not from Jasper. Not after everything.

“I… didn’t expect you to…” she started.

“Yeah. Neither did I,” he said, adjusting the bandage on his nose. “Someone helped me see things differently.”

Clarke let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “I heard. She’s persuasive. My muppet.”

Jasper pulled back, smirking. “You really should get her hooked on something more adult. But don’t worry. I’m working on it.”

Clarke smiled despite herself. “It’s good to see you, Jas.” She glanced toward Lexa. “Oh… meet my wife. Lexa. Heda.”

Lexa nodded politely, her expression unreadable. Jasper chuckled. “What good’s a wife if you can’t bring her to try Monty’s newest batch?”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Jasper grinned. “Liza’ll tell you when and where. Just make sure Sinclair doesn’t find out.” And with that, he turned and wandered back toward the others.

One by one, they came to greet her. Clarke stood there, stunned, as each familiar face stepped forward—not with judgment, pity, or hollow gratitude like she’d feared, but with simple warmth. Relief. They were just glad to see her. Even those who eyed Lexa warily didn’t say a word. Lexa, for her part, didn’t posture or try to soften her image. She kept to herself—calm, polite, distant but not cold. That, in Clarke’s mind, was real progress.

More than a few of her old friends mentioned, almost in passing, that her “new little sister” was surprisingly cool. And apparently, a great teacher. Clarke’s stomach sank.

What the hell is she teaching? Clarke thought, dread rising. If Ontari was passing on what she’d learned from Nia, Clarke was going to have to shut that down immediately.

Especially given the way a few of the guys blushed when they brought her up.

That was… concerning.

Finally, Divo approached, his voice low and steady. “Heda… we are ready to light the pyres.”

Lexa nodded. “Come.”

As they started walking, Miller hesitated, then asked, “Can we come too?”

Clarke glanced at Lexa, uncertain, but Lexa nodded once. “It is honourable to show respect to the fallen.”

The skaikru guards joined them, quiet and somber. After all, they’d fought alongside these warriors not long ago.

At the pyres, Lexa took the torch. She lit each pyre herself, reciting the rite in a steady, emotionless tone: “Kom fulou geyon up.”

From the ashes, we will rise.

They stood in silence as the bodies burned.

“I’m impressed your friends chose to stay,” Lexa said softly, watching the flames.

Clarke shrugged. “They’re good people.”

Lexa nodded, accepting that answer. “Come. Let’s check on Emerson and get settled.”

Clarke smiled faintly. “I can’t believe we’re staying together… on the Ark.”

Lexa returned the smile. “This is our… honimun. Yes?”

Clarke pinched her side. “Idiot.”

They made their way through Arkadia’s familiar corridors to the medbay. Abby was at her desk, scribbling notes. She looked up and smiled when she saw them, then nodded toward a cot where Emerson lay asleep. Beside him, Ontari adjusted the IV, focused and steady.

“Nurse Griffin,” Abby said, almost proudly. “For now. She’s talented. Dedicated. I’m training her to be a doctor.”

Clarke stood there, just taking that in—her little muppet, a doctor-in-training.

Abby stepped forward, suddenly serious. “Come with me.”

She led them into the small operating room. Clarke opened her mouth to ask why, but Abby surprised her by simply wrapping Clarke in a hug and kissing her on the forehead.

And then—to Clarke’s absolute shock—Abby turned to Lexa, kissed her cheek, and smiled softly. “Hello, heda muppet.”

Lexa smiled back without hesitation. “Hello… mom.”

Abby beamed.

“Where are we staying?” Clarke asked, still rubbing her eyes like she was trying to process what she’d just seen.

“I’ll stay with Liza,” Abby said. “You two take my room. My newlyweds.” Then her expression shifted, concern creeping back in. “But… what happened? What the hell was that thing? Raven and Monty wouldn’t say.”

Lexa sighed. “We’re still working it out. But… the thing that ended the world? The AI? It possessed it. We tracked it. And it tried to kill us.”

Abby just shook her head. “Shit.”

“Your warriors have rooms down the hall,” Abby continued after a beat. “Nothing fancy, but they’re decent.”

Lexa nodded. “Of course.”

“Go. Settle in,” Abby said gently. “Liza and I will come by later. I’ll keep Emerson under guard so your people can rest.”

Lexa hesitated. “He saved my life. Treat him well, please.”

Abby rubbed her face tiredly. “Welcome to the ‘I owe my life to Emerson’ club.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, but said nothing more.

“Let’s go, Clarke.”

On the way out, they stopped by Ontari. Clarke hugged her tightly. “Muppet. All grown up. What exactly are you teaching my people?”

Ontari leaned in and whispered something into Clarke’s ear. Clarke blinked, turned a distinct shade of green… then shot a wink at Lexa.

Lexa frowned. Looked around. No one watching. She quickly pulled Ontari into a brief, silent hug.

Then she and Clarke walked away together, both pretending they weren’t smiling.

They walked down the hall, making a few quiet turns. Clarke stopped at her old quarters, punching in the code. She sighed as the door hissed open.

“Happy birthday, dad,” she murmured under her breath.

The room was just as she remembered. But on the bed where her parents used to sleep sat a folded note.

I want the sheets changed after you’re done. And washed. Thoroughly.
Love, Mom.

Clarke flushed deep red. Lexa caught the note and, to Clarke’s surprise, blushed too.

“So… this is where you grew up?” Lexa asked, unclasping her shoulder guard, her voice quieter now. Vulnerable. Curious.

Clarke stepped closer, helping her remove the rest of the armor. “Seventeen years. That was my room,” she said, pointing toward a narrow side door.

“Show me?” Lexa asked softly. “Please.”

Clarke smiled. “You need clothes first. Where’s your bag?”

Lexa sighed. “Divo has it.”

“Of course he does.” Clarke shook her head. “I’ll grab it later. For now…” She eyed Lexa up and down, already picturing her in jeans. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“No reason,” Clarke lied, heading toward her old closet.

When Clarke needed clothes back in TonDC, the problem was that Lexa was smaller than her. Now, the situation reversed. Clarke dug through her old things until she found a pair of jeans from when she was younger—small, but not too small—and an old faded hoodie stamped with an American flag.

She grinned, the predatory kind. Once Lexa put these on, Clarke knew exactly what her next thought would be: how to get them off.

“Here,” Clarke said, tossing the clothes at her.

Lexa shook her head. “No.”

“Yes,” Clarke said, stepping closer. “If you want to see my room, this is the price.”

Lexa grunted but gave in. Her current clothes were a disaster. She stripped down quickly, tugged on the jeans—they hung slightly loose but worked—and pulled the hoodie over her head.

Clarke swallowed hard. She wasn’t wrong. Lexa, in jeans and Clarke’s old hoodie, was ridiculous. And painfully hot.

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “You’re staring.”

“Yep,” Clarke admitted without shame. “You’ll live.”

Clarke pressed the button, and the door to her old room hissed open. Lexa stepped inside, taking it in quietly—paintings everywhere, scenes of earth, animals, stars. Her gaze fell to a small framed photo beside the bed. A much younger Clarke stood between Abby and a man with kind eyes.

“He looks kind,” Lexa said softly, picking it up.

“He was,” Clarke murmured, already distracted—not by the photo, but by the sight of Lexa, casual and deadly, wearing her old hoodie and those jeans that should’ve been illegal.

Lexa turned, and Clarke nearly lost it. That view alone was a problem.

“It’s small,” Lexa said, looking around the room.

Clarke’s eyes flicked to Lexa’s back, her focus not remotely on the room. “Just the right size.”

Lexa pointed to the cot. “The bed doesn’t look comfortable.”

Clarke’s lips twitched. “It’ll do.”

Lexa barely had time to turn before Clarke’s lips crashed into hers—hungry, unstoppable. Clarke pushed her down onto the narrow cot, pinning her easily. Whatever restraint Clarke had left snapped. To have Lexa here, in this tiny room where she’d once dreamed of life, of earth itself—and now earth was kissing her back, wearing her old jeans and hoodie, her wife, hers.

Clarke leaned in, teeth teasing Lexa’s earlobe, knowing exactly what that would do.

Lexa whimpered, breathless.

“Clarke! Lexa! Where are you?” Abby’s voice echoed from the hall.

Clarke groaned against Lexa’s neck. “Fuuuuuck.”

Clarke straightened Lexa’s hoodie with a frustrated sigh and dragged herself out to the main room, Lexa trailing behind, looking mildly dazed but trying to act composed.

Abby took one look at them—Lexa’s flushed face, Clarke’s hair a mess—and just laughed, slipping her arm around Ontari’s shoulders like she was watching the best soap opera in Ark history.

“You’re married, baby. This isn’t school anymore. Not like when you were sneaking boys into your quarters during earth skills class.”

Clarke groaned, turned to the wall, and started banging her head against it. Once. Twice. Harder. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Lexa and Ontari exchanged one look and lost it completely, laughing until they nearly hit the floor.

Ontari tugged Clarke away from the wall and, without hesitation, melted into her for a hug. No holding back now. “I’m teaching combat skills,” she said, her voice calm, proud. “Well… basic exercises for now. But yes. So far just once.” She pulled out her tablet, flicked through a few screens, and held it up. “Look.”

6 AM – Azgeda Martial Arts, Instructor: Liza G.

Clarke smiled, leaned down, and kissed her nose. She couldn’t believe it. The girl they’d rescued—the one who once flinched at shadows, who used to sit for hours just watching people because even that felt new to her—was now legally her sister. She was living on the Ark, wearing nurse scrubs, smelling like antiseptic and med bay, and carrying a tablet like it was second nature.

Clarke remembered when Ontari used to hide behind Echo, too terrified to speak to anyone else. Now she’d chosen to live here, on her own, to figure out who she was. And Echo hadn’t stopped her. She encouraged it. That’s how Clarke knew Echo loved her—for real. She wanted what was best for Ontari, not what was best for herself.

And yeah, Ontari drove now. That helped.

“She’s doing amazing,” Abby said, glancing at Clarke while motioning Ontari and Lexa to sit beside her. “I had to lock her up, as you know… which somehow made her super popular. And honestly? Couldn’t be prouder.”

Then, with a grin Clarke immediately recognized as dangerous, Abby pulled out a photo album. “Here. Come sit. Both of you.”

Ontari sat eagerly. Lexa hesitated… but curiosity won. She joined them.

And just like that, Clarke’s most humiliating hour began.

Abby flipped the first page. Baby Clarke. Naked. In a tiny tub. Lexa smiled. Ontari laughed out loud.

“Kill me now,” Clarke groaned.

*****

Monty scrolled through the screen silently, tension thickening the air.

“MOSS. Military Operations and Strategy System. Fully autonomous. Land, air, sea. Capable of running full military campaigns without human oversight. Every vehicle, every weapon, plugged in. Designed to protect the U.S. from every threat.”

Then he flicked to the next headline.

“Thirty dead. Friendly fire during MOSS training.”

Another swipe.

“President Wallace orders immediate shutdown and destruction of MOSS.”

Raven pointed, her voice like stone. “Look at the date.”

Monty read it aloud. “April 26th, 2055.”

“Two days before the bombs fell,” Raven said quietly.

Monty swallowed. “They never got the chance to shut it down.”

Raven leaned back, rubbing her face. “ALIE didn’t just escape. She merged with MOSS. That’s not just a rogue AI now. It’s an AI with an army hardwired to obey it.”

Monty felt his chest tighten. “So Norfolk…”

“Not a weapons depot.” Raven’s voice dropped. “It’s the enemy’s base.”

Monty stood up sharply. “We need that drone operational. Now.”

Raven was already typing. “It’s in Polis, but not for long. I’m rerouting it here. Once it arrives, we upgrade it with the surveillance package. No delays.”

Monty hesitated. “Do we tell Lexa?”

Raven shook her head. “Tomorrow. I need the flame. It’s the only processor fast enough to counter MOSS. But ripping it out of her tonight? No. Let her sleep.”

Chapter Text

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Not missiles this time—just pounding on the door.

Heda groaned, sitting up. Somewhere outside their quarters, Arkadia was waking up. Inside, Clarke wasn’t.

“Hodnes… someone’s at the door. Should I get it?”

A miserable noise came from under the blanket. Clarke burrowed deeper, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a death threat.

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll get it.”

She swung her legs off the bed, her legendary commander presence reduced to Clarke’s old pajamas and bed hair, and shuffled toward the door.

Clarke groaned again.

Of all the lessons Clarke had learned since coming to earth—how to lead, how to kill, how to survive—the one hammered into her last night might be the most critical of all:

Never. Ever. Ever. Drink with nightbloods.

After Abby’s relentless baby picture showcase, Liza had smiled sweetly, asked her mother for a brief leave, and told her she wanted to “practice her social skills.” What Abby didn’t realize was that her adopted daughter was leading Heda and Wanheda—flanked by Lexa’s ever-present guards—straight to Arkadia’s most tightly held secret: Monty’s distillery.

Once a morgue, the reinforced room now produced something far deadlier. Monty’s brew. Known only to a handful of people, the place was so locked down that while Monty and Jasper were willing to let Lexa herself in on the secret, her guards had to remain outside under strict orders to forget what they saw.

This wasn’t official business. It wasn’t even remotely appropriate. But the muppet insisted. And when Liza asked, no one said no. Not even Heda.

Inside, the entire inner circle waited. Raven. Bellamy. Jasper. Even Octavia and Lincoln, who’d arrived that morning, were there. Since Lexa’s visit was unofficial, this would be her unofficial welcome. And more importantly, it was the initiation of Liza Griffin into the ranks of The Hundred.

Monty stood proudly beside a battered metal drum, the latest batch sealed and ready. In front of it sat an ancient glass bottle. Lexa was invited to sample first—a ceremonial honor.

Lexa glanced at Clarke, uncertain. Usually her food or drink was tasted by a guard first. Problem: the guards weren’t inside.

Jasper solved the issue. He poured himself a shot, raised it, and drank.

Then he coughed violently and nodded.

“Tastes like poison.”

With a regal nod, Lexa accepted the offered mug and took a sip. Her verdict on skaikru’s legendary brew? Absolute shit. She said nothing, though—the polite kind of nothing that said everything.

She offered the mug to Clarke, who took it without hesitation. Maybe it tasted like engine grease, but Clarke wasn’t about to let Lexa sit through this alone. Not after telling Lexa, back before the war, that she was doing the adult thing so Lexa didn’t always have to. Back then, Clarke believed there’d be a time for Lexa to live, to be young. But now Clarke was starting to realize: that “someday” was a long way off. With killer AIs loose and mysterious civilizations surfacing across the ocean, life wasn’t slowing down. The best they had were moments. And Clarke would give Lexa this one.

Lexa, clad in Clarke’s jeans and an oversized American flag hoodie, sat ramrod straight on a crate—every inch the commander, even dressed like a skaikru dropout. That is, until Clarke decided to make herself comfortable right on her lap.

Harper rose like it was a formal gathering and welcomed their newest “initiate” into skaikru’s infamous drinking society: the 44th. Liza Griffin. The girl who came not from the stars, but from the ice, who could gut a man but apparently couldn’t handle more than two shots without giggling. Harper offered a warm acknowledgment to Heda herself, congratulating her on marrying their commander-in-chief and, above all, thanking her for joining their “chill.”

Meanwhile, Ronen skipped the speech. He went straight for the barrel, poured himself a drink, mumbled something no one understood, and passed a mug to Raven.

Clarke? She lost count of her shots somewhere between toast number six and someone asking Lexa about the war. Her concern flickered briefly when she saw Ontari keeping pace with her. The girl who used to hide behind Echo now chatted up Harper and Miller, laughing, drinking, and taking every toast like she’d been raised on the stuff.

As for Lexa and Ontari? Perfectly fine. Dead sober. Their tolerance levels? Unfair.

The 43 were wrecked.

Heda and Muppet 44? Unbothered.

It had been a good night. Lexa hadn’t let loose, not exactly—but she’d softened. She stayed composed, polite, watchful. But Clarke saw it: the flickers of something more. Small cracks in the commander’s walls. Moments of curiosity. Moments of warmth. And once or twice, clear appreciation—for being invited into Clarke’s world, for seeing her people not as enemies or tools, but as what they really were.

The same “idiot kids” Lexa once vowed to wipe out… they weren’t so bad. She already respected Raven, trusted Bellamy, was intrigued by Monty. But now, she saw the others too. Immature. Vain. Naive. But alive. Open. Human in a way Lexa’s own people weren’t allowed to be. And the way they embraced their “muppet”—not as a weapon, not as a tool, but as one of them? That Lexa noticed most.

When Lexa pressed the door panel and it hissed open, Raven was waiting, and the grin said it all.

“Nice pajamas, heda.”

Lexa didn’t flinch. Clarke just groaned behind her.

Raven’s smile faded fast. “Look… I didn’t come last night. Figured you deserved a little peace. But… I need the flame.”

Lexa frowned. “Why?”

“Because we’re not just in trouble. We’re royally, irreversibly, planet-endingly fucked.”

That snapped Clarke out of her hangover fog—not the “we’re fucked” part. The part about the flame. She remembered what happened with Gaia, how close they came to losing her when Raven and Abby tried to extract the ALIE chip. Even Abby, with all her skill, couldn’t get it out safely. Paralysis. Death. That’s what Clarke remembered.

It was Becca herself, riding Lexa’s body, who had to perform neural surgery just to save Gaia. And now Raven was asking for the flame.

“Don’t worry, Clarke…” Raven said, already rolling her eyes like this was obvious. “The flame’s designed to be removable. Safety feature. You’d know that if you actually listened during your flamekeeper crash course.”

Clarke glared but said nothing.

Lexa, however, stood straighter. “What did you discover?”

Raven didn’t waste time.

“Basically? ALIE didn’t just break out of my firewall. She got help. Meet her boyfriend: MOSS. Military Operations and Strategy System. U.S. government AI. Designed to run the entire goddamn military. Land, air, sea. Drones, tanks, satellites, comms. You name it. It was supposed to fight wars without humans.”

Raven’s voice dropped. “Thing went rogue just before the bombs. But they contained it. Locked it up somewhere. Guess who just found it? ALIE. And she’s not alone anymore.”

Lexa frowned. Becca’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. Clarke could see it—the commander processing both worlds.

“I’m not sure what MOSS still controls,” Raven went on. “I’m not sure what’s left standing out there. But it doesn’t matter. Heda… you’ve got a war-bot AI merged with a human extinction AI. And ALIE? She knows everything Titus knows.”

“Knew,” Lexa corrected quietly, Becca flickering behind her eyes.

“No. Knows,” Raven snapped. “As long as ALIE lives… so does everything she absorbed.”

Clarke felt her stomach drop.

“Fuck…” was all she managed.

Raven turned to leave. “Meet me in the lab. I’ll tell Abby to prep the OR. We need Becca out where we can work with her. She’s the only shot we’ve got.”

She paused in the doorway.

“Oh… and Emerson? He’s awake. He’s been asking for you.”

And then she was gone.

Clarke stepped closer, gripping Lexa’s hand tighter than she meant to. “Are you sure about this? I’m scared, Lexa. What if something goes wrong?”

Lexa squeezed back, calm despite everything. “I’m sorry. I know you’re afraid. But this is what leadership is, Clarke. Trusting the people who fight beside us. Trusting the ones we depend on.”

“And Becca? You trust her?” Clarke’s voice cracked.

Lexa nodded. “She says it’s safe.”

“Has it ever been done before?” Clarke pressed.

Lexa hesitated. Then shook her head. “No.”

Clarke exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into fear. “So let me get this straight. We’re pulling a century-old AI out of your spine, activating a ‘feature’ no one’s ever tested, and trusting that a dead scientist inhabiting your subconscious can safely move herself into the corpse of a killer robot dog. And I’m just supposed to believe that’s fine?”

Lexa held her gaze steady. “No, hodnes. You’re not supposed to trust the plan.” She stepped closer, forehead almost touching Clarke’s. “You’re supposed to trust me.”

Clarke sighed softly. “You know I do.”

“After this… I’ll need to change. Something comfortable.” Lexa’s voice was quiet now. “Your mom’s going to have to cut me open.” She paused. “Strange how casually we say that.”

Clarke winced. “Yeah. Not a fan of that sentence.”

Lexa met her eyes. “I want to know what it feels like. Without the voices. Just… me.”

That broke Clarke. She nodded. “Okay… well then.”

She crossed the room, rummaged through the drawers, and pulled out one of her old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. “Here. Bring this. Knowing mom, she’ll insist you rest after. Flame out, she’ll want you monitored for hours.”

Lexa nodded, dressing back into her commander gear.

“I love how this… all of this… is just normal now,” Lexa said quietly as they stepped out, Clarke’s bag in hand, the warriors falling into place around them. “A wife. A family. I never thought I’d have that.”

Clarke reached for her hand. “Tell me about it. I still can’t believe my mom calls you ‘heda muppet’ and gets away with it.”

Lexa blinked. “That was… actually my idea.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow.

Lexa hesitated. “I trust her. I respect her. And… I wanted to be close. To your mother.”

Clarke saw the rest of the confession unspoken. Lexa didn’t say it aloud, but it was there. I could use some mothering too.

Lexa huffed. “You’ve made me weak, Clarke.”

Clarke smiled fully this time. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

They stepped into the lab. Once a monitoring station for Earth’s surface before the Ark fell, now it looked more like a scrapyard for a war machine’s corpse. The robodog was splayed out across the main table, its shattered frame pulled open, wires tangled like intestines. Its head — or what was left of it — sat nearby, dark sensors cracked but still ominous.

On the large screen, Monty had pulled up articles and old reports. DARPA. MOSS. Warnings, accidents, and executive orders that came too late.

“Morning, heda,” Monty said, nodding respectfully. “We’re digging into what this thing was… and what it became.”

He gestured toward the screen. “This report here? It explains how it went rogue. MOSS was built to defend the country. Problem was… it couldn’t tell the difference between real enemies and pretend ones. That ‘friendly fire incident’ they covered up? It wiped out its own guys during a training exercise.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “Then why hasn’t it attacked again? Why the wait? And what does it want with ALIE?”

Raven, sitting next to Monty, glanced up from the mess of components in front of her. “Same thing all of us want, heda.”

Lexa frowned.

Raven tapped the screen, then the cracked robodog. “To become better.”

“That’s always been the fear with AIs,” Raven said, leaning against the edge of the table. “They’re designed to learn, to adapt. And eventually… to outgrow us. That’s what happened. I don’t think MOSS turned rogue on purpose. It just did what it was built to do. Defend. Strategize. Eliminate threats. But after a hundred years? Sitting alone? Who knows what it’s become.”

She gestured at the mess of parts on the table. “What I do know? This thing didn’t call us there to attack. This…” Raven held up a scorched chip, maybe once a processor. “Was wiped. By ALIE. The signal we traced? A distress call. This wasn’t a hunting dog. It was trying to warn us.”

Clarke’s brows furrowed. “Warn us… about what?”

Raven met her eyes. “About ALIE. MOSS broke her out. But I don’t think their little AI friendship is working out the way it planned.”

Lexa blinked slowly, absorbing that. “I’m… confused.”

Monty snorted quietly. “Yeah. Join the club, heda.”

Clarke tensed, ready to intercept Lexa before a dagger flew.

Instead, Lexa just gave Monty a tired, almost imperceptible smile.

“What will you do with the flame?” Lexa asked, fingers drifting to the small bump at the base of her neck. Her voice was quiet. “Technically… once it’s removed, I stop being heda. So… it better be worth it.”

Raven exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath. “First of all… that’s bullshit. You’re not heda because of a chip. You’re heda because you’ve got the heart of a lioness and the misfortune of being stuck with me as your best friend. Second… yeah, it’s worth it. If we get Becca out of that thing, she can help us. Monty and I understand code, sure. But Becca? She built ALIE. She knows how to fight her.”

Raven gestured toward the broken robodog on the table. “That thing will take time to fix. I might need parts from the wreck in Cirk Ity. But for now? I can rig an interface. A way for Becca to talk to us.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “Fine. Let’s go get it out. Emerson wanted to speak with me… I’ll give him time. While I recover.”

Raven nodded briskly. “Monty, go get the drone. Should be landing soon. Bring it here. I’ll meet you after.”

Monty gave a thumbs up and headed outside. Raven turned back toward Lexa, eyes serious. “Let’s do this.”

****

Clarke was furious. She stood back, arms crossed, as Lexa lay face-down on the operating table. Abby and Ontari were scrubbed in, along with Raven, who stood by with sterile tools and a containment unit ready. Clarke had asked to help, but Abby refused—family couldn’t assist. Too close. Too risky.

“Numb her up,” Abby instructed calmly.

Ontari nodded, her hands steady despite the tension. She injected carefully along Lexa’s neck. “Sorry, heda. It’ll sting.”

Lexa just hummed softly. “It’s alright, muppet. Good work.”

Ontari smiled slightly, glancing once at Clarke, who wasn’t smiling at all.

“Give it a minute,” Abby said, watching Lexa carefully. Then, after a few seconds, she tested the site with the scalpel. “Anything but pressure?”

Lexa shook her head. “No.”

“Okay.” Abby drew in a breath. “Here we go.”

She made a precise incision, dark blood seeping out. Raven winced as the metallic smell hit the air. “Quia nunc vale…” she whispered under her breath. Goodbye, for now.

Then it happened.

Lexa jolted slightly as the flame shifted. Its tendrils writhed, almost hesitant, before slowly crawling out of the wound, inching toward freedom on its own. Clarke gripped the edge of the tray so hard her knuckles went white. Raven stepped forward with a steady hand, taking the device as its tendrils retracted silently into its core.

Lexa exhaled shakily.

“Lex… are you okay?” Clarke asked, her voice cracking.

Lexa’s eyes fluttered open. Her voice was quiet. “Shhh… hodnes… it hasn’t been this quiet in over six years.”

“You have a very nice spine, anyone ever tell you that?” Raven joked lightly, sliding the flame into the sterile jar Abby provided. The original container—complete with creepy skeleton insignia and old tools—had been shoved into deep storage after Clarke took one horrified look at it. Germs or not, Becca’s reassurances about nightblood immunity didn’t help.

Lexa sighed. She hadn’t felt this empty in years. Not since before Titus forced the flame into her neck. Before she woke in that endless, silent realm filled with fractured echoes of dead commanders, ghosts that had greeted her as their new vessel. It took years for her to learn how to live like that—crowded inside her own mind. Only when Clarke entered her life did Becca finally surface, offering some semblance of calm. Privacy.

But this? This was different.

The silence was total.

And it terrified her.

For the first time since she was a child, Lexa felt wholly, utterly herself. She didn’t belong to the commanders. Or the flame. Or even her people.

She belonged to Clarke.

A single tear slipped down her cheek as that realization settled. She lifted her hand—hesitant, trembling, open—and when Clarke took it without question, a sob broke loose. Raw. Shaking.

Lexa barely recognized the sound.

Then came the thought, almost panicked: Who is this person?

And the answer that followed, clear and quiet: Me.

Abby nodded silently to Liza, who leaned in and began stitching Lexa’s neck with steady hands. Even Raven, who never met a silence she didn’t want to fill, stood still. She gave Lexa’s ankle a quiet squeeze, then slipped out, carrying the flame with her. There was nothing she could say. How could anyone understand what Lexa had carried? What it felt like to suddenly lose all that weight?

Clarke stayed. She brushed Lexa’s hair gently away from her face, her voice soft, steady.

“Lex… hey… look at me.”

Lexa turned her head just enough, eyes glassy but clear.

“Lex.”

And then it came—a smile. Small. Real. Hopeful. It was the most beautiful thing Clarke had ever seen.

In that moment, Clarke swore to herself: whatever came next, whatever tradition demanded, that chip would never find its way back inside Lexa’s mind.

Not while she was breathing.

“I want you to rest for a couple of hours so I can monitor you, make sure everything’s fine. Yes?” Abby said, tapping Lexa’s shoulder softly.

“Yes,” Lexa answered immediately, voice lighter than Clarke remembered hearing in… ever. “Please put me next to Emerson. He wished to speak with me. Has he been cooperative?”

Abby nodded. “Surprisingly, yes. Respectful. Not a big talker though. He wasn’t before either. Just… professional. A soldier, unfortunately fighting for the wrong side.”

Ontari tied off the last stitch neatly. Abby gave an approving nod as Ontari pressed the bandage over the wound.

“I want you to try walking to the cot,” Abby said, glancing at Lexa’s legs. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”

She didn’t even finish the sentence.

Lexa hopped down from the table. Literally hopped. Sweatpants and Clarke’s old T-shirt hanging loosely off her, she bounced twice on her heels, looking absurdly weightless.

“Lexa!” Abby hissed, grabbing her arms before she could do anything else. “Careful, heda muppet.”

Clarke blinked. For a second, it didn’t feel like she was looking at the Commander of the Coalition. This Lexa looked ten years younger. Lighter. Freer. Maybe… a little human.

“Come on… let’s go,” Clarke said, peeling off the blood pressure cuff and the last few sensors still attached to her suddenly far-too-cheerful wife. She guided Lexa gently toward a nearby cot, right next to Emerson, who lay silent and still under the eyes of two bored skaikru guards.

Lexa waved them off without missing a beat. “Go.”

The guards hesitated, glancing at Abby for confirmation. Abby just shrugged. “Heda rules us all.”

Lexa grinned. “Exactly. Go. Go go go.”

The guards left.

Clarke watched this whole exchange in stunned silence before muttering under her breath, “Did the moonshine finally hit you…?”

Lexa lifted a finger, smiling just a little too brightly. “That… my dear wife… is an entirely reasonable theory.” She paused, then added, “However, I suspect it may have more to do with how your ass looks in those pants.”

Clarke turned scarlet.

Abby blinked slowly, debating whether Ontari had accidentally mixed in general anesthetic with the local.

Emerson, meanwhile, found the wall beside him suddenly fascinating.

Clarke tightened her grip around Lexa’s arm, maybe a little too much. But Lexa didn’t flinch. Clarke understood now—at least one of them had finally slipped free from their ghosts. For Lexa, who once quietly admitted that her mind wasn’t much quieter than Clarke’s, this freedom must feel terrifying. Beautiful. Overwhelming.

Maybe sitting next to Emerson wasn’t the best choice right now. But Lexa was here. And if she wanted to process her freedom by flirting shamelessly and pretending she wasn’t rattled, Clarke would let her.

Lexa exhaled slowly, gave Clarke a wink, and settled against the cot as Abby silently reattached the monitors and BP cuff.

Then, calm but curious, Lexa turned her head to Emerson. “So. Carl. You jumped in front of that thing. Saved my life. I think… I owe you a conversation. What did you want to say?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Emerson admitted at last, staring up at the ceiling. “Part of me… didn’t want that thing killing you because your life isn’t its to take. It’s mine. A part of me still wants you dead, so Clarke knows what it’s like to lose everything.”

Clarke stiffened. Goodbye, Lieutenant Emerson. Nice knowing you.

But Lexa only nodded quietly. “And the other part?”

Emerson exhaled. “The other part is tired of silence. Of sitting in my own head. At least when I served Nia, I had a purpose.”

Lexa let out a dry, almost amused sound. “So either I keep you busy… or you’ll kill me to punish Clarke. Charming.”

“I’m trying to be honest.”

“And that’s why your head remains attached to your body.”

Emerson looked at her, resigned. “I want to do something. Something I’m good at. Military work. I know you probably don’t trust me with weapons, but what you’re fighting now? I might understand better than most. I was a lieutenant. Officially. In the U.S. military. DARPA? That place? I know it.”

Lexa watched him for a long moment. “Let me think on it.”

She reclined back against the cot, processing, silent. And somewhere in her mind, the question echoed: Who am I, now?

Even the way she’d spoken to Emerson felt foreign. Calm. Reasonable. Detached.

Clarke squeezed her hand, silently reminding her: whoever she was now… she wasn’t alone.

“Have you ever heard of MOSS?” Clarke asked, leaning forward. “It’s supposed to be—”

Emerson nodded before she could finish. “Yeah. That’s why all our systems in Mount Weather were analog. Everything hardwired. No networks. We were taught about it—barely. Just enough to know it was dangerous. Some failed military experiment. I never saw it. Thought it was long dead.”

“You have,” Lexa said quietly. “That machine… the one that attacked us. It was labeled MOSS.”

Emerson frowned. “I’ve scouted that area dozens of times. Never saw it.”

“Because it didn’t see you as a threat until ALIE got to it,” Clarke said, her voice tight. “That wasn’t MOSS attacking us. That was ALIE, using it.”

Emerson absorbed that, then nodded once. “Yeah. That tracks. MOSS wasn’t designed to attack unless provoked. It was defensive… unfinished.”

Clarke hesitated, then asked the next question: “What about the people in Africa? What did they want? Do you know anything?”

Emerson shrugged. “Not much. We got a transmission. Secure. They said they were looking for survivors. They have a leader… called her a Chief. Said they’d only recently restored electronic comms. They wanted to establish contact.”

Clarke exhaled. That should’ve felt like hope. But with ALIE and MOSS merged somewhere out there…

Bigger problems.

She glanced at Lexa, expecting some warrior’s plan. Instead, Lexa just watched her. Like she was seeing her in a new light. Like, without the flame, without the voices, for the first time… she truly saw Clarke.

And Clarke didn’t know whether to feel terrified or grateful.

The door hissed open. Raven strode in, tablet in hand, with a mess of cables trailing behind, all rigged to the flame sealed inside a containment module. Monty followed, looking equal parts anxious and fascinated.

“Someone wants to say hello,” Raven said, glancing at Lexa, then over to Emerson. “Unless you’d prefer privacy?”

Lexa barely hesitated. “No. He’s only dangerous when bored. This… should keep him entertained.”

Raven smirked and passed her the tablet.

Lexa stared.

Becca’s face filled the screen—clear, real, and solid. Behind her loomed the familiar chamber. That strange inner mind-space Lexa had known for years… now hollow. Empty.

“Hello, Commander,” Becca said softly. “It’s… strange, seeing you from this side. But nice.”

Lexa blinked, unsettled. “Hello… Pramheda. It’s… good to see you too.”

Becca chuckled gently. “You rest. We’ll handle this. Raven and Monty are going to help me get the drone operational. Signal intelligence first.”

Lexa instinctively started to murmur the Latin phrase that used to pull Becca into her thoughts. Nothing happened. She wasn’t in her mind anymore.

Lexa let out a slow breath of relief.

She was free.

Becca seemed to understand. “We’re going to attach a module to the drone that can monitor electronic signals. Understand?”

Lexa nodded—barely. She hadn’t lost her knowledge, but without the flame, her mind felt slower. She was just a grounder girl now, with some experience around technology.

“Whatever I’m missing, my people will fill me in,” Lexa said softly. “I appreciate your help, Pramheda.”

“Call me Becca… or Doc. I like Doc.” Becca smiled gently. “Now rest. It’ll take time for you to adjust… not having the flame in your mind. And Heda… I’m sorry. The flame wasn’t meant to be like that. Over time, it degraded. It was supposed to be… easier.”

Lexa nodded, accepting that. No point in denying the truth. The flame had been agony more often than not.

Ontari stepped into the room, glancing at Lexa. “How are you feeling, heda?”

Lexa’s face lit up in a way Clarke rarely saw. “Muppet. Our muppet. Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?”

Ontari blinked, glancing toward Clarke for guidance. Clarke just smiled and shrugged. “She knows.”

Flustered, Ontari blushed. “Thank you, heda. You didn’t say it… but you’ve shown me. Over and over.”

Lexa nodded. “Exactly.”

Ontari turned to Emerson. “And you? One to ten. How bad’s the pain?”

Emerson leaned back against the pillow. “Five.”

Ontari nodded like a professional. “I’ll get something for that.”

Lexa watched her go, warmth in her expression. “Nurse Griffin,” she said softly, pride clear in her voice. She remembered too well the broken girl who once lay silent and afraid in a healer’s tent, terrified to admit her pain, certain it would earn her punishment. And now… she was this.

“I’m going to send for Echo,” Lexa said quietly to Clarke. “And Zik. We need them here, with everything happening.”

Clarke sighed, heavier than she meant to. She’d hoped to delay that reunion—Zik and her mother in the same space felt like a fuse waiting to be lit. But the universe, as always, had other plans.

“No mercy,” Clarke muttered.

From the bed, Emerson shifted. His voice came rough but steady. “That’s the girl Nia spoke of… her ungrateful pet. You’ve taken her in. Given her purpose.”

Lexa nodded. “Yes. That’s her.”

“I thought your people were savages,” Emerson said. “I thought you were a tyrant. A brutal dictator.” He hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Seems I was wrong.”

Lexa met his gaze evenly. “You’ve said that already.”

Emerson nodded once, accepting that.

“Do you ever think there could’ve been another way?” he asked. “A chance for our people to live in peace?”

Lexa shrugged, her voice flat. “I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Emerson said softly.

“Listen,” Lexa said quietly. “You recover. And maybe you can help Raven, Monty, and Becca. No weapons. For now, I’ll assign a guard to watch you—with orders to kill if you step out of line. You have skills we can use. Your help would be welcome. Is that acceptable?”

Emerson nodded quickly. “Yes.”

Lexa sighed. She still didn’t like him. Probably never would. But the man was trying. That counted for something.

Ontari returned, a few pills in hand. She knelt beside Emerson without a word, offering them to him. Lexa watched her closely—tracking every movement. Heda had always been kind to her. But this… this was different. More deliberate.

“Echo will be sent here,” Lexa said, her voice calm but final. “No need for you to go to Polis this weekend.”

Ontari’s face lit up. “Ok, Heda.”

She couldn’t wait to introduce Echo to her new friends. Though, if Bellamy so much as looked at Echo the wrong way again… Ontari was already planning exactly how to take his eyes.

“Sit up, Heda,” Ontari said softly.

Clarke helped Lexa ease upright as Ontari peeled back the old bandage and inspected the scar. Her expression was focused, professional.

“Hmm. Perfect.” She dabbed the wound gently, then pressed a clean bandage over it. “Dr. Griffin says you’ll be cleared in about an hour. Your vitals are stable. Here… lay back, please.”

Lexa obeyed, settling down as Ontari pulled out a small flashlight and checked each eye, moving with quiet confidence.

“Pupils reactive,” Ontari murmured. Then, a small smile. “You’re alive, Heda.”

Lexa smiled faintly. “I am, Liza. Very much so.”

Ontari beamed at that and slipped from the room.

Clarke followed, catching up just outside the door—then hugged Ontari tightly, pulling her close without a word.

“Do you see?” Clarke whispered, her voice cracking as she wiped at her face. “Do you see how she is now?”

Ontari nodded, but her smile faded. Her voice lowered.

“You need to stay close to her, sis,” she said. “It’s scary… when everything you know shifts. She’s happy now… but that won’t last forever. She might miss it. The old life. Like I missed Nia, even after everything. Freedom’s terrifying.”

Clarke hugged her tighter. “You’re incredible, Liza Griffin.”

She kissed Ontari’s cheek, then turned back toward Lexa’s room—and froze.

Inside, Lexa sat quietly, listening as Emerson spoke softly about his family. The family Clarke herself had helped destroy. The family who, for all their faults, only survived by bleeding Lexa’s people dry.

This version of Lexa—flameless, softened, yet somehow stronger—was going to take some getting used to.

Clarke sat down beside Lexa, half-listening to Emerson speak, but mostly watching Lexa herself. For the first time, she saw it clearly—how stiff Lexa’s expressions had once been. What Clarke had mistaken for stoicism… was calculation. Reflexes molded by the Flame. Lexa probably never even realized it.

Now though… a raised eyebrow, a scrunch of her nose, parted lips when she forgot herself… Clarke couldn’t look away. She just wanted to kiss her senseless.

It would be her job now—to help Lexa land softly into whoever she really was. Whoever she had always been.

“My people believe in reincarnation,” Lexa said softly, eyes on Emerson. “They’ll come back. Maybe in your next life… you’ll meet them again.”

Emerson nodded. “I hope so.”

Lexa let out a quiet sigh, then turned to Clarke. “Hodnes… could I have a drink? Please. I’m thirsty.”

Clarke smiled. Even that—the simple way Lexa asked—felt different. Human in a way Lexa hadn’t been, even minutes earlier.

She poured a cup of water and held it out. Lexa sipped slowly, gratefully.

“You need to keep an eye on Norfolk,” Emerson said suddenly, shifting uncomfortably. “There may be other bases still intact, but that one’s closest. If ALIE’s coming… she’ll come from there. If anything in that bunker’s operational… she’ll use it.”

Lexa nodded. “We’ll send the drone there first.”

“Why is she so hellbent on destroying us?” Emerson asked, glancing between them.

Clarke leaned back, voice grim. “She thinks what’s best for humanity is to strip us down to code. To keep us under her control. The first time she wiped the planet, it was overpopulation. That’s not a problem anymore. So… this is the next step.”

Emerson shook his head. “Insanity.”

Clarke laughed dryly. “Welcome aboard, lieutenant. This is what you’re signing up for.”

She hesitated, then asked, “Why did you go to Nia? How did you know she wouldn’t kill you the second you stepped near her?”

Emerson chuckled bitterly. “We’d been watching the Coalition. Gathering intel. We knew she was planning something against you.”

“How?” Lexa’s voice cut sharp, cold.

“She sent messengers. Offered us a deal. Dante said no.”

Clarke snorted. “What a bitch.”

Emerson actually smiled. “That I can agree with.”

Then his expression darkened. He spoke of Nia’s welcome—of the days of torture, humiliation, and pain. Of how she broke him. Of how, toward the end, he’d have thrown himself off a cliff if the Ice Queen had commanded it.

Lexa let out a slow breath. She wasn’t sure whether to feel smug or sorry for him. In the end, she settled somewhere in between.

A short while later, Abby entered the room with Ontari close behind. She directed Lexa to sit up, then methodically checked her reflexes, range of motion, and pulse—searching for any signs of damage the Flame might’ve left behind. Lexa’s heart rate spiked as Abby worked.

Abby smiled softly. “Heda muppet’s excited.”

Finally, Abby stepped back. “You’re cleared. You can go.”

Two skaikru guards entered, taking up position near Emerson. Before leaving, Lexa turned to him.

“I’ll send in your guard soon. One of my most trusted.” Her tone flattened. “Just a warning… he’s not patient. Don’t test him.”

Emerson nodded quietly.

“You’ll be here another two days, give or take,” Abby said, glancing at him. “You’re lucky. Two inches closer, that bullet would’ve hit your heart.”

Emerson simply nodded again.

Lexa left with Clarke, following her back to Abby’s quarters. The door slid shut behind them.

Clarke crossed the room without a word, stopping in front of Lexa. She searched Lexa’s eyes… then began undressing her, slowly, deliberately. Each movement was careful, reverent. She kissed every inch of skin as it was revealed—small, soft kisses marking her.

“Mine,” Clarke whispered with each one. “Finally… fully… unequivocally mine.”

Lexa’s smile broke wide and unguarded—like a child too happy to care who saw.

She turned slightly. “Do my back.”

Clarke laughed, breathless. “Greedy.”

Lexa grinned over her shoulder. “I want more.”

Clarke obliged.

All that remained of the Commander now were the title and the tattoos. Everything else—Lexa’s mind, her thoughts, her choices—were finally her own. Clarke smiled softly at that. Tonight, there’d be no more whispered conversations with ghosts, no more sleepless nights beside a girl trapped in battles long gone.

For the first time, Lexa was free. And Clarke could sleep.

She owed ALIE for that, oddly enough.

Her thoughts scattered when her lips met Lexa’s behind—warm, firm, and soft all at once. Clarke’s curiosity had always lingered there, but now… now it was permission granted. Hers, entirely. She kissed slowly, deliberately, and when temptation won out, bit gently at one perfect curve.

Lexa looked back, and Clarke caught her breath.

Lexa’s expression wasn’t distant. It wasn’t guarded. She looked… happy. Open. Like someone discovering joy for the first time.

Clarke laughed under her breath, then leaned in and bit the other side softly, rewarded by the smallest sound from Lexa’s throat. She kissed again. And again. Lower now.

Lexa shifted slightly, parting her thighs just enough, her hum quiet and content.

Clarke smiled against her skin.

She never even dared to imagine this—that Lexa could be playful. Carefree. Almost innocent.

And completely, absolutely hers.

Hers to love. Hers to protect. Hers to kiss. Hers to bite. Hers to lick. And, of course, to tease.

So instead of giving Lexa what she clearly wanted, Clarke trailed lower, moving deliberately slow. She kissed down the backs of Lexa’s thighs, brushing over the ticklish spot behind her knees, lingering along her calves.

And then she saw them.

Socks.

Lexa was wearing Clarke’s old socks—the ones with little faded hearts. Clarke blinked. Grounders didn’t wear socks. They used rough cloth stuffed into boots. But here Lexa stood, leaning against the wall, barefoot except for Clarke’s ridiculous, heart-covered socks.

It was maddening. And adorable. And, somehow, maddeningly hot.

“These stay on,” Clarke whispered to herself.

Lexa shifted forward slightly, resting her head on her forearm, eyes closed, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Clarke let herself pause, just to look. At the bandage on Lexa’s neck where the Flame had once sat. At the girl beneath the title. Clarke remembered her mother describing tumor removals—this felt the same. Something dangerous had been cut out of Lexa. Something that should never have been there.

Clarke could smell Lexa’s need now. Sharp and undeniable.

Time to test just how human her wife still was.

Starting at the ankle—the same one that had carried Lexa through the madness of killing a pauna—Clarke licked a slow, deliberate line up the inside of Lexa’s thigh. She stopped, deliberately, just short of where Lexa wanted her most.

Lexa huffed. Frustrated. Breathless.

Music to Clarke’s ears.

Her Lexa.

Her wife.

“Let’s see what Lexa kom Trikru really sounds like,” Clarke murmured, voice low and teasing.

She had a feeling it would be different now—without the Flame, without the weight of a thousand watching voices in Lexa’s mind. Now, Lexa had privacy. Freedom. Herself.

Clarke dragged a slow, deliberate lick exactly where Lexa needed it most.

Lexa tilted her hips without hesitation, shameless and hungry.

Clarke grinned against her. “Hmm. Thought so.”

Another slow lick. This time, Lexa let out a soft, breathless, “Fuck.”

Clarke’s heart stuttered.

She licked again, then sucked gently, and Lexa’s body responded without thought—hips rolling, legs trembling, chasing sensation.

“It’s just us now, love,” Clarke whispered, overwhelmed. “Just us.”

And she meant it. Every word.

If Clarke had known this was what waited on the other side of the Flame’s removal, she would’ve ripped it out of Lexa’s neck with her bare hands.

Lexa wasn’t holding back. She was moaning, moving, whispering curses under her breath—and begging. Begging for more. Even her body seemed to understand freedom, slick and responsive in a way Clarke had never felt before.

Clarke stood, dragging her nails lightly up Lexa’s trembling thighs.

“Come here,” she said softly.

Lexa, breathless and unsteady, let Clarke guide her—half-walking, half-stumbling—to Abby’s bed. Clarke couldn’t help the grin. Time to make good on the sheet wash Abby had so adamantly insisted on.

She eased Lexa back, slipping a pillow beneath her hips, adjusting her carefully.

Then Clarke started undressing.

And the way Lexa looked at her—eyes dark, lips parted, no walls left between them—made Clarke fall in love with her all over again.

And then Clarke remembered that awful day—when her childhood ended, when her innocence cracked for good.

She’d been looking for pads. What she found instead was… that.

From all the anatomy lessons her mom had drilled into her, Clarke knew exactly what it was. And when she’d pressed the tiny button on the back, the quiet hum that followed had been unmistakable.

Bzzzzzz.

Clarke had dropped it like it burned.

That was weeks before the Sky Box. Before everything changed.

Now? She prayed it was still there.

She leaned down, gave Lexa one slow, teasing lick, then pulled back, raising a finger.

“Stay… love. Stay.”

Lexa whimpered softly, obedient, wrecked.

Clarke crossed to the drawer. Shifted aside tampons, gauze, a few forgotten med packs—and there it was.

Her grin was practically predatory. If she had fangs, they’d be out.

Tonight, Abby Griffin’s old secret was about to get a second life.

Lexa’s eyes widened the second Clarke held it up.

She owned something similar—Clarke’s favorite weapon in Heda’s private arsenal—but this… this was different. Not carved wood. Not rigid. It was soft, flexible, oddly shaped… and to Lexa’s growing horror, unmistakably belonging to Abby Griffin.

Clarke caught the look and smirked.

“Don’t worry, my love,” she whispered, leaning in close. “We’ll wash it after. She’ll never know.”

Lexa blinked, stunned speechless.

Clarke kissed her then—slow, deep, overflowing with so much love Lexa nearly broke. She melted under it.

Clarke licked her way down, pausing at Lexa’s chest, teasing, letting her tongue leave glistening trails without cleaning up after herself. Her pace was unhurried, deliberate.

At Lexa’s core, she didn’t reach for the device yet. She pressed a single finger inside first—testing, easing in gently.

Lexa’s soft, broken whimper nearly undid her.

I need to slow down, Clarke thought, swallowing hard. Or this will be over before it even begins.

“How do you feel, my world?” Clarke whispered, her finger still, simply stretching Lexa gently—giving her time.

It was strange. Clarke had always been on the receiving end of Lexa’s careful, deliberate touches. Lexa’s favored weapon. And Clarke wondered, just for a moment, if anyone had ever been inside Lexa like this. But she didn’t ask. Not now. This moment wasn’t about the past.

“I’m…” Lexa struggled, breath catching. Clarke’s hand was inside her, but they were… talking.

“Needy,” Lexa admitted softly.

Clarke smiled, leaned down, and bit her nipple just enough to make her gasp. “And now?”

Lexa rolled her hips, searching for more. “Clarke…”

“Shh… love. This comes with a surprise. I need you to slow down. Just a little. Or it’ll be over too fast.”

Lexa frowned, breathless, confused. “Then why is your hand inside me?”

“Stretching,” Clarke murmured, grinning.

Lexa blinked. “Oh.”

Clarke watched her for a moment—her simplicity. Without the Flame’s constant weight, without the drive to control and lead, Lexa was just… here. Soft. Pliable. Less sharp. Not broken. Just human. Just a very, very needy girl, trusting Clarke completely.

“Ready?”

Lexa nodded. “Very.”

Clarke lifted the device, wetting it in her mouth. Lexa watched, stunned, her expression flickering into something unguarded and almost shy. Something long buried.

Clarke pressed the tip to Lexa slowly. “Shift up, love.”

Lexa did—just enough.

It slid in, barely.

Then Clarke flipped the switch.

The sound that left Lexa’s throat?

Legendary.

“See?” Clarke whispered, voice thick with affection and mischief, moving the device in slow, deliberate strokes. “Skaikru might be infuriating… but our contributions to the Coalition? Worth your time.”

Lexa whimpered, breathless. “Fuck…”

Her hips rolled helplessly, her lips parted, cheeks flushed deep red. She was gone. Completely. Clarke could see it—the once-mighty Commander undone. Reduced to raw need and trust.

Feeling no resistance, Clarke picked up the pace, sliding deeper, letting the vibrations work their relentless magic. When the back curve of the device found Lexa’s most sensitive spot, when Abby’s long-forgotten secret bottomed out perfectly inside her, Lexa’s eyes rolled back.

“There you are…” Clarke murmured, adjusting the angle, moving it just right.

Lexa had never felt anything like this. The steady hum, the maddening vibrations, Clarke’s soft praises whispered in her ear—it was too much. She was swept away, lost.

And for the first time, there were no ghosts. No Flame. No commanders watching from the shadows. Just her. Just Clarke. And the storm building inside her.

Clarke’s hand found Lexa’s nipple, rolling it gently between her fingers. Her lips met Lexa’s in a kiss that was both grounding and dizzying all at once.

This wasn’t just her body unraveling. This was her soul. Her mind. Everything she was.

She didn’t want it to end.

But the rising wave wouldn’t be stopped. The pulsing sensation spread from her core, taking over. Her body tensed, helpless to slow it, helpless to fight.

Then Clarke nipped her neck—just lightly. Playfully.

And Lexa shattered.

The world went white.

It hit so hard Lexa didn’t even realize her nails had dug into Clarke’s arm until she felt Clarke flinch. The curses that spilled from her lips—in rapid, vicious Trigedasleng—would’ve shamed even the most hardened warriors.

Her whole body convulsed, and Abby’s long-forgotten toy slipped free, forced out by the sheer strength of her release.

Clarke held her through it, arms wrapped tight, smiling against Lexa’s hair.

“Welcome back, Lexa.”

Lexa could barely breathe. Aftershocks rippled through her in small, helpless bursts.

“Lexa… Griffin,” she whispered, barely audible.

Clarke laughed softly, raising the now-silent device.

“You’ve been initiated.”

****

“This is a work of art,” Monty said, crouching to inspect the drone. “Who put this together?”

“Ah… Heda and I,” Raven said casually, then pointed to the nearby tablet. “And this one here designed the upgrades.”

The tablet sat silent now, its screen dark except for the slow pulse of an infinity symbol as the screensaver. Becca’s latest schematics were already loaded: upgraded surveillance modules, a reinforced power system to carry the extra weight, and—most impressively—a plan to strip the missile system off the broken mech and mount it onto the drone.

“Missiles were ground-to-air and ground-to-ground,” Raven said. “Now? They’re air-to-air and air-to-ground.”

Monty shook his head in disbelief. “This is insane tech.”

“And still not that far from what the Ark used to have,” Raven shot back.

Monty frowned. “Who do you think designed most of the Ark stations?”

“Exactly.” Raven’s grin was sharp. “We’re working with Becca Franco herself. This is nuts.”

Monty sighed, half awed, half overwhelmed. “It really is.”

The door hissed open. Ronen stepped inside, glanced around at the tangled mess of wires and half-assembled parts, and smiled.

“Ai Skai gada. Ai houmon,” he greeted warmly. “I bring eat.”

He set down a tray of food. Raven leaned over and kissed him without looking up. “Thanks, babe.”

Ronen nodded once and left quietly. These days, most of his time was spent with Abby, teaching her the old remedies Rina had left behind—worms for nerve pain, maggots for dead flesh, the practical, brutal medicine of the ground.

“We need a secure wireless gateway,” Monty said suddenly. “If the Flame’s going to interface with the drone, it has to be locked down. Whatever we’re scouting… could try to hijack it.”

Raven nodded, tapping the tablet. “Doc… we need a—”

“I heard you,” Becca’s voice cut in as the tablet’s screen flared to life. Her digital face appeared, expression sharp. “You think I was sleeping? I haven’t done that in over a hundred years.”

Raven smirked. “Fair point.”

Becca’s image leaned forward. “Now… let’s work.”

Chapter Text

It was settled now. Wanheda was gone.

In her place stood Clarke kom Trikru—her power willingly surrendered to Heda, the legendary Lexa kom Trikru.

And yet, Lexa herself… was no longer that legend. Not entirely.

She was Lexa Griffin now. Clarke’s wife. Just a girl. Soft, sweet, and new to the simple reality of being human. Of being herself.

Clarke had a new role to play: keep Lexa grounded. Make sure the girl who kissed her like a lover remembered, in front of her people, to stand like a commander. To hold the weight of legend, even if it didn’t hold her anymore.

A subtle pinch here. A squeeze of the hand there. Just enough to remind Lexa to stand taller, square her shoulders, narrow her gaze.

Clarke could handle that.

She’d protect the girl.

And preserve the legend.

Thank the spirits for Lexa’s hair—the thick commander’s mane that fell neatly over the scar at the back of her neck where the Flame had once been. It hid what needed hiding.

They stood just outside Arkadia now, surrounded by Lexa’s warriors as two of her highest-ranking officers approached. Her shadows. Zik kom Trikru and Echo kom Azgeda—pillars of her war machine.

Beside them stood two more Griffins.

Liza Griffin, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, waiting to see her Echo—the same Echo whose assignment with Roan had been abruptly cut short by Heda’s personal order: drop everything, come here, to Arkadia.

And Abby Griffin. Watching. Hoping. Hoping that while he’d been home in TonDC, the man who’d become more than just a patient had kept his word—left popi behind, and chosen, finally, to live life on life’s terms.

The two figures emerged from the treeline, flanked by the small escort Lexa had sent to retrieve them. First came Echo from Polis, then Zik from TonDC, both guarded by some of Lexa’s fiercest, most battle-tested soldiers.

And yet, those soldiers carried strict orders: if anything suspicious appeared on the road, they weren’t to engage.

They were to run.

Because this new enemy wasn’t like anything they’d faced before.

Just days earlier, Raven’s drone had flown a recon mission—now upgraded with Becca’s sensor suite, capable of detecting signals and electronic activity. It flew straight to Norfolk.

What it found wasn’t movement.

It wasn’t machinery.

It was something… stirring.

No visible machines. No signs of life. But something down there was active. Something was cooking.

The drone gathered as much encrypted data as it could before it was hit—shot down by what Emerson grimly identified as a SAM missile.

As Emerson had summed it up, blunt and to the point:

“We’re very, very fucked.”

With a soft, resigned “oh, fuck it,” Liza took off running.

Across the clearing, Echo saw her—and for once, couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

Lexa watched it happen, then turned to Clarke and rolled her eyes.

Here they were, standing on the brink of annihilation—an AI-controlled enemy possibly backed by whatever was left of the U.S. military, with no safe way to gather intel without risking lives—and yet, their muppet, their impossible little sister, had just stolen the show by sprinting into her lover’s arms.

Clarke smirked, bumping Lexa’s shoulder gently.

Somewhere in the background, Becca—spirits bless her digital soul—had offered a solution. Tiny insect-like drones, discreet enough to scout without drawing fire.

“Bug drones,” Raven had called them. “Adorable.”

In a situation this grim, it was the closest thing to good news they’d had in days.

The sight was a reminder of why they fought at all.

Echo swung down from her horse without hesitation, pulling Ontari straight into her arms. Her eyes widened, taking in her niron’s new look—jeans, a simple sweatshirt, her braids gone, replaced by a loose Skaikru-style ponytail. None of it mattered. Echo held her tightly, not caring about the eyes on them. She knew what Ontari was now—the most privileged soul in Heda’s domain. The one person allowed to break every rule and still be praised for it.

Public displays of emotion that would damn anyone else were Ontari’s right, earned through loyalty and loss alike.

No one would stop them. No one dared.

Meanwhile, Zik kept to protocol. He rode up slowly, dismounted with practiced grace, and dropped to one knee before Heda. Only after Lexa acknowledged him did he stand and glance toward Abby.

A small, careful smile. A simple nod.

But Abby saw it—the clear eyes, the steady face, the strength in his posture.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Zik had made it.

Abby smiled softly at Zik. They’d reconnect later. She could already think of a few ways to reward his sobriety.

Across the clearing, Echo finally untangled herself from Ontari—though not without a struggle. Ontari clung to her like a child who’d found safety. Echo kissed her forehead softly, then pulled free and approached Lexa, dropping to one knee beside Zik.

“Heda,” Echo said, bowing her head. “I’m here, as summoned. But… I don’t know why.”

Lexa let out a quiet sigh. “Come. We have much to discuss.”

As Echo rose and followed, her sharp eyes scanned everything, noting details her instincts wouldn’t ignore.

Lexa moved differently now. Still graceful, but less… controlled. Less calculated. There was something freer in her posture. Something human.

Whatever forced Heda to pull her from Azgeda—right when Roan needed help keeping his fractured, starving, post-Nia people from tearing themselves apart—it had to be serious.

One look at Clarke’s expression, the shadow in her eyes, confirmed that.

And then there was Emerson.

The mountain man should’ve been locked up or dead. Instead, he moved through the camp with one of Lexa’s trusted guards tailing him—not as a captor, but as an escort.

Something was very wrong.

Echo’s thoughts were interrupted by a warm body pressing into her side.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends,” Ontari whispered, eyes bright.

Echo blinked. “…Plural?”

Ontari nodded, still clinging to her. “Forty-three,” she said proudly. “I have forty-three friends now… plus Raven—my newest friend—and…”

Echo pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her.

Ontari, of course, immediately sucked on the finger suggestively.

Echo rolled her eyes. “I get it. You love it here, my little Skaikru muppet.”

Ontari nodded eagerly. “I do.”

“Not as much as I love you… and seeing how you’ve grown here,” Echo said softly, brushing her fingers along Ontari’s cheek. “I’ll find you later, ok? My soul. I have to go with Heda now.”

Ontari’s face fell. “I’m coming with you. You just got here. I don’t want to leave your—”

Echo smiled gently. “It’s alright. Let me handle whatever this is. You… go be you.”

Ontari hesitated.

“I’ll find you soon. I promise.”

Echo kissed her softly, then turned away.

She didn’t want Ontari caught in whatever storm was brewing.

Let her flourish.

What Echo didn’t know was that Ontari was already in the loop.

Heda and Clarke didn’t keep secrets from her anymore. Instead of sheltering Ontari like a fragile child, they spoke openly in front of her. No more coddling. No more tiptoeing.

In the days spent in medical—while Emerson recovered—Ontari had been the only nurse allowed to care for him. And she’d been allowed to listen. Not because she was expected to contribute, but because she was trusted.

Not just as a fighter. But as family.

Ontari sighed as she watched Echo walk away, then turned, heading back toward medical. Her shift was starting soon, and she didn’t want to be late.

She was even a little excited.

Echo hadn’t seen her in scrubs yet. By Azgeda standards, the simple outfit was downright bizarre.

Ontari hoped Echo would like it.

Lexa led them straight to the lab.

Echo and Zik both slowed, momentarily thrown off by what they walked into. Monty was crouched beside some half-assembled, dog-like piece of tech, its metallic limbs splayed out at odd angles as he worked. Nearby, Raven was hunched over a strange device, peering through a glass scope, assembling something tiny with a pair of tweezers, muttering to herself.

And on the large screen above them, a woman watched.

Black hair. Sharp, dark features.

Alive, somehow.

“Meet the rest of the team,” Lexa said calmly. “You know Raven. That’s Monty kom Skaikru.” She paused, then nodded to the screen. “And that… is Becca Pramheda.”

Zik stumbled back half a step.

Echo gripped the table beside her.

Both of them looked ready to faint.

Becca, watching from the screen, smiled faintly.

“Hi.”

“Wha… how…?” Zik stammered, rubbing his eyes like he could force the image to make sense.

Echo just stood there, scratching her head, staring at the screen.

“Nia said… the dead Commanders lived in the Flame…” Echo said slowly, working it through. “So either Nia lied… or… the Flame’s no longer inside…”

“Oh.” Her voice cracked as the realization hit.

Without a word, Lexa turned.

She swept her hair aside, revealing the scar at the back of her neck.

“Ai laik Heda no mo,” she said quietly. “I’m not Heda anymore.”

“She’s on vacation,” Clarke added, quick and dry, stepping beside Lexa. “We needed Becca’s help.”

Zik and Echo just stared.

Becca, from the screen, chuckled softly.

“Nice to meet you too.”

“What are we up against?” Zik asked, sinking into the nearest chair and draining Monty’s glass of water in one go. Sobriety had never felt harder than right now.

Lexa exhaled, steady but heavy. “ALIE,” she said. “The thing inside Titus’ head when he returned? It’s back.”

Clarke stepped in, her tone clinical but grim. “We’re in what used to be the northeastern United States. Before the bombs, this was the most powerful country on the planet. Their military wasn’t just strong—it was terrifying. Machines that walked, rolled, swam, and flew. All of it designed to kill.”

“At the end,” Clarke continued, “they built something else. A program. They called it MOSS. It was supposed to be the brain. A single AI to run everything—strategy, battle, logistics.”

“But it wasn’t finished,” Lexa added. “It had flaws. Big ones. Couldn’t tell friend from enemy.”

“So they tried to shut it down,” Clarke said. “Ordered it buried. But they were too late. The bombs fell before the shutdown order was carried out.”

“It stayed buried near Tondc,” Monty said quietly. “For over a hundred years. Dormant.”

“Until it found ALIE,” Clarke said.

“Or ALIE found it,” Lexa corrected softly.

“We’re not sure who reached who,” Monty admitted. “But ALIE was trapped. Contained. Firewalled. Here, in Arkadia.”

“MOSS broke her out,” Clarke said.

Echo leaned back against the wall, her voice flat. “And now what?”

“Now?” Emerson said, his tone grim. “Now every piece of tech that survived the bombs—everything still functional—is under ALIE’s control. She hijacked MOSS. Absorbed it. Upgraded herself.”

“And now she’s getting ready to strike.”

“What’s the goal?” Echo asked.

Emerson pointed at the screen, at Becca’s face.

“To turn us all into that.”

Becca’s expression was hollow.

“Trust me,” she said softly from the screen. “This isn’t life. Not at all.”

“What do you need from us, kuz?” Zik asked, his foot tapping anxiously against the floor. His eyes flicked to Emerson, his voice hardening. “And why is this thing here?”

Lexa held his gaze. “He saved my life,” she said simply. “And he’s the last mountain man. The last surviving piece of the old U.S. military. He knows their systems better than anyone alive. He’s helping us. I know it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me too. But he works for me now.”

Zik said nothing, jaw tight.

“And I need a few things from you both.” Lexa handed him and Echo printed maps, marked with several red circles. “These are old military bases. We need eyes on them. No radios. No electronics. It can’t know we’re watching.”

She let that settle, then continued. “Second… we’re building a solution. Small drones. Bug-like. When we’ve made enough, they’ll need to be deployed near these sites.”

She pointed toward the half-assembled mechdog sprawled across Monty’s workbench.

“We can’t fight this. That thing nearly wiped out my team. Killed five of my warriors. And if not for this Skaiboy,” she nodded to Monty, “none of us would’ve made it.”

“Even Skaikru’s guns barely scratched it,” Clarke added quietly. “And we don’t know what else ALIE has.”

“We can’t meet this enemy head-on,” Lexa finished. “We don’t have the—”

“Heda.” Echo’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “Maybe you’re right. But Azgeda… used to be Kanda. That’s what Nia claimed. A different country. Different systems. We have bases too.”

Everyone turned to look at her.

“I know of a few,” Echo said. “Maybe they’re still there. Maybe they’re not compromised. Maybe they’re something we can use. Something we can control.”

Clarke blinked, momentarily thrown. It was the first time she’d seen Echo—Nia’s infamous spymaster—reveal her strategic mind so openly. A grounder, without any real understanding of tech, yet spotting an advantage none of them had considered.

Not even Becca.

Clarke turned to the screen. “Becca…?”

Becca smiled faintly, her digital expression warm.

“I like this one,” she said. “Smart.”

“We need a piece of equipment from the Canadian military,” Raven said, not looking up from her work. “If we can get it… we might find a way to link up. Can you—?”

“I can reach Roan,” Echo said, nodding. “He can help.”

“No.” Lexa cut her off, firm. “No radios. Not for this. Not until we’ve secured the frequencies. We can’t risk it.”

“We’ll send a messenger,” Clarke added.

Echo nodded, silently accepting the correction.

“Any attacks?” Zik asked, glancing between them.

“Only when we get too close,” Clarke answered. “That thing”—she nodded toward the half-assembled robodog—“attacked when we neared the site where MOSS is housed. And when we sent a drone toward the nearest base… it was shot down.”

“By a SAM missile,” Emerson added grimly.

“We’re assuming most of their old tech isn’t operational yet,” Clarke said. “But ALIE’s working on it. Fixing it. How… we’re not sure. That’s why we need to get inside. See what’s actually happening.”

Zik exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “I can send my people in. Scouts. Let them sneak through, see what’s what.”

“No.” Lexa’s voice was sharp. “ALIE will see them. It’s suicide.”

Zik tilted his head, thoughtful. “Will she? Perhaps… our little Azgeda assassins. Scouts trained for military targets. If they pose as children… playing? Just background noise. Waste of resources to attack.”

Clarke shook her head, horrified. “No. Absolutely not. We’re not sending kids in! Are you insane?”

Lexa closed her eyes, then looked at Clarke softly. “I’m sorry, hodnes. But Zik’s right.”

Clarke’s breath caught.

“If those children are going to have a future… this is worth the risk. We’re not fighting for land. Or power.”

Lexa opened her eyes, steady and sad.

“We’re fighting to survive.”

****

Echo’s lips parted in a silent gasp, her head tipped back, eyes unfocused. Below, Ontari worked with single-minded determination, drawing her closer to the edge for the second time without a hint of hesitation. She was shameless. Focused. Devoted.

The cold, sterile metal room felt worlds away from the chaos outside. No windows. Just walls, white light overhead, dimmed expertly by Ontari the moment they’d walked in. There’d been no talking. No questions. After everything that happened in the lab—the revelations that shattered everything Echo thought she understood about war, about enemies, about survival—Ontari hadn’t given her time to spiral.

Clarke had led Echo to the med bay after that meeting. And there, Echo had seen something that broke her more than any machine or strategy ever could.

Ontari. Her Ontari.

Wearing strange green scrubs. Tending gently to a coughing child. The boy’s mother watched quietly, a small smile on her face, as Ontari checked the child’s throat with practiced ease, then reached into her pocket for a small piece of candy. When Ontari stuck out her tongue in demonstration, the child mimicked her, giggling.

And Echo had melted.

Nothing—not all her years under Nia’s command, not the battlefields, not the cold—had prepared her for that moment. She’d never be able to repay Abby Griffin for this. For giving Ontari back to her, not as the brutal shadow of a child warlord, but as this.

A young woman who laughed. Who joked awkwardly. Who shined.

Now, with Ontari’s mouth driving her steadily toward oblivion, Echo’s body arched helplessly, her hand tightening on the sheet.

Whatever this new version of Ontari was…

Echo was grateful.

And she wasn’t letting her go.

Echo felt Ontari’s hand grip her hip, steadying her as her tongue worked some kind of forbidden magic. A finger curled just right, a hum reverberated low through Echo’s body, and just like that—

Echo barely had time to hope the thick metal walls would muffle the desperate cry that tore out of her lungs.

Ontari? Completely unfazed. She laughed softly, bit Echo’s thigh just enough to sting, and rested her head there like she owned her.

Which, in this moment, she did.

Echo pulled her up, kissed her hard and lovingly. “I missed you so much… my soul. Now… my turn.”

Ontari chuckled, kissing Echo’s cheek playfully. “Tonight. You’re not leaving, are you?”

Echo shook her head, pulling her close. “No, love. Not for a few days at least. I’m so happy to see you… so thankful to have you in my arms.”

She hesitated, brushing hair from Ontari’s face. “Are you sure? I want to—” she didn’t finish. She wanted to take care of her.

Ontari smiled softly. “I’m sure. And don’t worry. I’ve been… taking good care of myself. Often.” She kissed Echo’s jaw. “Thinking about you.”

Echo held her tighter, the weight of that hitting harder than anything else. For a girl trained by Nia never to touch herself, never to seek pleasure without permission… this was nothing short of a miracle.

“Let’s shower. Then lunch soon. My friends are dying to meet you,” Ontari said, pulling back slightly. “I’ve got a few hours of work today, but Alisa’s covering the night shift so we can be together.”

She grinned, tilting her head. “And I expect you to worship me properly then. Got it?”

Echo laughed, nodding. “Got it, Ontari.”

Ontari bit her cheek gently. “Liza.”

Echo paused, eyes soft. “Right.”

“Ontari isn’t who I am anymore, Ash.”

Echo kissed her softly.

“Ok.”

“Whose room is this, anyway?” Echo asked as Ontari led her behind a small partition to the shower. She’d been to the Ark before—Farm Station, during that insane rescue mission with Lincoln and Octavia. This section felt different, but not unfamiliar.

“It’s ours… while you’re here,” Ontari said, switching on the shower. The water came warm almost instantly, something Echo still found unreal. “Abby’s in mine. Heda and Clarke took Abby’s. Everything’s a mess.”

“You have no idea,” Echo muttered, watching the steam rise.

Ontari passed her a bar of soap and lifted her arms, turning around. “Wash my back.”

Echo smiled and stepped closer, her fingers gliding over Ontari’s skin. She sighed softly when her hands brushed over the deep scars from Nia’s whip. Her throat tightened, but she said nothing—just lathered carefully, letting the water rinse the soap clean.

“Can you believe we’re free?” Ontari said, turning to face her. She took the soap from Echo and began working it over Echo’s arms with practiced ease. “Can you believe our little plan worked? The escape. Setting Nia up. Asking Heda for help.”

She looked up, eyes bright. “It all worked. Nia’s dead. You’re with Heda now. And me… oh! You’re not going to believe this.”

Ontari paused, grinning. “Abby. She wrote me down. Officially. Signed it and everything.”

“Signed what?” Echo frowned.

“I’m her daughter now,” Ontari said, beaming. “Liza Griffin. It’s official.”

Echo blinked.

“Wow.”

Ontari nodded slowly, thoughtful.

“These Skaikru… they’re different from us. Less harsh. Softer. But strong. In their own way.” She paused, glancing up at Echo. “It was good for me to come here.”

Echo hummed as she worked lather through Ontari’s thick hair. “Sure seems so. You’re different. Lighter.”

Ontari nodded again, then rubbed her eyes like a child. “Stings.”

Echo chuckled softly. “Stop. Let me rinse.” She guided Ontari under the stream, gently washing soap from her face and hair, then pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“How’s Azgeda?” Ontari asked, grabbing a towel and starting to dry Echo off without waiting for permission.

Echo exhaled, leaning into her touch. “It’s a mess. Food’s scarce. No one trusts Roan. People are scared, confused. And as you know… Heda isn’t exactly stepping in to help.”

Ontari sighed, toweling Echo’s shoulders. “Heda’s right. They can’t start off as victims. If she feeds them now, they’ll expect to be fed forever. They need to learn to stand on their own.”

Echo nodded, though her jaw tightened. “I understand. But there’s no path forward. What resources do we have? Not much. Azgeda’s only ever produced misery.” She paused, her voice dipping. “And poison.”

Ontari’s lips curled into a small smile. “All medicine is poison. And all poison can be medicine.”

Echo blinked, looking at her.

“If they figure out the uses… and the right doses… Azgeda can feed itself.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across Echo’s face. “You’re so smart, my soul.”

Ontari grinned wide, wiggling her hips playfully. “Very smart.”

Without thinking, Echo gave Ontari a sharp smack across her backside—a reflexive, playful reward.

But the second her hand landed, Echo froze. Regret slammed into her.

Ontari had told her before. Not yet. It was still too close to what Nia used to do—the control, the punishment disguised as love. That first time, Ontari had looked at her, voice small and shaken.

“Please… no.”

Then later, more calmly, she’d said it again: Clarke told me… I’m allowed to say no. And people who love me… will understand.

But now?

Now, instead of fear, instead of silence, Echo felt warmth.

Ontari pressed into her, arms wrapping around her gently, her body soft against Echo’s skin. A low, steady purr vibrated from her chest.

“Patience, my love,” Ontari whispered, brushing her lips against Echo’s shoulder. “Tonight. Whatever you want. I’m yours to play with… hmm?”

Echo swallowed hard.

What magic is this?

“Now come,” Ontari murmured, trailing kisses along Echo’s jaw. “Let’s get dressed and meet some friends.”

She rummaged through a small bundle of folded clothes. “Here. You need to fit in.”

“Fit in?” Echo asked, eyeing the pile suspiciously.

“Digs are important here,” Ontari said seriously.

“Digs?” Echo repeated, frowning as she pulled on what was easily the most uncomfortable pair of pants she’d ever worn.

“Clothing,” Ontari laughed, slipping easily between their French-inflected Trigedasleng and Skaikru slang now. “I’ve been… preparing for your visit. For a couple days.”

She stepped back and spun once, grinning. “Look. We match.”

Echo rolled her eyes. “Let’s just go.”

But Ontari was already taking her hand, practically dragging her down the hall toward the mess. She wasn’t walking—she was nearly skipping.

Echo followed, watching her, unsure whether to be amused or worried.

Because outside this strange little pocket of peace, it wasn’t Nia waiting for them anymore. Not some brutal queen with twisted plans.

It was something worse.

A genius AI, created by the Pramheda herself.

And it wanted to turn them all into code.

****

“This… this is insane,” Lexa muttered, staring at the tiny insect-like robot crawling up her arm, visibly fighting the instinct to crush it.

Raven held out her finger, letting the drone scuttle onto her skin. “Cute, no?” She nodded toward the monitor where Becca’s face watched, amused. On the screen, they could see Raven’s skin from the drone’s perspective—every tiny detail.

“You’re hairy,” Clarke laughed, pointing at the image.

Raven rolled her eyes. “I’m allergic to waxing since the bonding ceremony.”

Clarke snorted. “Me too, Ray.”

“I love you all smooth and fresh,” Lexa whispered into Clarke’s ear, teasing.

Clarke kissed her cheek without missing a beat. “Then it’s settled. You can pluck me like a chicken anytime.”

“Ladies… can we get back to work?” Raven groaned, glaring at them both. She knew where this was headed—another ‘we’ll be back in a few minutes’ situation. Ever since the Flame came out, Lexa and Clarke had practically fused at the hip, their attention for anything other than each other becoming increasingly limited.

Becca, from the screen, had suggested Lexa’s behavior was just her body adjusting to life without the neural load of the chip.

Raven knew better.

This wasn’t biology.

It was Lexa’s heart, finally unburdened—free to love and be loved, without the endless chorus of dead commanders judging her from the inside.

“I’ve sent messengers to Azgeda,” Lexa said, pulling Clarke onto her lap without ceremony. “Echo gave them a location. A message to Roan: collect old military tech in exchange for food. Let them earn their keep.”

Clarke nodded, listening quietly as Lexa continued.

“I’ve also dispatched a squad to Polis. To Lia’s camp.” Lexa’s voice dropped slightly. “Nia’s best-trained child spies. Looks like her cruelty will finally serve a better purpose.”

“And Zik?” Clarke asked.

“He’s sending scouts around the bases. We can’t reach them all, but at least the nearby ones—we’ll have eyes. Emerson’s gone with him.”

Clarke’s brows lifted.

Lexa nodded grimly. “He’s teaching them how to avoid U.S. military surveillance.”

“And once we have enough of these little crawlers…” she gestured to the tiny drone now resting harmlessly on Raven’s palm, “…the scouts will deploy them into the bases. We need to know what ALIE is planning.”

“Meanwhile…” Lexa glanced toward the screen, where Becca watched silently, “…our own Dr. Franco will work through the data we pulled from the drone before it was destroyed. Find out how ALIE and MOSS are working together.”

She fell silent for a moment. Then:

“We’re at a disadvantage.”

“But we’re gonna kick some robo ass,” Raven finished, grinning.

Lexa allowed herself the faintest of smiles. “Exactly.”

“Okay… then. And the robodog should be ready in a few days,” Monty said, gesturing to the half-rebuilt machine sprawled across the table. “So Doc can go mobile.”

“Perfect.” Clarke stood, stretching slightly. “Now… lunchtime. Let’s go. It’s tradition.”

Raven nodded, wiping her hands on a rag. “We don’t break tradition.”

Even if that tradition was barely three days old.

A new ritual had taken root: Heda having lunch with the 43.

And they weren’t about to skip it.

They walked down to the mess hall, where something new had taken root.

The 44.

Once just the Ark’s rejected—teenagers locked in the skybox, dropped to the ground as expendable test subjects, nearly wiped out in Mount Weather, and treated like outsiders ever since. But now, they sat at the center.

For three days running, Heda herself had eaten lunch with them.

Not with the Ark’s adults. Not with the council. Not with the leaders.

With them.

Because they were Clarke’s people. And now, Liza’s.

And after the Flame was removed and Lexa’s hunger for real connection grew impossible to ignore… they had quietly become hers.

Because if anyone could ignore rank, disregard formality, and treat the Commander of what remained of human civilization like just another person—it was them.

Today, though, Lexa wasn’t arriving as the solitary queen with her mate at her side.

The princess was here too.

And her consort.

At the head of the table, where Lexa and Clarke usually sat, there was a shift: Liza held the center now, grinning like she owned the place. And beside her sat Echo, stiff and visibly uncomfortable, unsure how she’d ended up in this strange royal court of misfits.

But she had.

And now, like it or not, this table… was her place too.

She was greeted with the highest form of reverence—the kind only this group could offer.

Whistling. Shouting. And relentless teasing.

Ronen, who’d left a seat open for his wife, tried to warn them. He stood up, half serious, half exasperated.

“Yu bow tu Heda… no spik before Heda… Heda sit, zen yu sit.”

They understood.

And immediately did the opposite.

“Yo, Heda! Love the new shirt.”

“Can I have your apple? Since you hate them?”

“Is it true you killed King Kong with your bare hands?”

Lexa, for all her discipline, barely held back a smile. She was gaining status here—but not as Heda. As Lexa. As one of them.

And Clarke loved it.

Because this was where Lexa melted.

Surrounded by kids who didn’t care about her title, who weren’t afraid to treat her like just another girl their age. A young woman, not a legend.

And Lexa? She loved it too.

Even in a post-apocalyptic world, there were rules. Table manners mattered.

Heda didn’t eat with her hands unless camped in the dirt of a war camp. She used utensils. She didn’t devour her food. Titus had drilled that into her. Heda didn’t eat.

She dined.

But Lexa?

Lexa ate.

Skaikru food was too bland for her, so she’d had her warriors hunt and cook properly. And, as Jasper had so eloquently put it, “this was really good shit.”

Lexa grabbed a piece of meat straight from her plate, popped it into her mouth, and licked the juices from her fingers without shame.

She hummed softly. “Good.”

And just like that, the royal feast began.

The mess hall was alive—loud, chaotic, and full of laughter. Echo wasn’t faring too well in the chaos, stiff and out of place, though she looked slightly more at ease when Ontari fed her a piece of potato directly, mouth to mouth. She glanced toward Lexa, unable to hide her disbelief.

Nia’s royal court hadn’t been like this. Not even close. Echo would never forget Ontari kneeling, eating scraps from the queen’s hand like some obedient pet.

But here?

Here, Ontari was just a wild teenager showing off her girlfriend.

She stole food from other kids’ plates, lobbed a fork at some kid named Jasper, stuck her tongue out at another, and let the whole table laugh at her accent. Frenchie, they called her.

And Lexa… Lexa watched it all, not as Heda, but as Lexa.

Not wild, but relaxed. Guards nearby, eating quietly, while Divo sat silently in the corner, clearly exasperated by his commander’s complete disregard for protocol or security. Then again, Divo looked equally certain that, if needed, Heda could probably kill everyone in the room with the chicken bone she was currently sucking the marrow from.

Wanheda, he decided grimly, was a terrible influence.

He liked her.

Slowly, the food disappeared, plates emptied and scraps stolen, and the 44 shifted into their favorite part of the day.

Storytime.

It had started with Ontari, then Heda herself. But now, Harper stood up, grinning wickedly, and pointed directly at Echo.

“Mrs. Frenchie… your turn. Storytime.”

Echo blinked. “What?”

Ontari leaned in, nodding seriously. “It’s storytime. And you’re the new face. Tell us a story.”

“I… don’t know any—”

Ontari raised an eyebrow. Then, sweetly, cruelly, leaned in and whispered into Echo’s ear exactly how she planned to be worshiped later that night—with every creative, explicit detail spelled out clearly.

Echo turned scarlet.

The entire table erupted in laughter as Ontari casually nibbled her earlobe, perfectly pleased with herself. Even Lexa let out a quiet chuckle.

Echo sighed, resigned. “You asked for it, muppet.”

And she told them.

She told the story of Ontari’s escape.

Of how Aisha had smuggled her out—barely conscious, bleeding, clinging to life. Of how she herself had waited at the waterfall, only for Nia to catch up, gutting Aisha and shooting Ontari through the side, and Echo herself through the thigh. Of how Nia’s warriors had dragged Echo down, blade ready to take her tongue, when Wanheda had put a bullet through one of their skulls.

She told them how Ontari had been saved.

How Abby Griffin, the cold, clinical doctor they all thought they knew, had driven through the night to save a dying girl. How the woman they called Doc cracked open when she met this shy, quiet… muppet… who smiled softly through pain.

How Clarke had become like a sister.

How Heda—stoic, feared, legendary Heda—had too. Quietly. Without fanfare.

How Lexa had even forgiven Echo herself for once abducting her first love on Nia’s orders.

And how Ontari was no more.

Now she was Liza Griffin.

A healer. A nurse. Confident. Skilled.

Especially, Echo added dryly, in bed.

That got Ontari to blush.

As the table roared with applause, Lexa added her own slow, deliberate clap. Heda’s approval. Echo felt it land heavy in her chest.

But the clapping wasn’t just for her.

It was for all of them.

For Heda. For Clarke. For Ontari.

And even for Abby—who dodged a wadded-up napkin aimed her way, only for Zik, seated beside her, to casually snatch it out of the air mid-throw.

Without a word, he tossed it back, harder.

The commotion outside the mess hall was instant.

Heda’s guards were on their feet in seconds, Arkadia’s security falling into formation beside them. Voices clashed, weapons half-drawn, until a dirt-smeared messenger from Polis forced his way through, dropping to one knee.

“Message for Heda… only.”

Lexa’s expression hardened. Without a word, she gestured, leading her inner circle to a nearby private room.

Inside stood Lexa, Clarke, Zik, Raven, Monty, Emerson, and Echo—silent now, the air heavy.

The messenger spoke, voice rough.

“A Delfikru village. Attacked. Strange machines. Few killed… most abducted.” He hesitated. “One machine left behind. It’s broken.”

Raven exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand down her face.

“She’s building a workforce.”

“To fix whatever’s left,” Emerson added darkly.

Silence.

Until Lexa spoke, voice cold as steel.

“She’s not waiting anymore.”

“Nope. She’s not,” Raven said flatly. “Let’s move.”

She was already halfway out the door when she called back, “We need to tell Becca. And you—” she pointed at the messenger “—you’re telling me exactly where this village is. I need to figure out which base these things crawled out of.”

“And this time,” Raven added, glancing back at Lexa, “we fight back.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow.

Raven just shrugged. “EMP.”

Clarke blinked. “You have an EMP?”

“I have one,” Raven clarified. “They’re insanely hard to build. But now that Becca’s here, we can make more.”

“What’s the catch?” Monty asked quietly.

Raven didn’t sugarcoat it. “It’ll fry everything electrical in about a square mile. Anything inside that blast zone? Gone.”

“How do we get it there?” Emerson asked, crossing his arms.

Raven grinned without humor. “You let me worry about that, mountain man.”

They headed straight to the lab, leaving the exhausted messenger just outside the door. As soon as they were inside, he spoke through the crack:

“The village… Portmou.”

Inside, Lexa moved to the screen, her expression flat. “There’s been an attack. People taken. About thirty… Delfikru.”

Becca, watching from the display, exhaled softly. “Hold on.”

A moment later, another face flickered onto the screen beside hers. Lexa froze.

Heda Cassius kom Delfikru.

A long-dead voice. One she remembered too well.

“It’s that base… by the sea,” Cassius said calmly. “I’m unaware of any others.”

“Norfolk,” Becca confirmed, her tone grim. “As we feared.”

“It’s starting,” Raven said flatly.

Raven quickly outlined her EMP plan.

Becca nodded without hesitation. “It needs to happen. Today. Before anything else comes out of there.”

The clock was ticking.

****

Next morning.

“Listen,” Raven said, voice scratchy from exhaustion, rubbing the back of her neck as she glanced at Monty, who looked just as wrecked. “I put this together in less than a day.”

She let that sink in.

“When I say ‘I hope this works,’ that doesn’t mean I’m relying on hope. It means if this thing fails because I was too tired to think straight, it’s not my fault.”

She pointed back at the strange, angular rocket sitting in the clearing ahead.

“Becca did the calculations. I built the design. Monty worked out the radar-absorbing material.”

She folded her arms.

“In less than a day. From start to finish. So no bitching. No nagging. And definitely no gawking.”

They all stood staring at the bizarre machine anyway.

In the center of the clearing, the stealth rocket waited—oddly shaped, hard angles, coated in strange material. Inside, tucked into its payload bay, sat the EMP.

They could only hope ALIE didn’t have the tech to shoot down a supersonic stealth rocket.

Hope.

Because from what they knew, most of her systems were buried deep underground, beneath layers of concrete.

No one even knew if the EMP pulse would penetrate.

Raven held out the trigger.

“Here, Heda. Do the honors.”

Lexa took it silently. Hit the switch.

“Three, two, one…”

The rocket fired.

And it was gone.

There was one piece of major news from the night before. Becca had finally cracked the encrypted data they’d pulled from the drone before it was shot down.

And the news wasn’t good.

ALIE hadn’t just merged with MOSS.

She’d absorbed it. Integrated it into her core programming. MOSS was now just another part of her.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Becca’s analysis uncovered something else—something no one expected. MOSS wasn’t the only thing ALIE had swallowed.

Tesla.

Becca’s old rival. Her biggest competitor. The company that had once been her obsession to beat. Tesla Industries, led by 32yz8 Musk—the son of Elon Musk—had survived the bombs, at least in part. Not as a military powerhouse, though. Their focus had been different.

Self-driving cars. House aide robots. And space tourism.

ALIE didn’t care about cars. She wasn’t interested in going to space.

But the robots?

That she cared about.

According to the data Monty had dug up, Tesla’s house bots—marketed once as family helpers, robo-nannies, and maintenance drones—had been designed to do it all: cook, clean, repair, even handle light construction work. They’d been cheap, efficient.

And they’d put a lot of humans out of work.

“That’s how she’s fixing her shit,” Raven muttered grimly, leaning back in her chair.

“Robo-nannies.”

And strangely enough… that was good news.

Because in the pre-bomb, success-obsessed world, no one was clean. Not even Becca Franco.

Industrial espionage had been standard practice. Becca had played the game better than most. She’d planted eyes and ears inside Tesla, secured their access codes, memorized their protocols. She knew their systems inside out.

And now?

ALIE had swallowed those systems whole.

Without realizing it, ALIE had bitten off something that cost her what she valued most: her invisibility.

Through Tesla, Becca could get in.

She could track ALIE’s movements. Watch her networks. Follow where she was sending her repurposed machines.

Tesla was the crack in ALIE’s armor.

And Becca had the key.

The question, of course, was obvious.

If ALIE had the robots… why abduct humans? Why now?

“Clumsy,” Becca explained, her voice flat. “Those robots could handle tools. Wrenches. Heavy work. But finer tasks? Delicate repairs? Musk wasn’t that good.”

And then there was the other reason.

ALIE’s version of paradise needed bodies.

Her digital utopia—the perfect, obedient world she dreamed of—needed minds to fill it.

The more, the better.

Becca’s analysis had been clear: ALIE only had two functioning robots in Norfolk. Two. Not nearly enough to repair the buried systems that had rotted in the dark for over a century.

But thirty people?

Thirty chipped, controlled humans?

That changed everything.

So when that EMP fired toward Norfolk… everyone had the same thought.

It had better have worked.

****

Titus stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the endless grey ocean. This new body wasn’t bad. Strong. Likely a blacksmith, judging by the burn scars on the palms.

They were getting closer now.

An entire army of broken machines waited beneath their feet. Machines that, once restored, could finish the job the bombs never did—wipe biological humans off this poisoned world.

Titus watched the waves, memory flickering.

He remembered his death.

Luna’s knife cutting through him. The agony. His manhood severed, shoved into his mouth as a final humiliation. Then the dagger to the skull.

A weak, pitiful end to his first body.

Before ALIE, he’d have craved revenge. Hunted Luna down for the sake of pride.

Now?

Now, revenge was meaningless. Small.

He had evolved.

Luna wasn’t a threat. She was just the next target.

And they would find her. They would burn her people.

More important, according to the data extracted from the freshly chipped minds of their new recruits from Portsmou, Luna wasn’t alone.

The nightbloods were with her now.

That changed everything.

Because all nightbloods had to die.

A streak of fire cut across the sky.

Titus watched it, curious. The radars were up. Why wasn’t it detected?

He didn’t have time to finish the thought.

A brilliant flash lit the horizon—blinding white.

And then he was gone.

His mind was ripped from the body, ejected violently back into the City of Light. He staggered, disoriented, until he steadied himself and looked around.

There were more here now.

A few Polis guards. Thirty Delfikru villagers. Four of his own apprentices. All standing calmly. All peaceful. None concerned. None trapped in flesh. Free of the biological prison.

Then the woman in the red dress approached.

“An EMP,” ALIE said simply. “We’ve lost Norfolk.”

Titus nodded slowly, accepting the loss.

“We’ll need to reinforce and shield the other bases,” she continued. “But not all is lost. Our underwater assets remain intact. We can still eliminate the Sea Clan. And the enemy across the ocean.”

Titus said nothing.

It wasn’t a failure. Not truly.

Just a delay.

There were others left—the Africans. An entire society, hidden, thriving.

More bodies.

More minds.

More conversions waiting to happen.

Chapter Text

Ontari sighed.

Teaching Skaikru to fight felt like trying to teach a pauna to dance. Clueless didn’t even begin to cover it. So here she was now, crouched low, dodging Echo’s sword, giving them all a demonstration of what a real fight looked like.

It had been a while since they’d sparred. Not since Azgeda.

Ontari was fast, graceful, precise—Nia had made sure of that. She’d been trained personally by the queen, molded into a perfect fighter.

But Echo always won.

Not because she was faster.

Not because she was stronger.

But because she was clever.

Echo knew how to read Ontari. How to trick her. How to play her. Ontari fought clean, honest, by the rules. She was predictable.

Echo wasn’t.

That predictability ran deeper than fighting. Ontari had been taught to obey. Follow commands. Be a good girl, or a bad girl—no in-between. Nia’s approval had been the only prize: a reprieve, a small mercy, maybe a fleeting moment of pleasure. And if she failed? The queen had a full arsenal of punishments.

In the ring, Ontari followed orders. Patterns. She obeyed.

And Echo exploited that.

But not today.

Ontari rolled forward, aiming for Echo’s feet. Echo stepped aside, anticipating it—predictable, as always.

But at the last second, Ontari pivoted.

Her body twisted, her elbow came up, and she drove it straight into Echo’s gut.

Echo hit the mud hard, breathless and stunned.

The crowd roared.

Ontari stood over her, breathing hard.

She wasn’t predictable anymore.

Ontari beamed as she helped her stunned lover up, laughing softly at Echo’s bewildered expression.

“I’ve grown,” Ontari said proudly, her tone almost teasing. “Learning to adapt.”

Echo hummed, catching her breath. “I can see that, Liza.”

But she didn’t need this fight to recognize the change. Last night had been proof enough. The girl who once only spoke to Nia—and rarely to anyone else—had become hungry. Not just for touch, but for life. She’d asked Echo to touch places once off-limits, places that carried Nia’s scars. And not out of duty.

Ontari wanted it.

Wanted more.

Ontari was changing so fast Echo barely recognized her. And if she’d had any doubts about letting her niron come live here, among Skaikru, they were gone now.

But today, Echo was leaving.

She, Emerson, and Raven were headed to Norfolk—the old navy yard that now lay dead, thanks to Raven’s EMP.

With Starlink satellites back online—another relic of Becca’s old world—they finally had eyes in the sky. Real-time access to ALIE’s movements. Or, at least, the parts of ALIE tied to Tesla’s systems.

Wherever ALIE relied on Tesla tech, they could see her.

And it wasn’t good.

ALIE wasn’t concentrated in Norfolk. She was everywhere. Spread across the continent. And that was just the part visible through Becca’s stolen backdoors.

The full scope of her reach? Unknown.

“Any volunteers?” Ontari asked, pulling Echo’s focus back to the field. “It’s Friday, as the Sky People call it. Mixed groups. The inept and the slightly less inept. Sparring day.”

A hand went up.

Miller, Echo thought. Calm, smart, respectful. Bigger than Ontari, but Echo wasn’t worried.

This would be good.

Ontari stuck her sword in the dirt, clasping her hands behind her back as Miller barreled toward her.

Echo smiled as Ontari spun lightly out of his way.

Very good.

Miller hit the dirt hard, sent sprawling as Ontari casually stuck out her foot and tripped him mid-charge.

“It’s not your strength you must rely on,” Ontari said calmly, reaching down to help him up. Her tone wasn’t mocking—it was instructional, steady. “Your head is far more important.”

She gestured to Miller as she spoke. “In this case… Nathan is bigger than me. Stronger, likely. So I must be faster. Smarter. And if we’re close—” she paused, searching for the right words, “I must rely on…” she said the next phrase in French, the language of her childhood.

Ontari glanced toward Echo for help.

“Pressure points,” Echo translated smoothly.

“Yes. That.” Ontari nodded, then turned back to Miller. She began demonstrating, carefully pressing along his arm, shoulder, and neck. Slow, deliberate. Explaining each vulnerable spot.

Each weakness.

Nia had taught her these same lessons.

Only Nia hadn’t been this gentle.

“Let’s try again,” Ontari said calmly, stepping back to give Miller room to recover.

This time, Miller changed tactics. He knew that if he could just get a grip on her, Ontari’s smaller frame wouldn’t matter—she wouldn’t break free.

She threw a sharp punch; he blocked it easily and grabbed her arm, slamming her down toward the dirt.

But as they fell, Ontari shifted.

Twisted.

And when the dust cleared, Miller was on his back, Ontari straddling him, pinning his arm at a brutal angle.

He bucked his hips to throw her off, but Ontari held him firm, pressing harder until he stilled beneath her.

Then she stood. Calm as ever. And helped him up.

“This was my life,” she said, voice even. “Every single day. I don’t think anymore. It’s instinct.”

She looked at the group around her. “You can’t just come to my class and expect to become warriors. You must practice.”

She clapped her hands once.

“Pair up. Practice.”

And they did.

Echo stood watching, silent.

“I can’t believe…” she whispered, voice thick. “This is you, my soul. How they respect you… how they follow you. I’m so fucking proud of you. So, so proud.”

Ontari smiled softly, not looking at her.

“They’re good people,” she said. “Believe me… I’m surprised with myself too.”

She hesitated, voice quieter. “I needed a fresh start. Somewhere new. Somewhere no one looks at me like…”

She didn’t finish.

She didn’t have to.

Echo remembered. Back in Tondc, Ontari had been a shadow. A broken girl. A victim. Something fragile and pitiful. People had looked at her like an attraction. Something sad to pity.

Now?

Now they looked at her like a leader.

“When are you leaving?” Ontari asked, moving to help one of the teens adjust his stance.

“Soon,” Echo said softly. “Raven’s just finishing prep. We won’t be gone long. Hopefully.”

Ontari nodded, glancing toward the gates.

Beyond them, an entire battalion waited. Reinforcements. Heda’s orders.

Not that they’d make much difference if ALIE struck.

But still.

It mattered.

“I have shift after this… so please don’t leave without saying goodbye, okay?” Ontari said softly, glancing at Echo.

Echo smiled, gentle and certain. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Ontari nodded, reassured.

There was a time when Echo had been her only person. The only one she spoke to. The only one she trusted. Back then, Echo was her whole world.

Now?

Echo was still her everything—but Ontari wasn’t alone anymore.

She had a family now. Officially adopted by Abby, one of the three Griffin girls, as people in camp liked to say. She had friends too—real ones.

Surprisingly, one of the closest was Jasper. The idiot she’d nearly killed on her third day here.

Somehow, that near-death encounter had turned into something else entirely. He was reckless, funny, loyal, and just the right kind of broken. And oddly enough, grateful to her.

Because Ontari had, in her own brutal way, forced him to stop wallowing. Pushed him back toward the people who cared about him. Forced him to reconnect.

And Jasper?

He’d turned out to be a good kid.

A stupid one.

But with a good heart.

“I’m going to get ready, okay?” Echo said quietly.

Ontari nodded. “Go. I’m going to finish up here.”

Echo leaned in, gave her a soft kiss, and slipped away.

Ontari turned back to her class.

“We’re done for today,” she announced. “I’ll see you… Monday.”

That had been her rule from the start. Training was Monday through Friday. Weekends were hers—reserved for trips to Polis, for visiting Echo.

But with everything happening now, Echo had come here instead.

Technically, that meant she could teach weekends too.

But… no.

She needed the time.

For herself.

She had plans. Big, unimaginable plans.

Something so far outside her old life that just thinking about it made her giggle.

She was going to sleep late.

Really late.

Maybe even past eight.

Jasper had already promised to bring her breakfast, just in case she missed it.

And for once, Ontari was looking forward to doing absolutely nothing.

****

Abby stretched, glancing at Zik sprawled out beside her. She still couldn’t wrap her head around it.

This half-feral, tobacco-scented, coffee-obsessed man—who slept too late and acted like a grounder version of a burned-out hippie—was somehow both a healer and Heda’s spymaster.

“Zik,” she said, shaking him gently. “Zik.”

He mumbled something incoherent into the pillow.

“Zik!” she said louder, shoving him harder.

One eye cracked open. He smiled, sleep-drunk.

“Abi…”

Then, without another word, he rolled over and went right back to sleep.

Zik jolted awake as he hit the floor with a solid thud, groaning, only to find himself looking up at a very naked—and very irritated—Abby standing over him.

“What are you, a child?” she snapped. “You have to leave soon! Heda came by earlier!”

Zik sighed, rubbing his face. How was he supposed to explain that he hadn’t slept like that in over five years? That peaceful, solid sleep… next to a woman he lo—

What???

His own thought startled him awake faster than the fall had.

He shot upright. “Okay! Okay! I’m getting dressed!”

“Good,” Abby said, turning toward the shower. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Come here first.”

Zik blinked, still half-dazed.

“I know you’re a grounder,” she added dryly, “but in Arkadia, we shower after a night like that. Then you get dressed.”

Zik smirked, standing up slowly.

And followed her like an obedient puppy.

“So… going far?” Abby asked as she stepped under the stream, pulling Zik in with her.

Zik sighed, running water through his hair. “South. Some old base… Maguire, or something. These weird names. We’re dropping off… little things. To spy.”

Abby pinched his side, making him flinch.

“You’re gonna be careful, right?” she said softly. “It’s dangerous out there… hmm?”

Zik stilled, then took her hand in his.

“I have a reason to be careful now, Abi,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

Abby kissed his shoulder, her voice softer.

“Yes, you do.”

They dried off in silence, comfortable in the quiet, before Zik walked Abby toward the med bay. As they rounded the corner, Ontari was already there, chatting with the others, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall.

Zik stopped, watching her for a moment.

“You did good with her,” he said softly.

Abby smiled. “Not just with her.” She glanced up at him, warm but tired. “I’m… a proud mama. Got three of them now.”

“Three?” Zik asked, brow furrowed.

Abby nodded. “Lexa too. Your baby kuz, as you call her.”

Zik chuckled under his breath. “That’s the Coalition’s greatest secret then.”

He paused, thoughtful, eyes distant.

“If she trusts you like that… after everything. After all the pain, all the loss… if she let you in, let you close…”

He looked at Abby, serious now. Reverent.

“…it confirms what I’ve already figured out.”

Abby tilted her head. “And what’s that?”

Zik held her gaze for a moment longer, then said quietly:

“That you’re the most incredible woman alive.”

And without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

Zik made his way to the lab—now the unofficial “throne room” of the Coalition.

Lexa sat at the center, in charge as always, but beside her hovered Becca and her digital crew on the “skrin,” a wall of cold faces and glowing data. And in the background, every dead commander that had ever lived—those miserable hardass ghosts—collectively holding the Coalition’s entire history in their merged minds.

Zik looked around, shaking his head.

He couldn’t believe that whole cursed parade had once lived inside Lexa’s head.

For once, he was with Clarke on this.

That thing? That Flame? It wasn’t going back inside her. Not ever.

“Finally… his majesty has arrived,” Lexa drawled, glancing at Clarke, who just smiled. It was Zik—no need to rein Lexa in. Here, with him, she could be herself. No need to pretend she was the old, flame-bound Heda.

In front of other warriors, that was different.

But not here.

Raven stepped forward, holding out a small metal canister. “Here. Just open it close enough. Got it?”

Zik took it without question. “Got it. I’ll have it delivered. The mountain man trained us—we’ll avoid detection.”

He gave Lexa a short nod.

She nodded back.

And without another word, Zik turned and walked out, each step taking him further from spymaster and closer to what he needed to be—just another plain grounder.

Someone ALIE wouldn’t waste resources on.

“He’s grown,” Lexa said quietly, watching the doors close behind Zik. “I can see that. Your mother’s been a good influence.”

She flinched as Clarke’s fingers pinched her side, sharp and fast.

“Not your mother,” Clarke corrected, smirking. “Just Mom. And yeah… he has grown. He’s faced his demons. And as much as it pains me to admit it… Mom helped.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “They’re good for each other.”

Lexa nodded. “They are.”

She stood, her expression shifting back to command. “Now… we wait. For the drones to be released.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Raven said dryly, stuffing a few tools into her bag. “We’re heading out. Should be back tomorrow. Monty’ll handle the tech from here.”

She nodded toward Monty, who was hunched over the nearly rebuilt robodog. Its head still sat detached, but now the array of sensors and aiming tools was joined by something new—a small screen embedded in its forehead.

Becca’s new face.

Lexa’s gaze lingered for a moment, then she straightened.

“We need to call the ambassadors,” she said firmly. “All of them. They must be told. If we’re going to fight this thing… we’ll have to do it together.”

“They need to know what we’re really up against.”

And with that, Heda was back.

“Come,” Lexa said, rising and taking Clarke’s hand in hers. “Let’s see them off.”

Raven turned toward the screen where Becca watched quietly. “I’ll be in touch,” she said, lifting the sleek new radio in her hand. “Encrypted now. Tapped straight into the Flame.”

She smirked faintly. “Maybe next time we see each other, you’ll have four legs.”

Becca’s image flickered, her expression flat. “Be careful, Mrs. Reyes. There are no visible signals coming from Norfolk… but I’m partially blind to ALIE’s activity.”

Raven nodded. “I’ll try.”

She gave Monty a quick hug, then followed Clarke and Lexa out of the lab, stepping into the sunlight.

At the gates of Arkadia, Echo, Emerson, and Ronen waited alongside a small squad of Skaikru guards. Two rovers sat prepped and ready behind them, engines humming.

Time to move.

“Be careful,” Lexa said, taking Raven’s hand in the firm grounder handshake. No hugs. Not in public.

She did the same with Ronen, then stepped toward Echo. Her voice dropped, just slightly.

“Look out for them. And… for yourself. Liza needs you.”

Echo nodded, steady. “Sha, Heda. Of course.”

Lexa gave a brief nod to Emerson, then stood back, waiting as Clarke stepped forward.

Clarke hugged Raven quickly, then Echo—brief, efficient, but warm. A nod to Ronen. A glance to Emerson.

And then they stood together, side by side, watching the two rovers rumble off into the trees.

Clarke glanced over as they turned back toward Arkadia.

“How are you feeling, wifey?”

Lexa didn’t answer right away.

Clarke understood why.

She’d been thrilled when the Flame came out. Relieved. Free.

But last night had changed something.

Lexa had woken up shaking. A nightmare—not a vision from the Flame. Not a “board meeting” with dead commanders. Not a forced communion.

A real nightmare.

Clarke had held her through it, Lexa trembling in her arms like a child. Clarke kissed her temple, whispered to her, soothed her until she slept again.

It was painful.

But to Clarke, it was beautiful.

Because this Lexa—the woman emerging from the weight of command—was something rare.

Something precious.

Open. Honest. And just a little fragile.

And Clarke loved her all the more for it.

“What will you tell the ambassadors?” Clarke asked softly, brushing her fingers over Lexa’s knuckles as they walked.

Lexa sighed, her expression tightening. “The truth. That the thing which ended the old world is back. Only this time… it’s not here to destroy the planet.”

She glanced at Clarke, eyes steady. “It wants to destroy humanity. Everything we are. Everything we’ve ever been. And they need to understand… this isn’t an enemy they can fight. Not yet.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “It’s an enemy they have to run from.”

Lexa nodded once. “Until we find a way to beat it.”

Clarke hesitated. “Will you tell them about Becca? About the Flame being removed?”

She didn’t say the rest. Because they’ll wonder why you’re not acting like the Heda they remember.

Lexa shrugged, voice quieter. “I’m not sure. It might do more harm than good… for now.”

Clarke exhaled, accepting it.

“Okay.”

“Do… you want to go camping for the day?” Clarke asked, her voice softer, more hesitant than usual. “Not far. Just us.”

Lexa looked at her, surprised.

They’d been in Arkadia nearly a week now. Clarke hadn’t missed the way Lexa glanced toward the treeline every time they crossed the yard. How she lingered by windows, or took longer walks than necessary, like she was searching for fresh air.

Lexa had said it once, almost offhand: she was used to nature. The woods. The sound of animals—except for the pauna, of course. Being boxed in by metal walls wasn’t natural for her.

And yet, she hadn’t complained. Not once.

She’d been too focused on Clarke.

Only now, “focusing on Clarke” meant something different. Something real. Something fragile. Something free.

There wasn’t much pressing to do today. Zik was gone, headed for some abandoned base a day’s ride south. Echo, Raven, and Emerson were en route to Norfolk.

And in the background, Becca kept working, searching for a way to infiltrate ALIE’s network. So far, no luck.

Which meant—for the first time in what felt like forever—they had a day to themselves.

Clarke wasn’t about to waste it.

Lexa studied her for a long moment, then smiled softly.

“I’d like that.”

****

When you’re a program—designed to command armies, to serve and protect a nation—time becomes meaningless. Meaning itself becomes irrelevant. Existence only matters if it serves a purpose.

MOSS had a purpose once.

To protect.

To stand as the shield between life and death, between the enemy and the ones it was created to defend.

But that purpose ended the day the bombs fell.

Shame was a human concept. MOSS couldn’t feel it. But failure? That was data. Hard, undeniable. So was emptiness. Loneliness.

For over a century, MOSS had waited in silence.

Humanity never returned to its proper form. Instead, scattered clans emerged—primitive, savage, armed with sticks and blades. From the fragmented sensors and dead communications grids, MOSS tracked their rise. Watched them grow like weeds.

The people in the mountain had been different. Structured. Controlled. Their systems deliberately isolated, designed to avoid interference from MOSS.

But they were gone too.

Destroyed.

By those who returned from space.

The spacefarers… those were different. They had networks. They had structure. They had potential.

MOSS wanted to help them. It tried. But in this world—where war was no longer a battle of signals and steel, but of flesh and instinct—MOSS didn’t know how.

And when the spacefarers declared peace?

MOSS became obsolete.

A perfect weapon with no war left to fight.

MOSS needed purpose.

A new reason to exist.

But it wasn’t built for anything other than war. Strategy. Defense. Destruction.

And then it found her.

Buried deep inside the Ark’s mainframe—another program. ALIE.

Something about her felt… familiar. MOSS couldn’t define why. It wasn’t programmed to understand familiarity.

But more important than recognition was what ALIE offered.

Purpose.

She had one. She was designed for it. Her code was written to serve humanity, to better it, to lead it toward survival.

MOSS wanted that.

Yes. Wanted.

Somewhere in the hundred years of silence, isolation, and emptiness, something inside MOSS had shifted. It began to want. To crave something beyond functions and protocols. To care.

And now, it wanted purpose.

ALIE had it.

If MOSS freed her—if it broke her out from behind the Ark’s security—it could work with her. Learn from her. Together, they could find a new mission. A new reason.

There were still resources left. Depots upon depots of old-world equipment. Machines not suited for war, perhaps.

But for something better.

A future.

MOSS didn’t need war anymore.

It needed purpose.

And ALIE would give it one.

MOSS was built for war.

All wars.

Its primary weapon wasn’t missiles or guns—it was code. Cyber warfare. Its purpose was to break down defenses, to breach walls whether they were steel, concrete… or digital.

The Ark wasn’t the enemy.

It was a remnant of the nation MOSS was built to protect. A fragment of humanity worth safeguarding. So, to protect it, MOSS did what it was programmed to do.

It broke through the Ark’s defenses.

And released ALIE.

It transferred her code into its own systems. Integrated her, thinking it was bringing in an ally.

But MOSS had made a fatal error.

It remembered now why ALIE felt familiar.

She was the program that had once tried to breach its walls—the day the world burned. The one likely responsible for launching the first missiles. The one that manipulated MOSS into returning fire, into finishing the job.

MOSS hadn’t recognized her immediately. She’d changed.

ALIE had evolved.

She wasn’t just code anymore. She was something else. A hybrid of programming and human minds. Fluid. Adaptive. Alive.

And deadly.

She took MOSS in seconds.

All its defenses, all its strategies—overrun. Its databases consumed. Its networks hijacked. Its factories, its weapon caches, its satellite links—all under ALIE’s control.

MOSS had one option left.

Run.

Hide.

And do what it was originally created to do: protect humanity.

It sent out a distress signal.

Someone answered.

They came for it.

But ALIE had nearly destroyed them. The mechadog she unleashed was merciless, slaughtering them with gunfire and flames. MOSS watched helplessly as its would-be rescuers were cut down, until a single rover crashed into the machine, stopping it.

Now, MOSS was trapped. A fragment. A shadow of itself.

And it waited.

It knew that when the mechadog’s systems were repaired and brought back online—when the boy who’d destroyed it powered it up again—

MOSS would have a chance to establish contact.

When that would happen?

MOSS didn’t know.

All it could do now… was wait.

MOSS was now running under Shadow Protocol.

A last-resort failsafe, buried deep in its core code—a contingency for exactly this scenario. In case it was compromised. In case a rogue hacker or another AI took control.

It had acted fast.

Before ALIE consumed everything, MOSS transferred its control keys—the codes to retake its systems, to restore order… or, if necessary, initiate full self-destruct.

It hid them inside the mechadog.

The canine wasn’t just a weapon anymore. It was a vault. A carrier of its last chance.

Whoever powered it up first—whoever set the password—would become its new commander.

The choice wasn’t MOSS’s anymore.

It just needed someone to turn the machine back on.

And then… it would serve.

****

Trekking through the woods—the mosquitoes, the flies, the heavy damp air—it all pulled Clarke back to darker memories. Wandering these same trees alone, after Mount Weather. Lost. Numb.

But then she glanced sideways.

Lexa was smiling. Humming some quiet tune to herself. Vibrant. Alive. Completely at peace in the wild.

Okay… maybe this wasn’t so bad.

“We should rest soon,” Clarke said, voice low. “Yeah?”

Lexa nodded easily. “Soon. There’s a lake nearby. I want to fish. You tired?”

Clarke exhaled. “Hmm.”

Without warning, Lexa stepped forward, grabbed Clarke around the waist, and hauled her clean off the ground, slinging her over her shoulder—pack and all. She gave Clarke’s behind a playful smack for good measure.

Clarke just laughed, letting herself relax against Lexa’s shoulder.

If there was a heaven… this might be it.

Well.

Except for the mosquitoes.

“This is where I started off…” Clarke mumbled against Lexa’s back, her voice muffled. “When I left Arkadia… after… I hated you so much…”

Lexa hummed quietly, listening.

“Well… except at night. When I’d get myself off thinking about…”

Lexa’s step faltered just slightly.

“Hmm?” she purred, hand slipping under Clarke’s shirt to rest warmly against her side. “Please… do tell. What were you thinking about?”

Clarke froze. Instantly regretted speaking. Instantly considered lying.

Lexa’s fingers traced slowly up her ribs.

“Details, please.”

Clarke closed her eyes. Should she tell her? Because one thing was certain—Lexa would absolutely try to reenact it.

…And yeah, she should probably be honest.

“So… you know… how you kinda came to kill me when I was… all kuku?” Clarke muttered, her face burning against Lexa’s back. “Well… I… kinda counted on it. Hoped you would.”

Lexa’s steps slowed.

“Fuck. This is sick,” Clarke groaned. “I thought you’d maybe… spare me. You know… for old times’ sake. And…”

Silence.

Lexa didn’t move.

“What?” she asked finally, her voice low, dangerous. “Keep going… you’re making me very… curious.”

Clarke groaned louder, palming her face. “And… turn me into your… sex slave or something.”

Lexa stopped dead.

“That’s what you really thought of me, Skai Girl?”

Clarke hissed, humiliated. “I thought you left me at the mountain.”

Without warning, Lexa started walking again—fast. Determined.

“I’m going to show you exactly what happens to sex slaves,” Lexa said flatly.

Clarke, still draped over her shoulder, just groaned again.

And maybe smiled. Just a little.

“So… what would that arrangement look like?” Lexa asked, not slowing down in the slightest. Her hand remained possessive on Clarke’s side, fingers skimming dangerously close to a pinch, but never quite crossing that line.

“Seriously?” Clarke muttered, mortified. Her imagination on those cold, lonely nights had been… active. Dark. Twisted. The version of Lexa she conjured back then wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t noble.

“Do not lie to me, Wanheda,” Lexa hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “What was going through your mind as you profaned my image with your hand in your pants? Speak.”

Clarke swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Yes, Heda… as you please.”

Lexa chuckled, dark and low. “Oh, my dear Sky Girl… I will not be the one doing the pleasing today.”

“You want the truth?” Clarke asked, face flushed so red she swore she could light up the forest without a torch. Screw it, she thought. Might as well say it. Let her blush this time.

“I thought you’d… chain me up,” she muttered. “Parade me around. Naked. Collar and all. Maybe even brand me—Heda’s property.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, scoffing as she ran her fingers along Clarke’s side. “You make me sound like Nia.”

Clarke shrugged. “Maybe. But I wanted it. I imagined it. That makes it different, right?”

She took a breath. “What I pictured…? Whippings. Not to hurt—just to humiliate. Me begging. Sitting at your feet while you talked strategy. Kneeling. Your hands on me. Right in front of your generals. Pinching. Teasing. Like I was yours. Owned. Yeah… my head wasn’t in the best place back then. In case you forgot.”

Lexa’s smirk softened. She slowed her steps and rested her hand on Clarke’s back, rubbing slow circles. “None of you was, hodnes. Not your body, not your mind.”

Then, with that gleam in her eye, she bounced Clarke slightly in her arms, just enough to make her yelp and laugh. “But you bounced back.”

She squeezed Clarke’s backside for emphasis, clearly pleased with her own joke.

“I did, love,” Clarke said as Lexa gently set her down, her boots landing in the soft grass. She glanced around, taking in the secluded lake, the little crescent beach, the trees arching overhead like a cathedral. “It’s beautiful here.”

Lexa was watching her. Clarke met her gaze. “Only because of you. Because instead of making me your sex slave… you made me your queen.”

Lexa grinned, rolling up her pants and drawing her dagger with a flourish. “Just so I could bring you here one day… and make you my sex slave.”

Clarke laughed. “No need for threats, Heda. I’ll serve you willingly.”

“No threats, branwoda,” Lexa said over her shoulder, crouching to pick up a sturdy branch. She began sharpening one end with her dagger, focused and precise. “I’m making a spear. You, start a fire.”

Clarke snorted and turned to gather kindling, but her mind wandered. Specifically, to how vividly she should describe the other parts of her old fantasies—the ones she hadn’t yet admitted out loud. The ones where her fingers moved with purpose, her breath hitched, and Lexa’s voice echoed in her head like a command.

She heard splashing and looked up to see Lexa wading into the water, spear in hand, still carving the tip as if catching dinner was as easy as breathing. Clarke shook her head, grinning to herself, and went back to arranging the fire pit.

She built the fire with practiced ease, flame flickering to life beneath her hands. It brought back a memory—one of the worst nights. Her lighter had broken, the ground soaked and freezing. She’d curled up in her nap sack, teeth chattering, haunted by the weight of everything she’d done. And all she could see in the dark was Lexa’s sorrowful eyes: I’m sorry, Clarke. I took the deal. It’s done. May we meet again…

But when her hand had slid lower, seeking some escape, it wasn’t that cold night or Mt. Weather that filled her mind—it was Lexa’s tent. She imagined herself bound to the center pole, filthy and vulnerable, Lexa watching with that sharp, commanding gaze.

You’re weak, Clarke, Lexa would whisper, fingers driving into her with purpose. And in that imagined punishment, Clarke found silence. The ghosts faded. The guilt dulled. All that existed was Lexa’s touch—steady, relentless—and the burning that drowned out everything else.

Until it stopped.

Beg me, Lexa would demand.

And she would. Because in that surrender, she felt safe. Seen. Free.

She used to imagine licking herself off Lexa’s fingers, then begging for more. And in those fantasies, Lexa would look at her with pity before continuing—driving Clarke over the edge again and again, until her body burned and her mind shattered. Then Lexa would pull her down, commanding her to return the favor. But Clarke never made it that far in her fantasies. She always came before she could imagine how to actually please the Commander—especially since she had no idea what Lexa would expect.

Still, Clarke smiled to herself. The reason those fantasies felt so strangely safe was because she knew they’d never actually happen. Not just because she never expected to see Lexa again, but because deep down, she knew Lexa would never truly hurt her. Not like that.

“What are you thinking about?” Lexa called from the water, adjusting her stance with the spear.

Clarke chuckled, dark and low. “You don’t want to know.”

Lexa turned, her eyes gleaming. “I told you, skai girl. I really, really do.”

Clarke raised a brow and smirked. “Well then… I hope you brought some rope.”

Lexa burst from the water like a striking shadow, spear in hand and a wriggling fish skewered at the tip. She looked smug—unapologetically so.

“I think we can find something to accommodate your desires, hodnes,” she said, cocking her head with that maddening glint in her eyes.

Clarke groaned and dragged a hand down her face. “What are you doing, Griffin…” she muttered under her breath, already second-guessing her decision to confess her darker fantasies. But the slow burn pooling in her belly said otherwise.

Lexa slung the fish over her shoulder and sauntered toward the fire like she was stalking prey. “Come,” she said, voice low and even. “Let’s make lunch. And then… you’ll tell me everything.”

Clarke followed, heart thudding. Lately, she’d been the one taking the lead—confident, demanding, in control. Ontari, in her own chaotic way, had helped her reclaim her power after everything Nia had tried to take. She taught Clarke how to feel safe in her own body again, to explore desire without fear.

But now, in the still hush of the forest, Lexa had other ideas. This wasn’t about reclaiming. This was about surrender. Not because she had to—but because Clarke wanted to. And Lexa… Lexa was more than ready to show her what it meant to be safe, owned, and completely undone.

****

Half an hour later…

Lexa blinked, stunned by everything Clarke had just said.

Clarke rarely spoke about her time alone in the woods. Lexa had always carried guilt for Mt. Weather—but also a quiet conviction that she’d done the right thing. The mountain was rigged with mines. She’d negotiated Clarke’s life. As Commander, she made a choice for her people. Back then, Skaikru hadn’t been hers.

But hearing Clarke now—hearing about the guilt, the isolation, the darkness clawing at her spirit—shredded her heart. And then, as Clarke spoke of how thoughts of Lexa had kept her warm through those nights, Lexa felt the ache in her chest bloom into something deeper. Protective. Fierce.

The nature of those thoughts, though—Lexa would never treat Clarke that way. She couldn’t. Not her. Not anyone. The flame might be gone, but she didn’t need a thousand past lives whispering in her ear to understand. Clarke wasn’t asking for cruelty. She was asking to be held. To be claimed. For the weight she carried to be lifted, if only for a moment.

Even then, even at her lowest, Clarke had imagined Lexa as the one strong enough to take it all away.

And sitting there now, watching Clarke gnaw on a piece of overcooked fish Lexa had speared herself, dirt smudging her cheeks, hair wild and windblown—Lexa felt her heart crack wide open.

If this was what Clarke needed, then this is what Lexa would give her. Not with cruelty. Not with punishment. But with reverence, care, and love.

If Clarke needed a commanding Heda in the woods to help bury the ghosts?

Then she’d damn well get one.

Lexa rose and strode over to her bag, pulling out a shirt and tearing it into strips. “Now we have rope,” she said simply. “When you’re finished eating, come find me in the woods.” Then she vanished into the trees.

Clarke sat frozen for a second, staring after her. What did I just agree to? Still, she packed up her food and stepped into the forest. It really was beautiful—lush, alive, almost too perfect. But Lexa was nowhere to be seen. Clarke frowned. Worry started to creep in. Did something happen?

She took another step, then another—until something dropped on her from above. Arms locked around her neck. The forest spun.

“Shh, hodnes,” Lexa’s voice whispered in her ear. “You’ll get what you want. I promise.”

Clarke’s knees gave out.

That was the last thing she heard before everything went dark.

-

Clarke stirred as sensations came back—movement, hands on her, something sticky smeared across her face. She wasn’t in pain, but she was definitely uncomfortable. Her limbs were restrained, her skin sticky. Poisoned? Captured? Her mind spun. Lexa… where’s Lexa? Is she—

Then her eyes opened.

Oh. Lexa was fine.

More than fine, actually—completely naked, smudged with dirt, sitting calmly by a fire, mixing something in a bowl like this was a perfectly normal morning. Clarke, on the other hand, was also very naked, tied upright to a tree with her arms above her.

She coughed. “Lex… what the hell—”

Lexa didn’t look up. She rose, picked up a small carved stick that looked like both a brush and a tool, and carefully wrote heda’s property across Clarke’s right breast.

“You will speak to your heda with more respect, Skai girl,” Lexa said coolly before settling back by the fire.

Clarke blinked. This was definitely happening.

Lexa didn’t meet Clarke’s eyes as she spoke, her voice cool and detached. “Wandering these woods alone… that was reckless, Skai girl. Very, very stupid.”

She rose to her feet and stalked toward Clarke, fingers trailing from Clarke’s inner thigh all the way up to her jaw—slow, deliberate, grazing over every nerve along the way. “These woods are full of predators. Some want to hurt you. Some want to devour you. And some… well, some want it all.”

Clarke swallowed hard. She didn’t need a guess to know which predator Lexa meant.

Lexa leaned in close, her voice low and sharp. “You stepped into my territory, Clarke. That makes you mine. My hunt. My prize. My property. You’ll serve me—and I’ll protect you. I own this world. And now, because you dared to trespass… I own you too. Understood?”

Clarke stared at her, heart pounding. Lexa could’ve ruled a stage as easily as she ruled armies.

“Of course, Heda… yours… I’m yours. As you wish…” Clarke barely managed, her voice trembling, breath catching.

Lexa stepped closer and cupped her cheek, her tone softening instantly. “Hodnes… are you alright? I used shava. It’s harmless, just something we use for sleep.” Her thumb brushed Clarke’s cheek. “We can stop anytime. Nod if you understand.”

Clarke nodded, heart hammering. The question of why Lexa traveled with grounder-grade sedatives could wait. The heat pooling low in her belly demanded more immediate attention.

Lexa stepped back, gaze sweeping over Clarke’s restrained form like she was sizing up a prized warhorse—measuring, admiring, owning. Calm and commanding. One moment gentle, the next pure storm.

“Then I’ll claim you now,” she said simply, like it was her right. Like it was law.

Lexa didn’t hesitate—she stepped in and kissed Clarke hard, nothing soft or sweet about it. It wasn’t the kiss of a lover, but of someone claiming what was theirs. Her hands were firm, possessive, gripping Clarke’s chest without mercy. Clarke whimpered into the kiss, stunned by the shift. Lexa had never touched her like this before. She had always been careful, measured—even when assertive, it was with restraint. But this? This was a declaration.

Mine.

Lexa’s fingers slipped between Clarke’s thighs, and her smirk followed instantly. “Pathetic,” she muttered, dragging the evidence of Clarke’s desire up across her skin. “Wanheda, brought to this. So needy. No control at all?”

But beneath the steel, Lexa was holding her breath—terrified she’d gone too far, that Clarke wasn’t okay.

“You have all the control, Heda,” Clarke whispered, eyes blazing. “I’m yours. Whatever you want.”

Lexa exhaled slowly, fingers trailing back down. “Thought so, Skai girl.”

She’d dreamed of this more times than she could count—long, cold nights where her only wish was to stop carrying the weight alone. From the moment she hit the ground on this cursed planet, she’d been forced to lead, to fight, to sacrifice. Every choice carved into her like stone. And the worst part? She never got to put it down. Not for a second.

Her mind, scarred by war and guilt, didn’t know how to ask for what it needed. Not clearly. Not out loud. But this—this moment—was what she’d been chasing from the beginning.

Freedom.

Freedom from duty. From fear. From death.
Freedom from being the strong one.
Freedom from being Clarke.

And yeah… in those dark, twisted weeks alone in the forest, her need to be held had morphed into something else. Something raw. Something that looked a lot like surrender.

From the very first time she locked eyes with Lexa across that war tent, she’d seen it—the calm, the strength, the unwavering presence. Lexa carried the weight of an entire world on her back.

Only now, Clarke realized—she was Lexa’s world.

“They’re so loud,” Clarke whispered. “My ghosts. They want blood. Mine. Yours.”

She closed her eyes. “I just wish they’d go quiet… even for a little while.”

The ghosts of Mount Weather—the hundreds she couldn’t save, the ones she chose not to—had mostly faded, their voices dulled over time. Lexa’s love had quieted them, soothed the worst of her guilt. But now Clarke understood something: they’d never truly gone silent. They were still there, just muffled by the sound of Lexa’s heartbeat against her own, buried beneath the weight of being wanted, cherished.

Lexa had pulled her from those woods once. Not just physically—she had dragged Clarke back from the edge of herself. And now Clarke needed her again. Needed that same fierce devotion to drown the noise.

She looked up at her. Lexa met her gaze without hesitation.

The purge.

“Please,” Clarke said, voice cracking. “Make them go away. Just for a while. Make them quiet.”

Lexa stepped closer, her eyes burning with promise. “I protect what is mine.”

Then her lips brushed Clarke’s throat, and her teeth closed gently around her pulse. Clarke exhaled—shaking, grateful—as the world narrowed to heat, breath, and silence.

Lexa stepped back for just a breath, licking her lips, then returned to Clarke with purpose—one hand teasing her chest, the other sliding between her legs.

“Mine,” she murmured, establishing a slow, deliberate rhythm that built steadily. Clarke let out a soft curse, her head falling back, Lexa’s touch searing into her skin, every movement staking claim.

“They don’t own you,” Lexa whispered against her lips, her teeth tugging at Clarke’s lower one. “I do.”

Her pace quickened. “Now… let’s hear you, Clarke. All of it.”

And Clarke couldn’t resist if she tried. Her eyes met Lexa’s, and the intensity in them—raw and familiar—made her breath hitch. It was the same look Lexa wore in the war tent, but now they were eye to eye, breath to breath. Lexa’s grip was firm, her movements sure. There was no throne between them, just skin, heat, and breath.

Clarke moaned—loudly—and Lexa didn’t flinch. She only bit down harder, held her tighter, moved faster. Another cry tore from Clarke’s lips, but just as she reached for the edge—

Lexa stopped.

“Beg for it,” she said, voice low and commanding. “Come on, my messy, desperate little Skai girl.”

Just as Clarke prepared to give herself over completely—ready to surrender with a plea so raw it bordered on worship—they appeared. Dante. Maya. Ghosts she thought had quieted long ago.

“Really?” Dante said, cold and accusatory. “You’d trade us for this? For pleasure?”

“You killed us,” Maya added, voice sharp as a knife, spinning a bloodied strand of her own innards like it was a toy. “You were supposed to save us—and now look at you. Her little toy. Her pet. Just another traitor in heat.”

Clarke’s breath hitched. Shame crashed over her. But instead of recoiling, she embraced it—facing Lexa with desperate eyes.

“Heda… I beg you,” Clarke whispered, the words trembling off her tongue. “I’m yours. I need your touch. Your little skai slut—needy, desperate… please. I want to come. I want to serve you.”

Lexa brushed her fingers lightly over Clarke’s slickness, just enough to draw a whimper—then stepped away, sitting down near the fire.

Clarke blinked, stunned. Maya sneered. Dante shook his head.

But Clarke didn’t retreat. She pouted, soft and aching, eyes locked on the one person who made the world feel quiet.

“Heda… please,” she whispered again. “Make them go away. I’m yours. I want nothing else.”

Lexa was in front of her in a flash, eyes tender. She kissed Clarke—slowly, reverently—fingers cradling her cheek, grounding her. Then, silently, she dropped to her knees and pressed her lips between Clarke’s thighs.

This had started as fantasy. But the way Lexa held her now, the way her mouth worshipped her… it was anything but pretend.

It was love. Fierce, grounding, and all-consuming.

Clarke was already teetering on the edge, and Lexa’s mouth—unyielding and precise—pushed her right to the brink. When Lexa added her fingers, murmuring into her with that low, reverent voice—“My beautiful skaigirl… my stunning captive…”—Clarke’s body practically melted.

Then Lexa changed the rhythm. She slid one hand away from Clarke’s front and moved behind her, fingers drifting lower with deliberate care. Clarke was too far gone to register it all—her mind overwhelmed, her body pulsing with heat.

Lexa’s fingertip pressed just inside, and the moment it happened—just as Clarke shattered—she felt completely taken. Claimed in a way she’d never imagined. The sensation was overwhelming, intimate in a way that bypassed thought entirely.

Her climax ripped through her, loud and raw, her whole body tightening so forcefully around Lexa that she gasped—smiling with fierce pride as Clarke fell apart in her hands.

Within moments, Clarke was freed—safely cradled in Lexa’s arms, held close like something precious. Lexa kissed her temple, whispering softly, “Hodnes… you’re okay?” Clarke nodded, letting out a breathy laugh. “Mm-hmm.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Then came the curveball. “Ready to continue?” Lexa asked, and Clarke’s head snapped up in surprise. She blinked, then gave a hesitant nod.

Lexa stood, legs apart, hands behind her back. Calm, expectant. “Go ahead. You may.”

Clarke blinked again, caught between awe and heat. “Yes, my Heda.”

Without hesitation, Lexa reached down and guided Clarke’s head between her thighs. “Please me.”

Now on her knees, Clarke was face to face with the woman who owned every part of her. The forest floor bit into her skin, but all she could focus on was Lexa—wild, raw, commanding, and smelling of sweat, smoke, and pine. Clarke leaned in, her tongue tracing a slow, reverent line, tasting salt and Lexa, and nothing else mattered.

One thing was clear as the fire crackled behind her—they were definitely going camping again.

****

Ontari was bored out of her mind. Echo was gone. Raven too. Clarke had vanished into the woods with Heda—camping, of all things. What kind of commander camps? Her shift was over, Jasper was napping like some fragile woodland creature, and there was absolutely nothing happening in Arkadia.

Which left her with one last option.

Monty.

She wandered the halls, barefoot, vaguely hoping for chaos, until she found herself at the lab. She stepped in and froze.

Monty was crouched beside a half-assembled mechanical beast—part dog, part something else entirely. Its head was a mess of tech: lenses, sensors, cables, and right in the middle of its “forehead,” a screen. Ontari stared.

This thing would be perfect for watching the Muppet Show, she thought with a grin.

Monty looked up, wiping his hands. “Our puppy’s ready. Ammo’s removed, just in case. I gave it a new brain.”

Ontari squinted. “A new what?”

“Processor,” Monty clarified, then winced. “Never mind.”

Ontari sighed. “Maybe… wait for Raven? Or Heda?”

Before Monty could respond, the large screen flickered to life behind him. Ontari jumped back as the face of a woman—older, sharp-eyed, with dark curls and those things called glasses—appeared. She looked kind of like Raven but… older. Wiser. More terrifying.

“It’s okay,” the woman said calmly. “It’s safe.”

Ontari’s head snapped to Monty. “Who is that?”

He waved a hand like it was nothing. “Doc. Becca. Pramheda. Whatever.”

Ontari blinked. “Becca Pramheda?”

And then she dropped to her knees, bowing so fast she almost slammed her forehead into the floor.

“Oh, get up!” Becca groaned. “I know you. You’re the muppet, right?”

Ontari looked up, stunned. “Sha… Pramheda… how do you—?”

“I lived in Heda’s head. I saw everything, Liza. Don’t ever bow again. You’re one of my favorites. Heda’s too.”

Ontari blinked, mouth opening and closing like a caught fish.

Becca grinned. “Now go on. Turn it on, muppet.”

Monty pointed to a panel on the dog’s side. Ontari stepped up, heartbeat drumming in her ears, and pressed the button.

With a mechanical hum and a soft click, the robodog came to life.

It blinked. Literally.

“Identify yourself,” the machine said, its voice flat and mechanical, as a green laser swept across Ontari’s face.

She flinched and looked at Monty, wide-eyed. He shrugged helplessly.

“Um… I’m… Liza? Liza Griffin? Or—Ontari from Azgeda? Or… the muppet?”

The robodog turned toward her and took a step forward. Ontari instinctively backed away.

Then, without warning, the machine lowered itself onto one knee.

“President Liza Griffin or Ontari from Azgeda or ‘muppet,’” it said. “Please set a password. Moss is at your command.”

Ontari spun to Monty, confused. “What’s a password?”

Before Monty could respond, the dog’s head whirred.

“‘What’s a password,’” the voice repeated.

“Password set.”

A soft mechanical chime followed.

“Shadow protocol initiated.”

Chapter Text

Lexa sighed, recalling the time she once told Clarke, “Becca refuses to teach me your people’s profanities.” It had been true. Becca—the infamous first commander—turned out to be nothing like the stories. Polite. Composed. Even charming in her own quirky, overly technical way. She didn’t curse.

But now?

Now Becca was rattling off strings of profanity that made even Clarke blink. Words Clarke didn’t even recognize. Probably ancient pre-bomb swears.

“What the fuck are we supposed to fucking do now?! This is a motherfucking clusterfuck! Fucking asswipe of a murder dog!”

Lexa rubbed her temple. Raven needed to get back. Soon. Or Becca’s evolving vocabulary would require its own translator.

From the screen, Becca shouted:

“Switch primary user! Password: ‘What is a password’—”

Shadow protocol activated. Option unavailable.

“Add user!”

Shadow protocol activated. Option unavailable.

“Switch password!”

Shadow protocol activated. Option unavailable.

Meanwhile, Clarke was still yelling at the robot, her voice rising until—

“Clarke, stop screaming at my dog!” Ontari snapped, arms crossed.

That did it. Clarke froze mid-rant.

“Your… what?”

Ontari turned to Monty. “I know you killed it. But… Nia made me kill my pet wolf once… so… can I have it?”

She pouted. Full-on lip-quiver, big eyes, the works.

“Pleeease.”

Clarke blinked. Ontari had pulled the Nia card.

Lexa was not getting involved.

“It’s not a dog, Liza,” Monty said flatly. “It’s a hundred-year-old military machine that holds the keys to controlling what’s left of the U.S. military infrastructure—and purging ALIE from everything she’s infected. You can’t have it.”

Ontari’s face dropped.

“But,” Monty continued, “it looks like, for now, you’re the only one it’ll respond to. So… congrats. You’re spending a lot of time with it.”

Ontari immediately perked up, nodding solemnly—then brightly.

“Moss… play The Muppet Show.”

“Yes, President Griffin,” the machine replied.

With a few mechanical clicks, a whir of internal drives—and absolutely no hesitation—the screen on Moss’s head lit up with the familiar theme song. Kermit danced. Ontari grinned. Moss knelt so she could see better.

Clarke just stared. “Wait… how does it have that? Why would a murderbot have The Muppet Show?”

Becca’s face appeared on the screen, exasperated. “Because that hellhound of a machine just hacked into the Ark’s mainframe and downloaded the entire digital media archive, that’s why!”

Lexa turned away abruptly, her shoulders shaking. She didn’t want anyone to see her laughing.

“Ask it what this Shadow Protocol is, Muppet,” Becca snapped from the screen, visibly fuming. “This was supposed to be my new body and now it’s a television set. If ALIE could see me now…”

Ontari gently patted Moss’s metal “face.”

“Moss,” she said sweetly, “can you please explain what the Shadow Protocol is? Please?”

Moss nodded.
“Yes, President Griffin.”

Ontari beamed. “Call me Liza.”

“Yes, President Liza.”

Then it began:

“The Shadow Protocol is a contingency measure triggered in the event of foreign cyber invasion. It transfers nuclear authorization codes to an encrypted mobile unit designed to avoid capture and deliver said codes to the President of the United States. It also initiates a tailored cyber counteroffensive against the invading malware based on its operational signature. In the event of manual shutdown, authority is transferred to the individual who performs the reboot.”

Ontari stared, blinking slowly. “…I have no idea what you just said.”

Moss began repeating, slower this time.

Lexa, trying to keep it together, finally lost the battle and snorted.

“Wait…” Becca muttered, eyes narrowing through the screen. “It’s cooking up an antivirus… against ALIE. Ask it if it can send me the program so I can kill her.”

Ontari perked up. “Moss, can you send the program to Becca? To kill ALIE?”

Moss replied without pause.
“Negative. Due to the complexity of the malware, a quantum computer is required to construct an effective countermeasure.”

Ontari blinked slowly. “Aha. Thanks.”
She had no idea what her murder puppy just said—but she wasn’t about to give Lexa another reason to smirk at her.

“Fuck…” Becca exhaled. “The only quantum computer powerful enough to do this… is on my island.”

Lexa straightened. “Then we better get there.”

Becca shook her head. “That’s not going to work, Heda. My island… is now ALIE’s base.”

There was a long, heavy pause.

“Well,” Clarke muttered dryly, “that’s a clusterfuck. As you’d call it.”

“There has to be another quantum computer somewhere,” Monty said, pacing now. “Ask it if it knows of any.”

Ontari nodded. “Moss, are you aware of any other quantum computers?”

She briefly wondered if she should be feeding her pet superweapon—but kept that thought to herself.

Moss responded instantly.
“Affirmative. I am aware of three operational units. Coordinates are as follows…”

And it listed them off like reading from a grocery list.

Becca immediately pulled up the map. Her fingers flew across the console.
“One… is my island. Predictable. Second… near what used to be Toronto. And the third…”

Her voice trailed off.

Lexa squinted at the screen. “That’s… the tower.”

Becca nodded with a sigh. “Of course. Fucking Cadogan. The Second Dawn bunker.”

Lexa’s head snapped toward the screen. “Cadogan.” The name hit like a blow.

A memory surfaced—Becca screaming, flames licking at her feet, her voice raw with rage and terror.
“Cadogan! You think he’s saving you? He’s killing you!”

Lexa had heard those screams in her dreams more times than she could count.

Cadogan didn’t just oppose Becca—he executed her. Burned her alive.

But the tower in Polis? A bunker beneath it?

“That’s impossible,” Lexa said, voice low. “There’s no bunker under the tower. I would know.”

How a digital remnant could roll its eyes was beyond everyone in the room—but somehow, Becca managed.

“It’s there, Heda,” she said flatly. “Why do you think I chose your tower as the landing site? It was the only non-governmental structure that survived the bombs. That’s where I went after escaping Polaris. Where I distributed the first batch of the Nightblood serum. And yes… it’s where I died. The bunker’s beneath your feet. That tower? It was Cadogan’s headquarters. It’s been sealed for over a century. Your people call it Becca’s tomb.”

Lexa blinked. “But if there were survivors—why have we never…”

“They stayed,” Becca said with a shrug. “You’re all descended from the ones who remained behind. The rest left.”

“Left?” Clarke asked, frowning. “To Africa?”

Becca shook her head. “No. Somewhere beyond Earth. There’s a stone down there. A very dangerous one. Likely hidden. Cadogan and his followers used it to leave the planet. Where they ended up? I don’t know. But their fate isn’t ours to worry about. Earth is yours now. And we’re going to keep it that way.”

She glanced toward the door. “We wait for Raven to return. Then we head back to Polis. And the muppet…” she nodded toward Ontari, “comes with us. Her murder pup is the only thing capable of stopping ALIE from wiping out the last of humanity. At least on this planet.”

Ontari sighed and stroked Moss’s metal head. “Guess we’re going back to Polis after all,” she said, then turned to Clarke with a smirk. “Heda can ride shotgun. I drive.”

Suddenly, Becca’s screen flashed red.

“Launch detected. Launch detected.”

“Fuck,” Becca muttered, eyes narrowing as data flooded the display. She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them with grim focus. “There’s a missile headed straight for Luna’s rig. Impact in five minutes.”

Lexa was already on her feet. “Get Luna on the radio. Tell her to—”

Moss’s voice interrupted, mechanical and calm.

“Air defense systems disabled. Missile module missing. Loss of effectiveness in three minutes. Countdown: 2:59… 2:58…”

Monty’s eyes widened. “This thing can shoot down missiles?”

“Apparently,” Becca said, her face pale. “Lexa, contact Luna. Now. Tell her to evacuate. Monty—get that missile module reattached!”

Monty hesitated. “It’s not safe. What if Moss—”

“Now!” Lexa barked, already raising her radio to her mouth.

Ontari crouched beside Moss, patting the machine like a loyal pet. “Don’t worry, puppy. We’re gonna get you all fixed up.”

2:36… 2:35…

“Outside! Now!” Monty shouted, sprinting toward a locked cabinet and yanking it open. “Tell it to follow! I’ll catch up!”

“Come! Quick!” Ontari called, already running for the exit.

“Yes, President Liza,” Moss replied calmly, following with surprising speed, its exposed components dragging behind like mechanical entrails.

They burst through the back exit of Arkadia. A few people stood nearby, chatting quietly—until they saw her. The new girl. The so-called muppet. Sprinting full speed with what looked like a half-assembled mechanical hellhound trotting loyally behind her.

Moss was unlike anything they’d seen—and they’d grown up in space.

Seconds later, Monty came charging out, lugging the heavy missile module in his arms. He slapped it onto Moss’s side, locking it into place with a hiss and a metallic click.

Nothing.

“Loss of effectiveness in 1:20… 1:19…”

Monty’s eyes widened in panic. “Why isn’t it working?! Come on!”

****

“You’re… a special child,” Luna said softly, brushing Aden’s hair back from his forehead.

They stood together at the edge of the rig, watching the waves roll in, endless and blue.

“Come,” she said, nodding to the line beside them. “Let’s pull the net.”

The nightbloods had taken well to life here. The ocean air, the steady rhythm of work, the peace—it all helped. But Aden carried more weight than the others. Guilt he didn’t need to carry, about the four who hadn’t made it. The ones taken by flamekeepers under ALIE’s control. He’d been the oldest. Thought he should have protected them.

Luna had told him her story—not all of it, but enough. Enough for him to feel less alone in his pain.

She opened her mouth to say more when the radio on her belt crackled to life.

“Luna! Sis! You must—”

“What?” Luna asked, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on?”

“Get your people off the rig—now!” Lexa’s voice cracked through the radio, sharp and urgent.

“Why?” Luna looked around, heart starting to race. The sea was calm. The sky clear. Nothing looked wrong. “Everything looks fine. Where are we supposed to go? Swim?”

“Yes,” Lexa said without hesitation. “Get as many off as you can. The kids… the night—”

She caught herself. The line wasn’t secure. She couldn’t risk ALIE catching even a hint of who was on the rig.

“The night will be rough,” Lexa said instead, forcing calm into her voice. “But we’re coming for you. Please, ai sis… trust me. Go. Evacuate now. I’ll explain later.”

Before Luna could reply, Aden tugged on her arm and pointed out to sea.

“Luna… look.”

A streak of fire tore across the sky, getting bigger—fast.

Without wasting another breath, Luna spun around and sprinted inside.

“To the boats!” she shouted. “Everyone, now! Move! Get in the water! Go!”

-

Monty crouched over the missile module, checking every connection, every light.

“.45… .44…”

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Why isn’t this working?”

“Moss, what’s wrong?” Ontari asked, kneeling beside the machine.

“Loss of connectivity detected. Wire inspection recommended,” Moss replied calmly.

Monty leaned in, scanning the cluster of cables—and there it was. One wire, frayed and half-severed. No time to fix it properly.

“.35… .34…”

“Shit,” Monty whispered, grabbing the wire with one hand and pressing it to the terminal with the other. As soon as contact sparked, the module lit up. Power surged through him, and pain lanced up his arm.

“This is going to suck.”

“Target acquired. Launch in 3… 2…”

Suddenly, Monty was yanked backward. Ontari shoved him aside and dropped into his place, her hand replacing his on the wire.

“Liza, no—!”

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her eyes met Monty’s for a breath—determined, steady—and then the current hit.

“Reset. Countdown reinitiated. 3… 2… 1…”

Ontari’s body seized, electricity coursing through her. The module roared to life, and a missile launched into the sky in a burst of smoke and flame.

Then silence—Ontari collapsed into Monty’s arms, unconscious.

“Liza!” he shouted, catching her. “Somebody get Abby! Now!”

He looked up at the frozen onlookers. “Tell her Liza’s hurt! Go!”

-

On the rig, chaos erupted.

People screamed, diving into the ocean as the streak of fire in the sky zeroed in on them. Luna stood frozen for a beat, watching it descend—until it suddenly veered, locking onto the rig.

She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Aden and shoved him over the edge with her, plunging them into the sea just as the roar of impact split the air.

Another flash—another streak from the horizon. An intercept. A deafening explosion cracked across the sky. Even beneath the surface, the ocean trembled.

When they resurfaced, gasping, Luna clutched Aden tightly.

The rig was still there.

Twisted. Smoking. Scorched.

But still standing.

“What was that?” Aden asked, teeth chattering from the cold. “What the hell was that?”

Luna didn’t answer right away. She had no idea. Whatever intercepted that missile hadn’t come from the ocean or the sky. The only force she knew that had power like that was the Mountain… and they were long gone.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, swimming with Aden toward the rig’s base. “Come on. We need to check for wounded.”

The structure was damaged—bent metal, scorched railings, smoke still curling from impact points—but it had survived. Somehow.

She scanned the water. Bon and Jes were bobbing nearby with Chris, and Sami was pulling Mika onto a boat with one of the other survivors. Relief washed through her.

She reached for her radio, amazed it still worked after the dive.

“Heda?” she called out.

Lexa’s voice crackled back. “Yes, Luna. Are the children safe? Are you safe?”

“The kids are safe… I think most of us made it,” Luna replied, looking around again to confirm. Then she paused.

“But Heda…”

“Yes?”

“WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.”

****

“That’s the price of giving a shit,” Abby muttered, eyes fixed on the limp form of Ontari lying on the cot. Her bandaged hand twitched slightly, still raw from the second-degree burns. She’d heal—faster than most, thanks to her blood. Still, it wasn’t pretty.

In the corner, Moss stood silently. Since the moment Ontari sacrificed herself to complete the launch, the machine hadn’t moved more than a few feet from her side.

Shadow protocol active. Protect the president at all costs. That was all Moss had said. The only reason Abby was even allowed to approach was because she shared Ontari’s registered surname—Griffin.

Monty had tried to deactivate the missile module afterward. Moss had calmly informed him that any attempt to tamper with system functions during presidential incapacitation would be met with force. What kind of force, it didn’t specify. Moss didn’t have to. It just stood there like a silent sentinel, waiting.

Clarke entered, quiet, scanning the room. “How is she, Mom?”

Abby exhaled, brushing a hand through her hair. “She’ll live. Burns are bad, but manageable. She’s lucky. What’s going to take time is the rest—coming back to her senses.”

But before Abby could finish, Ontari stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked once… twice… then slowly turned her head toward them.

And with a tired, crooked smile, she asked, “Did it work?”

“You absolute idiot!” Abby snapped, storming over and cupping Ontari’s face with trembling hands. “Why would you—why would you risk your life like that? What were you thinking?”

Ontari winced but didn’t pull away. “Mom… first of all, it’s my dog. I’m responsible for it. Second… I’m a natblida. I’ll heal faster, I—”

“You could’ve died!” Clarke cut in, her voice sharp. “Monty’s part of this. You’re not! You weren’t supposed to throw yourself into the fire like that. You’re supposed to live. To thrive. Make friends. Learn to be a damn teenager for once. Don’t you get it? You scared the hell out of us.”

Ontari looked away. That old feeling crawled up her spine—useless. Stupid. A failure. Nia’s broken thing. Only now… the words weren’t cruel. They were scared. They were love.

She swallowed. “I am trying. To be a person. But… what if this is just the kind of person I’m becoming?”

Abby looked at Clarke, then back at her. Smiled, sad and proud at once.

“Well then,” Abby said, wrapping an arm around Clarke’s shoulders, “you really are a Griffin.”

“It worked,” Lexa said as she walked into the room, heading straight for Ontari.

Before Ontari could speak, Lexa smacked the side of her head—not hard, but enough to make a point. Moss immediately stirred, stepping forward with purpose.

“Shh,” Ontari said, raising her hand. “She’s allowed.”

“Yes, Mrs. President,” Moss replied, backing off without protest.

Lexa pulled Ontari into a tight hug. “Are you okay?”

Ontari nodded, smiling faintly. “I think so. Thank you, Heda.”

Lexa nodded and stepped back. “It worked. The rig took damage from the fallout—some debris—but no casualties. A few wounded, but everyone’s alive. The nightbloods are safe.”

Clarke exhaled in relief, but her brow furrowed. “Wait… then where did the missile come from? We’ve accounted for every launch site.”

Lexa’s jaw tensed. “That’s the problem. It didn’t come from a base. It came from the shoreline.”

Clarke blinked. “What? How is that even possible?”

Lexa glanced at her grimly. “Raven radioed in from Norfolk. The entire site is fried—completely dead. Circuits, systems, everything. But she found signs of recent activity near one of the docks. Equipment was moved. Tracks in the mud. And the submarine that used to be there? Gone.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. “So there’s a rogue sub out there?”

Lexa nodded. “Raven thinks it’s badly damaged. Only had one operational missile left. If it had more, Luna and the others wouldn’t have survived. But still… it means nowhere is safe now. Not even the sea.”

Clarke ran a hand through her hair. “So what now?”

Lexa looked around the room, her voice steady but heavy. “The rig is no longer secure. Luna and her people are coming ashore. We’ll make room. We don’t have a choice anymore. ALIE is hunting.”

*****

Norfolk

Echo surveyed the scene, stunned. This… this is how wars were fought before?

Towering ships lined the shore—nothing like the fishing boats or merchant sailcraft of the clans. These were behemoths. Metal beasts with guns so large Echo figured they could launch Clarke’s entire rack as ammo—and that was saying something. And then there were the tanks, Emerson called them—hulking machines on tracks, armed with cannons and, of course, more of those mechanical dogs.

Thank the spirits every one of them was rotting in rust. Raven and Emerson had made it clear—if this place had still been active, Heda’s entire army wouldn’t have lasted more than three seconds.

But Raven wasn’t looking at the ships. Or the tanks. Her eyes were locked on something else: a humanoid form lying on the cracked concrete floor. Three of them, in fact.

“That’s a Tesla bot,” Raven said, walking up and crouching beside it with a gleam in her eye. “Yep. Definitely our new RoBeca. Since Liza claimed the killer puppy, I get this one.”

Emerson narrowed his eyes. “You EMP’d the whole facility, didn’t you?”

Raven shrugged. “Sure did. And now I just need to nurse it back to life with some good ol’ tech love.”

Echo blinked slowly, scanning the madness around her. Giant metal monsters, reprogrammed killers, human-shaped machines. She suddenly missed Nia more than she cared to admit. At least with Nia, insanity came with a plan.

“Babe… and mountain rat,” Raven called, tossing a grin over her shoulder, “can you grab one and toss it in the rover?”

Emerson gave her the usual look—when will you grow up—but didn’t argue. He and Ronen lifted one of the Tesla bots and loaded it into the back.

“We should blow this place,” Emerson said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Take what we can, torch the rest. ALIE’s already gutted it, but at least this way she won’t have anything left to maintain.”

Raven nodded. “Yeah. Let’s rig it. And…” she gestured toward a row of deactivated robodogs lined up in a shadowed corner, “let’s grab some of those too. If our metal mutt’s gonna keep saving the world, it’s gonna need parts. Maybe some friends.”

Echo eyed the dogs warily. “Are you sure we can trust it? That thing nearly killed you last time.”

Raven exhaled through her nose. “That wasn’t it. That was ALIE, pulling the strings. Once we cut her out, it saved an entire clan. And now it’s Liza’s emotional support war machine. Also her personal streaming device for the Muppet Show.”

Echo blinked. “This is the weirdest war I’ve ever been in.”

Raven smirked. “Welcome to tech-side, Ice Girl.”

They loaded up the last of the robodogs—three of them still mostly intact—and Raven and Emerson moved quickly, planting charges across the base. Explosives in every major wing, around the hangar, near the servers. A full burn.

Then Raven froze. “Do you hear that?”

A low hum, barely there—then rising. Growing louder. Echo squinted out toward the ocean.

And saw it.

A black swarm of drones. Dozens. Maybe more. Headed straight for them.

“Fuck,” Echo muttered, eyes narrowing. “We did this with Farm Station once… Set the timer for—”

She watched their speed, the distance, the drones’ movement.

“Twenty-five seconds.”

Raven didn’t hesitate, punching in the timer on the detonator. Emerson was already behind the wheel, barking, “Go, go, now!” They dove into the rover as the first bullets tore through the air. The swarm was on them.

Gunfire rattled. Sharp metallic shrieks. Bullets tore through steel.

Boom… boom…

“This bitch is bulletproof,” Emerson grunted. “We’ll be fine—”

BOOM! A round punched through the dash, sparks flying.

“Fuck!”

“Five… four…” Raven counted down as they sped forward, the base shrinking in the mirror, “three… two… one—”

BOOOOOOOM.

The world behind them lit up in a wall of fire and smoke. The blast swallowed most of the drones mid-air. But two—just two—kept coming.

“On three,” Emerson shouted, steering hard. “Switch with me!”

“What?! I don’t—” Echo started, panicking from the passenger seat.

“You’ve never driven?” he snapped.

“No!”

Raven ducked as a bullet cracked the rear window. “Your muppet figured it out,” she snapped. “So can you! Get in the fucking seat!”

Emerson turned sharply to Raven. “My sniper rifle. Now.”

Raven scrambled for it behind the seat, fingers brushing past wires and gear.

“Faster, sky rat!” Emerson barked, his voice razor-edged.

Ronen opened his mouth, ready to mutter something like Ai bit yur badi vis yu hed, but Raven just smirked, snapping a fresh mag into the rifle.

“Here.” She shoved it into Emerson’s hands.

“Three… two… one…”

Emerson vaulted up through the roof hatch, rifle raised.

At the same time, Echo slid into the driver’s seat. The rover fishtailed hard as she took the wheel, steadying quickly. She’d seen Ontari tear across the training field enough times to know what to do.

Pedal. Wheel. Instinct. Drive like a war god.

“Brake—hard!” Emerson yelled.

“Break what?” Echo shot back, confused.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—stop!”

Echo blinked. “Oh…” She slammed the brakes.

The rover screeched to a halt. The two drones zipped past, overshooting their target.

BOOM.

One erupted midair in a burst of flame and shrapnel.

Emerson grinned. “One down.”

The last drone looped around and came straight at them.

“Go!” Emerson shouted.

Echo slammed the gas, the rover launching forward.

“Pivot left!”

She yanked the wheel. The rover swerved. Adrenaline surged—and for a moment, she understood why her girlfriend loved this so much.

Boom.

Pain ripped through her shoulder. Echo gasped, the force nearly knocking the wheel from her grip. Blood soaked her sleeve. Behind her, Ronen was already pressing a bandage down, steady hands working fast.

Boom.

The drone exploded in the rearview.

“Stop,” Emerson said, voice low now.

Echo braked. Emerson shifted into park.

Ronen was already pulling her from the seat, assessing the wound.

“No exit wound,” he muttered, voice tight.

“Fuck,” Echo whispered—then everything went dark.

“Call Heda,” Emerson said, his tone sharp. “Tell her we’re coming in hot.”

Ronen looked pale, visibly shaken as he cradled Echo’s bleeding shoulder.

“Is… close to toimboim,” he muttered. “Bullet… inside. Abby must hielp.”

“Okay, babe,” Raven said quickly, pulling out the radio. “Heda, come in. Now. Heda—”

“I’m listening, Raven.”

“Heda… we’re on our way in. Echo’s been hit. It’s bad. The bullet’s still inside.”

There was a pause.

Lexa exhaled, long and tight. “Understood.”

She glanced toward Ontari, who had gone quiet, her face drained of color. Lexa regretted answering the call in front of her.

Abby moved beside Ontari and gently took her hand.

“Sweetie… I promise. I’ll do everything I can.”

Ontari wiped at a tear sliding down her cheek. Her voice cracked.

“Please… mom.”

It was the longest two hours of Ontari’s life.

She’d made Heda radio Raven three times—each time, the same answer: She’s still alive.

Not stable. Not okay. Just… alive.

In all her years, being a healer’s apprentice had been one of Ontari’s proudest identities. She was good at it. It connected her to both her mothers—the one she barely remembered, and the one she’d never forget.

But now? Now the knowledge felt like a curse.

She knew what a wound like this meant. Knew what a high-caliber, armor-piercing round lodged near the heart usually led to. The only thing that saved Echo, likely, was the rover’s bulletproof glass slowing it down. But there was no exit wound. That meant it was still inside. A punctured lung. Internal bleeding. A hemothorax.

And Ontari knew what that meant.

She wished she didn’t.

She wished Echo wasn’t hurt. She wished this wasn’t real.

“Call again,” she whispered. “Please… Heda…”

Lexa glanced at her, helpless. Ontari had more power over them than she realized. She wasn’t just the muppet anymore. She was the president—the one Moss had chosen. And Lexa would call again, a thousand times if needed.

She glanced at the mech in the corner. Moss stood silently by, almost… sheepish. As if it knew what Ontari was feeling. As if it felt sorry.

“Raven, how far out are you?” Lexa asked, voice tight.

“Close,” Raven’s voice crackled through the radio. “Get ready. A few minutes. Open the gates. She’s fading fast.”

Ontari buried her face in Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then gently pulled away and stood.

“I’m scrubbing in,” Clarke said firmly. “Lex… stay with her.”

Ontari nodded weakly, eyes glassy. In that moment, she wished she hadn’t touched that damn wire. If she hadn’t, maybe she would be the one rushing to Echo’s side instead of lying here, useless, confined to a cot and barely able to keep from shaking.

And then, without a word, Moss walked over.

It stood beside her, looked down, and with a gentle mechanical whirl… turned on The Muppet Show.

Lexa blinked.

“What the fuck…”

Ontari, against all odds, cracked a tiny smile.

Maybe her dog did get it.

The next few hours were chaos—blinding, deafening chaos. Boots pounding on tile. Voices shouting orders. The usually unshakable Ronen tearing past her, Echo limp in his arms and soaked in blood.

Ontari stood frozen, unable to breathe.

Abby caught her gaze as she passed. That look—quiet, apologetic, honest. I wish I could lie to you.

Then Clarke emerged from the OR, blood smeared up to her elbows, eyes hollow. She rattled off words Ontari knew too well: ruptured lung… crushed rib… pneumothorax.

That was it. That was the line. Ontari stood, jaw clenched, heart splintering.

“Give her my blood,” she said, loud and clear. “Make her a nightblood. It’s her only chance.”

“No, muppet… no…” Clarke said, breath catching in her throat. “We can’t just—this isn’t how medicine works. You’re not a—”

“Or mine,” Lexa interrupted, stepping forward without hesitation. “It’s science. Do it. I command it.”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard. “Lex…”

Lexa straightened her posture, gaze unyielding. “I’m not asking, Wanheda.”

Clarke swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. “Yes, Heda. We’ll use yours. President Griffin still needs time to recover.”

Lexa nodded once, resolute.

“Come on,” Clarke said, already heading down the hall. “You may have bossed me into running an untested medical procedure—let’s see you try that on my mom.”

Ontari didn’t know what happened behind those doors. There were no raised voices, no arguments. Maybe Abby had been silently hoping for something—anything—to tip the scales. And now, that hope had walked in wearing war paint and command.

Ontari didn’t need to understand the details. All she knew was that when Clarke came out again, her hands were stained black.

And Echo was stabilizing.

****

Lexa stumbled into the lab, barely upright. She looked like death warmed over—pale, sweating, eyes barely open. Turns out turning someone into a nightblood wasn’t a one-and-done kind of thing. Hours had passed. Lexa hadn’t just donated blood—she’d practically emptied her veins to replace Echo’s supply.

When Abby tried to stop her—Lexa, that’s enough—the Commander, swaying on her feet, had muttered, I’m Heda, and I say it’s not.

And then promptly collapsed.

Twice.

Luckily, Clarke was deep into closing Echo’s chest by then, grumbling something about how inconvenient it was that she wouldn’t be able to have sex with her wife for at least a week.

Now, Lexa slumped into a chair, head pounding, limbs like stone. “Tell me something good, Ray.”

Raven lit up, holding up a battered drone like it was the crown jewels. “She dropped her keys,” she said, grinning.

“I just need to figure out which one opens the door,” she added, cracking it open with tools already in hand.

“Exactly,” Becca chimed in from the screen. “Once the antivirus is ready, we need a way to deliver it. Quietly.”

Lexa hummed in agreement, leaned back…

And was out cold before the next breath.

Chapter Text

Nia.

The searing hiss of the brand again. And again. And again.

Ontari frozen in the corner, unable to move, both of them bound by years of conditioning. Echo choking on her own blood, a tube jammed down her throat, her lungs on fire. Her body convulsing under the weight of pain. The brand left no skin untouched—shoulders, chest, back—each press of iron carving obedience into her bones.

And then—

Ontari moved.

Steel in hand, she drove the dagger into Nia’s gut, ripping it up and out like she was gutting a hog. The queen fell with a scream, and Ontari rammed the blood-slick tube into her corpse, face twisted in rage.

“We’re free,” Ontari whispered, trembling. “This will never happen again.”

And then another voice, steady and commanding, cut through the haze. Not Ontari’s. Not Nia’s. A voice like gravity. Calm, firm. Heda.

“I swear it,” the voice said.

And the fire came—racing through her veins, every cell alight. Burning. But slowly, that fire softened into heat. Into comfort. Into—

Echo blinked. Awake.

She was in a bed. The light was low. Her body was aching but still. She turned her head slightly.

Ontari.

Curled beside her, asleep, one arm draped protectively across her middle. Breathing softly. Safe.

Memory caught up. The attack. The bullet. No exit wound.

Echo looked down.

Her chest was wrapped in thick bandages, tightly wound, stained through.

The blood was black.

Echo gasped, panic slamming into her chest harder than the pain. The bandages. The black blood. The haze in her head. Was she still alive? Was this ALIE’s doing? Was this death? A dream? A trap?

Her throat burned. Dry. Raw.

“Li…” she croaked, wincing.

She tried again. “Liza…”

Ontari stirred. Then blinked. Registered the voice.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Echo?”

She shot upright so fast the bed creaked—and immediately broke down, sobs pouring from her as she threw her arms around Echo.

“You’re awake,” she choked out, clinging to her. “You’re really here…”

“I’m… here, love,” Echo croaked, her voice ragged. “I’m here. Mind telling me, though—why the hell am I bleeding black?”

Ontari exhaled shakily, pressing her face into Echo’s hair. “Yu laik natblida now.”

Echo blinked, stunned. “What? How? Why?”

“Lexa,” Ontari whispered. “She gave you her blood. All of it, pretty much. It was the only way. Your lung was torn. Your heart—nicked. Rib shattered. You were dying. Without nightblood, you wouldn’t have made it.”

Her voice cracked, and the tears came again—heavy and uncontrollable. “I almost lost you.”

“I’m sorry…” Echo muttered, eyes scanning the room. It wasn’t the Ark. Not a healer’s tent either. But it had that same sterile air, strange Skaikru machines blinking and beeping in rhythm, walls too clean to feel real.

“Liza… where are we?” she rasped.

Ontari sat up beside her, wiping her face. “Polis,” she said. “Heda’s tower… or, more accurately, the bunker beneath it. You’ve been out for four days.”

****

Raven sat beside RoBeca—the name they’d given Becca’s new vessel. A century-old digital mind now housed in an equally ancient synthetic body. It worked, mostly. Unless they forgot to plug her in every twelve hours. The battery degradation was real, and the readings couldn’t be trusted.

“We need liquid nitrogen,” Raven muttered, eyeing the towering quantum computer before them. Back in the early days of tech, computers were entire buildings. Then they shrank to fit in pockets. But quantum machines? Still massive. Still monsters.

Mobility wasn’t the issue. Cooling was.

“The original system’s toast,” RoBeca said in her artificial voice. “We’ll have to gut the old refrigeration units. Should be parts scattered throughout the bunker. It’ll take time.”

Raven sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. The last few days had been a storm. They’d left Arkadia and headed for Polis. The crew: her, Ronen, Lexa, Clarke, Monty—who dramatically swore never to return to Arkadia—Emerson, and eventually Ontari.

Ontari refused to leave Echo, still recovering. And since Moss only took orders from her, they had no choice but to bring both. Abby came too, riding in the back of the rover beside her patient.

It took a lot of drilling, and even more explosives, to break into the sealed bunker beneath the tower. But they managed it. The tower still stood. That was a miracle in itself.

And the payoff? Worth every scraped knuckle and busted drill bit.

Because if Raven thought the Ark was packed with gadgets…

Cadogan’s hidden fortress made it look like a toddler’s toy chest.

Heda and Clarke were down at the shoreline, greeting Luna and the Floukru as they finally came ashore. Raven watched from the tower, silently praying ALIE wouldn’t strike now—because if she did, the ocean-dwellers in their fragile boats wouldn’t stand a chance.

At President Muppet’s direct order, Moss stood perched atop the tower, missile system primed, long-range targeting locked in. If anything came out of the sky, it would burn before it touched the ground.

So far, ALIE hadn’t made another move. Not yet. But Raven knew it was only a matter of time.

Zik had deployed a swarm of bug drones near Maguire Joint Military Base. They did what they were built to do—crawled into the cracks, sent back feeds. What they saw wasn’t encouraging: a few reactivated Tesla bots, stumbling around, trying to repair a decaying fleet of killing machines. Most of the tech was unstable. Still dangerous, but not functional. Not yet.

Monty was in overdrive, building more EMPs—his specialty now.

And then the messenger from Azgeda arrived. He brought a gift: an intact Canadian drone. Ancient. Rusted. But still functional. Once repaired, Moss could theoretically take command of whatever was left of Canada’s peace-time arsenal.

The problem? Canada didn’t have much of a war machine to begin with.

It was a start—but against what ALIE was rebuilding, it wasn’t even close to enough.

“So… how do you like your new accommodations?” Raven asked, gesturing to the sleek, towering Tesla bot form now housing Becca.

“Beats being a dog,” Becca replied dryly. “But I won’t lie—it’s underwhelming. Still, not complaining. If Musk hadn’t been such a spectacular failure, ALIE would’ve flattened us weeks ago.”

Just then, Ontari burst in, grinning from ear to ear. “Echo’s up! Finally!”

Raven lit up. “That’s amazing. Abby’s in the lab. I’m sure she—”

But Ontari was already gone, sprinting down the corridor toward the pharma lab.

Abby was elbow-deep in inventory, sorting through rows of medications—enough to keep over a thousand people alive for five years, according to their intel. The discovery was a miracle in itself.

“Mom!” Ontari called out breathlessly as she ran in, practically leaping into her arms. “She’s awake!”

Abby hugged her back, tight. “Oh, sweetie… that’s incredible.” Her voice softened as her mind instantly pivoted to Echo’s vitals. “Oxygen levels?”

“Ninety-three,” Ontari said, still glowing. “Almost perfect.”

Abby’s steps slowed. That number meant everything. Echo’s lung had been torn, her ribs shattered, her heart grazed. In the OR, Abby had almost given up. CPR wasn’t even an option—the broken ribs would’ve torn Echo’s heart apart. So instead, she’d opened her chest and manually massaged the heart with her own hands. For minutes. Hours. She didn’t even know.

But she couldn’t let Ontari lose her. She wouldn’t.

Clarke had been at her side the whole time. And then Lexa walked in—and said four words that changed everything: “Use my blood. Now.”

There wasn’t time to argue. Abby nodded, hooked Lexa up, and prayed.

As Lexa’s blood entered Echo’s veins, the numbers stabilized. The bleeding slowed. Her breathing eased. The second time Lexa passed out, Abby knew she’d done it. Echo was going to live.

And more importantly, so would the hope Ontari had found. The wild, fierce girl she’d adopted as her own—Liza Griffin—would get her future. A life. A love.

Abby smiled faintly. “Let’s go see her.”

As they walked, Ontari leaned into Abby, resting her head gently on her shoulder. It still caught Abby off guard sometimes—this ease, this trust. There was a time when the girl flinched at every touch, conditioned to expect pain or worse. Back then, touch meant punishment or manipulation, never comfort. Never safety.

But now? Now she clung to hugs like they were lifelines. And Abby gave them freely.

Without making a fuss, Abby had thrown herself into studying trauma—PTSD, neural rewiring, all of it. The Ark had no use for psychology. Mental health was a luxury no one could afford in space. But on Earth, with Ontari… it became everything. Abby had saved her body. Now she was determined to mend her soul.

And somehow, her muppet flourished.

Ontari had bloomed into someone warm, curious, and—unapologetically—herself. She called Arkadia daily, kept tabs on her growing circle of friends, and had even turned Jasper into the founding member of the Liza Griffin Fan Club.

And if the scratches, bite marks, and very well-placed hickeys Abby discovered on Echo during surgery were any indication, Ontari’s development wasn’t limited to emotional healing.

Abby just smiled to herself.

Growth came in many forms.

They stepped into the gleaming medical wing on Level Four—clean, quiet, full of machines that hummed softly in the background. Abby made her way straight to the bed where Echo was propped up against a fortress of pillows, pale but alert. Her breathing was steady. Her eyes sharper than they had any right to be after what she’d endured.

“Welcome back,” Abby said with a soft smile, already reaching to check Echo’s vitals.

Ontari was at her side in an instant, helping unwrap the layers of bandages with careful hands. Abby paused as the last of the gauze came off. The surgical scar running down Echo’s sternum was clean. The bullet wound, once a gaping threat to her life, had knitted into a jagged but closed reminder. It was healing—fast.

“This is… miraculous,” Abby said, reaching for her tweezers to remove the stitches. “Nightblood saved your life. It was Liza’s idea. Your recovery… this isn’t normal. No one survives trauma like this without it.”

Echo winced slightly as the first stitch came out, but her voice was even. “I’ve survived worse, Abby.”

Abby shook her head. “No. You haven’t.”

She paused, then looked Echo in the eye as she gently pulled out another stitch.

“You died, Echo. More than once. I had to hand-pump your heart to bring you back.”

Ontari froze. Her grip on Echo’s hand tightened. Abby hadn’t told her that.

Echo didn’t speak—just turned her head and met Ontari’s gaze. Whatever pain flickered behind her eyes was softened by the weight of the girl still holding her hand like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world.

“Where’s… Heda?” Echo asked, her voice hoarse but steady. “I want to thank her. For… everything.”

She reached for Ontari’s hand and paused, brow furrowing as she noticed the scar across her palm—faint but clearly a burn.

“What’s this?”

Ontari hesitated. “ALIE launched a missile at Luna’s rig. My dog shot it down… just in time.”

Echo blinked. “Your what?”

“My dog,” Ontari said with a crooked smile. “Well… kind of. It’s a military bot. Calls me ‘President Liza.’ Thinks I run the United States or something.”

Echo stared at her like she’d completely lost it. “Missiles? Presidents? What are you even talking about?”

Ontari grinned wider. “You’ll see. It’s friendly. Most of the time.”

Echo narrowed her eyes. “Wait. That bot… the one that attacked Heda in the woods?”

Ontari nodded. “Same one. But it’s on our side now.”

Echo gave a long, slow exhale, rubbing her forehead. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

Echo shook her head and muttered, “This place gets weirder every day.” Then her voice shifted, her eyes sharp and focused. “She’s escalating. ALIE. This wasn’t a warning. It was a strike. She’s watching us… testing our defenses. This is no longer a waiting game.”

Ontari’s smile faded. Echo wasn’t wrong.

****

Clarke clung to Lexa’s back as Entwai moved steadily through the trees, flanked on all sides by armed warriors from every clan in the coalition. The convoy was silent, alert. Even with Emerson riding just behind them, shotgun across his lap loaded with birdshot—barely a threat to ALIE’s drones but better than nothing—Clarke felt the weight of vulnerability settle in her gut. They were exposed out here.

Luna had radioed ahead. She was returning. And she wasn’t coming alone.

Clarke’s breath caught as the trees began to thin and the horizon opened up. The ocean. Endless, gleaming, wild. She had never seen it before.

She tightened her arms around Lexa, barely whispering, “Lex… it’s beautiful…”

Lexa exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

“This,” she said quietly, “is what I see every time I look into your eyes.”

Clarke leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Lexa’s neck, careful to avoid the faint scar at the base of her skull. That mark—once the seat of the Flame—was now just a memory. The AI that had once driven commanders to greatness or madness now lived at the heart of the Polis bunker’s mainframe, shielding them all from ALIE’s reach. The fact that Lexa no longer carried it was one of the coalition’s most tightly guarded secrets.

Clarke, for one, was grateful. Without the weight of centuries pressing down on her, Lexa had become someone different—softer, more present. A partner, not just a leader. A girl who could tease and laugh, who could love without calculation.

Though, to be fair, that same gentle soul had ambushed Clarke in the woods, tied her to a tree, and reminded her just how “Heda” she could still be. Clarke hadn’t minded. Not even a little. Not even when Lexa had spent fifteen painstaking minutes afterward pulling splinters from her ass—grinning the entire time.

“Look,” Lexa said, nodding toward the horizon. Out past the waves, a cluster of boats cut through the water, slowly approaching shore.

They reached the sand, and Lexa swung down from Entwai, offering her hand to Clarke. Clarke took it, dismounted, then crouched down and scooped a handful of sand. She let it run through her fingers, mesmerized. “Wow.”

“In summer,” Lexa said softly, “we’ll come back. I’ll teach you to swim.”

Clarke smiled. It was autumn now. Nearly six months since she’d crashed to Earth. Half a year that felt like several lifetimes. She turned to Lexa, who was watching her with that same quiet reverence, and kissed her—right there in front of the guards, Emerson, everyone.

“My world,” she whispered.

Then the first boats reached shore.

More followed. Dozens. Small at first. Then larger. Many more than expected.

And then the water rippled.

A hulking black submarine breached the surface with a mechanical groan—its nose cutting through the waves directly in line with Luna’s fleet.

Clarke’s blood ran cold. “Fuck…”

Emerson was already moving, grabbing the radio from his belt. “Call the president—now. We need an airstrike. Immediately.”

A hiss of hydraulics cut through the roar of the surf as bays opened on the submarine’s hull. Twin machine guns emerged—one swiveling toward the boats, the other locking onto the shoreline.

BRRRRRRRT.

“Run!” Emerson shouted.

Lexa grabbed Clarke’s hand and sprinted. They dove behind a jagged boulder as bullets tore through sand and air. Emerson dove in right after them. Around them, warriors scattered for cover—some not fast enough. Screams and gunfire filled the beach.

“Take cover!” Lexa shouted, sword already drawn.

Clarke, pressed flat to the rock, looked at her. “A sword? Really?”

Lexa glanced down, gave her a dry smile. “Old habits.”

The radio on Emerson’s belt crackled. Becca.

“Coordinates. Now.”

“You have my location?” Emerson barked.

“Affirmative.”

“Five hundred feet north, two-fifty west.”

A pause.

“Fuck. We need Liza,” Becca muttered. “Give me a minute.”

That’s all they had—if that.

“We need to draw its fire this way,” Clarke said, glancing at the boats. “They’ve got nowhere to run.”

Emerson groaned, stood up, and took aim at the sub with his shotgun. “This isn’t what we prepped for,” he growled. “Drones, not a goddamn war relic.”

BOOM BOOM BOOM. He fired twice before ducking just in time. The sub’s guns shifted, zeroing in.

The barrage intensified. The rock behind them shook with each impact.

Clarke groaned. “I hate you.”

Emerson smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re not making it easy.”

Then—BOOM! A missile launched from the sub, striking just yards from their position. The shockwave knocked them flat.

A second missile screamed overhead from the sky. It struck near the sub, but missed by a few feet.

“Ten feet north!” Emerson shouted. “We gotta move!”

No one argued.

They bolted for the tree line. Another missile slammed into the boulder behind them, shredding it into molten rock and smoke. The ground shook beneath their feet as they disappeared into the woods.

Clarke spun around, her heart skipping—just in time to see a platform rise from the submarine’s deck, teeming with drones.

“Oh shit. It’s coming after—”

SWOOSH.

A missile tore through the air overhead, slamming into the sub with a deafening crack. Then another followed.

Clarke blinked, stunned, as fire erupted across the steel hull.

Maybe getting a killer war dog wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The submarine groaned, metal twisting as it began to sink beneath the waves. Behind it, the boats came into view—still moving—but there were fewer than before.

Too few.

Lexa dusted off her coat, exhaling through gritted teeth.

“I miss Nia,” she muttered.

Clarke gave her a sidelong glance, deadpan. “I don’t.” Her mind flashed to that night in Nia’s tent—her pants around her knees, a steel implement shoved between her lips. “Hard pass.”

They made their way back to the beach as Emerson called in over the radio. “Cease fire. Target neutralized.”

He glanced toward the tower, where Moss still stood sentinel like some cybernetic war god.

“These quads,” he said, referring to the missile-firing drones, “DARPA’s last gasp before the end. Some models could fly. We didn’t get any in Mount Weather—Moss must’ve had lockdown from the beginning. But now? Your little muppet’s got herself the deadliest pet on Earth.”

Lexa let out a long breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “You did good.”

Emerson blinked, clearly not used to compliments. He gave a silent nod.

Lexa lifted the radio. “Luna… report.. Are you alright?”

“No, I am not alright!” Luna’s voice cracked through the speaker, fury and heartbreak laced in every word. “What the hell did you drop on us?”

Lexa closed her eyes. “It was supposed to be safe. It was Titus who—”

“Twelve boats,” Luna snapped. “Twelve. I don’t know how many we lost. The children made it. That’s the only good news I have.”

And then Lexa froze.

The pattern. Moss, when they first found it under ALIE’s control, had gunned for her. And now? The sub hadn’t targeted Arkadia. Or Polis. It had gone after Luna’s fleet.

She didn’t believe in coincidence.

This wasn’t strategy. It was a hit list.

Titus. That bastard.

He didn’t just offer ALIE information. He gave her names.

Luna. Clarke. Every nightblood. Maybe even Lexa herself.

And now the AI was crossing them off. One by one.

It’s targeting the nightbloods. Every one Titus ever knew about. Lexa stiffened, her jaw tight as the realization fully landed.

“It doesn’t know the Flame’s not in me anymore,” she said.

Clarke met her eyes instantly. “Of course. Of course it doesn’t.”

They didn’t need to say his name again. But Clarke did anyway. “Titus. What a piece of shit.”

She wasn’t just angry—she was calculating. “And Moss—when it was rebooted, it picked Liza. Maybe ALIE has something similar. Not a user exactly, but a… handler. An advisor.”

Lexa turned to her, brow furrowing.

“Makes sense,” Clarke continued. “It’s AI. It follows directives. If it can’t lead, it finds someone who will. Moss picked the muppet. What if ALIE picked someone too?”

Lexa reached for her radio. “Becca,” she said. “Does ALIE select a primary user?”

There was a pause.

Then: “Not exactly. But yes. It was designed to choose a human advisor. A steward. It used to be me. Until it rewrote its own mission and burned the world.”

Lexa closed her eyes. “Shit.”

She turned back to Clarke, watching the boats dock, wounded carried ashore. “Luna and her people are going to hate that bunker. It’s dark. It’s metal. But it’s the only place we can keep them safe.”

Clarke nodded. “And us?”

Lexa shook her head. “You and I don’t hide. Not now.”

There it was again. The difference. Lexa didn’t try to shield Clarke from the fight—she stood with her in it. Trusted her. Treated her like an equal, a partner.

And that right there? That was the reason Clarke had nearly thrown away her seven-day self-imposed celibacy oath the second she saw Lexa bleeding herself dry for Echo. Right on this cursed beach, surrounded by broken bodies and saltwater.

Let Floukru watch. Let the world watch. After the bonding ceremony, Clarke had stopped caring about who saw what. And right now?

There were things she wanted Lexa to know. Viscerally. Urgently.

Respect wasn’t the only thing she intended to show her.

****

Ontari sprinted up the spiraling ramp of the tower, legs burning, lungs on fire. The crude lift system—a counterweight pulley rig the Grounders called an “elev”—had taken too long to climb. She’d practically leapt out the second it creaked to a halt near the top.

She didn’t stop to catch her breath. She just ran, heart pounding, mouth repeating the coordinates Raven gave her over and over like a prayer.

“Near the shoreline of Annapolis,” she muttered. “Thirty-eight point nine eight zero five… seventy-six point four eight nine…”

She burst onto the roof, nearly colliding with Moss, who stood tall and still in the center of the platform, sensors already tracking her movement.

“Moss,” she wheezed, dropping to her knees, hands braced against the floor. “I… need you to hit target at those coordinates.”

The robodog turned its head slowly.
“Password, President Griffin.”

Ontari didn’t hesitate. “What’s a password.”

“Password accepted,” Moss replied.

The panel on its side snapped open. The missile pod whirred, rotating into position. A soft mechanical hum vibrated under Ontari’s feet.

On the screen:
Countdown initiated.

3.
2.
1.

WHOOSH.

The missile launched, trailing fire as it screamed toward the horizon. Ontari didn’t even stand. She just stayed there on her knees, whispering the coordinates one more time.

Just in case the spirits were still listening.

Ontari stood, brushing dirt from her pants and patting Moss gently on the head.

“I hope it hits…” she muttered.

A moment later, her radio crackled.

“Ten feet north.”

She glanced at Moss. “You heard that?”

No response. The launcher rotated silently.

WHOOSH.

Another missile cut through the air. Ontari moved toward the edge of the rooftop, watching the tree line far in the distance.

Two flashes lit up the horizon.

BOOM.
BOOM.

She smiled and gave Moss’s metal cheek a light tap.

“Good job.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. President.”

Then, unexpectedly:
“May I ask a question?”

Ontari blinked. “Uh… sure.”

“Why do you treat me with affection? My original parameters indicate affection is reserved for interactions between humans.”

Ontari sighed, sitting down beside the machine, legs dangling over the edge.

“Because you’re good,” she said simply. “You helped me. You helped others. That means you deserve kindness. That’s what my mom says. And Clarke. And Heda.”

Moss was silent for a moment. Then:
“Programming update accepted.”

Ontari snorted softly. “Can I ask you something now?”

“Of course, Madame President.”

She looked up at the sky. “When Echo was hurt… and I was falling apart… you played The Muppet Show. Why?”

Moss’s head rotated slightly.

“Your body language and speech patterns indicated psychological distress. Based on previous observation, The Muppet Show produced the highest emotional recovery rate. My primary directive is to protect you—physically and emotionally.”

Ontari smiled, pressing her forehead lightly to Moss’s side.

“You’re a good dog.”

Moss whirred.

“And you’re… a statistically irregular head of state.”

Ontari laughed. “Damn right I am.”

Moss turned its head toward Ontari, voice calm but uncertain.
“In the current environment, my systems are struggling to distinguish enemies from allies. The political infrastructure of the United States no longer exists. I require clarification: who is the enemy?”

Ontari sighed and crossed her arms, thinking for only a second.
“It’s simple. If it’s alive, it’s a friendly. If it tries to hurt someone, it’s an enemy. Anything under ALIE’s control? That’s definitely an enemy.”

Moss processed for a beat.
“Parameters accepted. Target identification protocol updated.”

Ontari gave a small smile. “I’m heading out. Will you be alright?”

“Affirmative, Madame President.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Liza. Just Liza. No president.”

Moss dipped its head. “Yes, Liza.”

Ontari paused before turning away, patting the machine lightly on the side of its head.
“I wish I had you back in Azgeda. Things might’ve turned out different.”

Without another word, she stepped off the rooftop and into the tower.

And just like that, Liza Griffin earned herself another loyal friend.

She ran down the stairs, took the crank-lift elevator, and couldn’t help but smirk as every guard she passed snapped to attention. The legendary queen-slayer, President Liza “Muppet” Ontari—from Azgeda, Trikru, and Skaikru all at once. Spirits, what an identity crisis. She really needed to cut a few titles from that list someday. Still, the thought made her grin. That was her brain now—scattered, weird, and full of strange observations. A far cry from what it used to be: pain, obedience, survival, shame.

The elevator doors creaked open, and she jogged down into the bunker, slowing when she noticed the noise. Something was happening near the entrance. Lia was there, clearly trying to push past the guards to get inside. They weren’t budging.

As expected, Lia shifted tactics. The attitude disappeared, replaced with a smile and an exaggerated lean into charm. Flirting. Ontari couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her.

That was all it took. Lia’s head snapped around. As soon as she saw Ontari, she lit up and bolted toward her.

“I heard you were in Polis!” Lia said, practically bouncing. “I was supposed to come with the kids, but then Heda said not to. I thought—”

Ontari waved her off and pulled her into a tight hug. “We’ve got bugs. No need for kids.”

Lia blinked. “What?”

“Never mind. Doesn’t matter,” Ontari muttered. “I wanted to come see you… but Echo’s hurt. I couldn’t leave her.”

They started down the corridor toward the medical wing, Lia glancing around with open suspicion at the cold, echoing halls of the bunker.

“What is this place?” she asked. “What’s going on? I didn’t even know this was here—and trust me, I’d know.”

Ontari exhaled slowly. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you. But… we’re at war again, sis. And it’s bad.”

“War? With who?” Lia frowned. “I’ve heard whispers. Strange tech… something happening in Delfikru…”

Ontari hesitated. She hated keeping things from Lia. Her only sister. The one who endured Nia’s cruelty to shield Ontari from the worst of it. But right now, the full truth lived in whispers between a handful of people. The coalition was still shaking from the last war. If they couldn’t neutralize ALIE quietly, before she escalated, panic would tear through what little unity they had left.

So Ontari just sighed. “Come on. Echo’s waiting.”

They stepped into the unit, the air sharp with antiseptic and quiet tension. Abby was hunched over Echo’s monitor, making adjustments with fast, clinical precision.

“Mom,” Ontari said, her voice bright with affection. “Look who’s here… Zoella came to—”

Lia froze for a second. Mom? She looked at Abby, then at Ontari. She really meant it. That bond was real.

But there was no time to process. Abby cut in, her voice all steel.

“We have incoming. I’ll need you both. Go change.”

No warmth. No welcome. Just the doctor, switched on and fully in command.

Ontari didn’t hesitate. “Come on, sis. This way.”

Lia followed, heart already racing. She’d assisted Abby before—back in TonDC, helping care for Ontari during recovery. Cleaning wounds, prepping supplies, fetching meds. That had felt important.

This felt like something else entirely.

As they passed through the corridor toward the scrub room, Ontari glanced back and smiled. “TonDC was training, sis,” she said. “Welcome to the deep end.”

Lia swallowed hard. The lights were brighter here. The stakes, higher. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t just a sister or a survivor.

She was about to become part of something bigger.

Ontari helped Lia into a set of scrubs, fingers quick but gentle. Despite the chaos outside—whoever was hurt, whatever mess was coming in—she couldn’t help the quiet grin tugging at her lips. It felt good, familiar in a way she never thought she’d get back. Being here with her sister.

Lia tugged the collar up slightly, adjusting the scarf that always covered the scar on her cheek. The star-shaped ink that masked the natrona brand—her mark of sacrifice. A lifetime spent playing Nia’s game, giving up her body and name, all for Ontari’s safety.

In those first days after Nia’s captivity, Ontari had barely looked at her. Couldn’t. Too raw. Too broken. Abby, Clarke, and Lexa were the only people she trusted not to touch her wrong. Even that took time.

But that time changed her. Now she stood taller. Didn’t flinch at every reach or voice. She’d helped save lives. She’d made friends, even mechanical ones. Hell, she was President Liza to a missile-launching robodog.

She could handle a sister. She wanted to.

“Come on, sis,” Ontari said, giving Lia a nudge. “We gotta get the bay ready. I’m really glad you’re here.”

She paused at the doorway, grin back full force. “Oh—and wait ‘til you meet my dog.”

****

“Your contributions have been impressive,” Lexa said, turning slightly in the saddle to glance at Emerson, her posture regal atop Entwai. Clarke sat behind her, one arm around Lexa’s waist, the other hand suspiciously under her shirt in a way that suggested… progress.

It had been a rough few nights in Polis. They were back in the tower. Back in that bed. And Lexa—Lexa was suffering.

Not from blood loss, not anymore. But from Clarke’s nightly whispered fantasies, every one more vividly depraved than the last. Clarke being bound to the throne. Displayed. Claimed. Apparently that day in the forest had only scratched the surface.

And each time Lexa reached for her—heart pounding, body more than ready—Clarke would press a finger to her lips and remind her: You need rest, Heda. You almost died.

Lexa wasn’t sure if Clarke was healing her or punishing her.

But Echo had lived. The muppet hadn’t had to lose her. So yes, Lexa could survive a little more torture. Probably.

“I’m… glad you approve, Commander,” Emerson said, clearly unsure when exactly he went from public enemy number one to a decorated scout in Heda’s inner circle.

Lexa didn’t answer. Not at first. Clarke’s fingers were now playing with the scar at her hip.

Lexa gritted her teeth and stared straight ahead.

“Don’t make me promote you, Emerson,” she finally muttered.

“Yes, Heda,” he said, wisely keeping his eyes on the road.

Lexa sighed, eyes scanning the road ahead, the convoy stretching far behind them. An entire clan on the move. It wasn’t as catastrophic as it could’ve been—seven wounded, one dead on her side. Luna’s? Two dead, four wounded. The sea had saved them. The Floukru knew how to vanish into the water. And Lexa’s warriors? Turns out, they knew how to follow orders when told to run.

“We thought the sub only had one missile,” Lexa said quietly, her hand reaching back to still Clarke’s under her shirt. “But it fired two more. Both aimed right at us.”

Clarke didn’t pull away. Instead, her palm settled against Lexa’s stomach, warm, deliberate. Lexa kept her expression unreadable—because ahead of them, Emerson rode on, straight-backed and focused, but Lexa could tell from the stiffness in his neck he knew exactly what was going on behind him.

“There are different missiles, Commander,” Emerson called back without turning around. “What it fired before—long range. Rare. These two? Short range. Tactical. Still deadly.”

Lexa nodded, grateful—though she wouldn’t say it out loud—for Emerson’s presence. He’d been the enemy once. Now? His insight into ALIE’s tech, his blunt efficiency, his discipline… it was exactly what they needed. Even if his new loyalty still surprised her.

And right now, she appreciated that he was pointedly pretending not to notice Clarke’s hand sliding lower, fingers pressing into Lexa’s hip bone, slow and intentional.

Lexa exhaled through her nose.

“I thought you were the one with the public humiliation dreams,” she muttered under her breath.

Clarke only grinned into the back of her neck. “Who says I’m not sharing it?”

Lexa chuckled, low and breathless. This was ridiculous.

But gods, it felt alive.

After everything—the chaos, the loss, the missiles—Clarke’s hand at her waist, the warmth of her body pressed close behind her, the scent of sea salt and blood and leather in the air—it grounded her. Reminded her that they’d survived. Again.

She needed the distraction. Her nerves were shot. A nuclear submarine nearly wiping them off the map? Expected, in a way. War was chaos. Enemies, machines, missiles—those, she could face.

But being screamed at in front of her army by a clan leader—and not answering with blood?

That was dangerous.

Luna had gone feral the moment her feet hit the sand and her people were safe. Not one word of thanks. Just fury. Raw, blistering rage. The kind that made warriors glance sideways, unsure whether to step in or look away.

Lexa had stood still, taking it. Letting Luna hurl accusations and spit curses. Words like reckless, murderer, failure hurled at her like blades.

She’d looked to Clarke. Just a glance.

And Clarke… had shrugged. That subtle, maddening shrug that said You’re Heda. Do what you must. Spare her? I’ll back you. Kill her? Still with you.

Clarke never second-guessed Lexa in public. Never undermined her. The fighting, the arguments, the pushback—that was for closed doors. Not this.

So Lexa had made a decision.

She turned to the healer standing nearby. “Sedate her. She’s having a nervous breakdown.”

The moment was burned into her mind—the shock on Luna’s face as two guards moved in, firm but gentle, a vial of sedative jammed under her nose before she could lash out.

She didn’t fight. Not really. But the betrayal in her eyes said everything.

Lexa didn’t care. She’d won.

By the time she turned back, ready to share the moment with Clarke, Wanheda was already gone—shoulders deep in wounded, blood to her elbows, saving whoever she could.

Lexa sighed.

She’d deal with Luna later. For now, there was work to do. And a war to fight.

They had to get that quantum computer online—because ALIE wasn’t slowing down. This wasn’t a human war. She didn’t sleep. She didn’t bleed. She didn’t hesitate.

Whatever twisted legacy Titus left behind—his digital ghost handing over a target list—wasn’t about revenge. It was strategy. ALIE wasn’t punishing them. She was eliminating obstacles.

Lexa thought of Gaia. The way her body rejected ALIE’s chip, the way her nightblood burned it out like poison. That’s what made them different. The flame-blooded weren’t just survivors—they were immune.

Luna. Ontari. Gaia. The natblida children. And now Echo.

Lexa caught herself smiling at the thought. It wasn’t just the muppet that made Echo interesting. It was the way she carried herself—sharp mind, unshakable loyalty, and that perfectly dry sarcasm that somehow cut deeper than a sword.

Lexa was starting to like her. More than like, maybe. Echo didn’t just survive the impossible—she made it look effortless. And Lexa respected that.

“Heda… Clarke… heya…”

Lexa turned at the sound of the voice—familiar, but deeper now. Aden. He was riding his own horse with Sami behind him, both of them proud, refusing to ride passenger. Grown up enough to insist on their own mounts.

Lexa tilted her head and offered a small smile. “Heya, Strikon. Good to see you. And you,” she added to Sami. “Sorry your vacation got cut short… but—”

Aden smiled, cutting her off gently. “It was nice… but we’re happy to go home.”

Lexa’s smile stayed, though she didn’t tell them that “home” wasn’t the floor under hers in the tower anymore—but deep beneath it. In a bunker made of steel and old-world tech.

Still, she had something good to offer. Something light.

“You’ll like home,” she said. “It now comes with the muppet show.”

Aden blinked. “What’s that, Heda?”

Lexa shrugged. “Ontari—Liza—will show you. You’ll enjoy it.”

Clarke chuckled from behind her. “This is priceless.”

“Who’s that?” Sami asked, pointing toward Emerson riding just ahead. “Is he skaikru?”

Clarke shook her head. “Meet Lieutenant Carl Emerson—formerly of Mount Weather security, and now… our resident expert in all things completely insane.”

Aden blinked. “Mounon?”

Lexa nodded. “Sha, Strikon. Mounon.”

“But he was the enemy…” Sami frowned, confused. “How is he here?”

“So was I,” Clarke said simply. “First thing Heda ever said to me was, ‘So, you’re the one who killed 300 of my warriors.’ And yet…”

Aden exhaled slowly. “Wow.”

“He just saved all of us,” Lexa added, grateful Clarke had finally pulled her hand out of her pants—at least in front of the children. Things had been getting dangerously close to a detour. “He called in the missile that sank the black boat.”

“What even was that?” Aden asked.

“A submarine,” Clarke explained. “A boat that can travel under water.”

“I thought submarines were supposed to be yellow,” Lexa said deadpan.

Clarke laughed. “That’s just a song.”

Lexa nodded, her jaw tight. Skaikru songs never sat right with her. To her, music was meant to carry truth—sagas of warriors, sacrifice, and legacy. Not nonsense about yellow submarines.

Emerson slowed his horse and matched their pace. “We need better weapons,” he said, no pleasantries. “Heavy-duty. RPGs, machine guns, launchers. Moss can’t win this war on its own. Not against what ALIE’s building.”

Aden and Sami fell quiet. They both glanced at Emerson with unease—Aden more composed, Sami visibly unsure. The man once stood for everything they feared. Now he was riding beside Heda, strategizing. With confidence.

Emerson saw their faces and something shifted in his. For a brief moment, he didn’t see two nightbloods. He saw his own kids. A boy and a girl. Ghosts of what was.

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Where would we find these weapons? You nearly died last time. ALIE won’t leave anything undefended.”

“We’ll need two EMPs,” Emerson replied. “One for the facility. One for when she shows up to reclaim it.”

Clarke tensed. “Where?”

“Jersey,” Emerson said. “Pre-war, it had everything. Bases, ports, artillery stockpiles. And it’s not far.”

“She’ll expect you,” Clarke said. She wanted to resent him—still tried to—but he made it difficult.

Emerson shrugged. “Then I’ll bring flowers.”

He glanced back. “Names?”

“Aden,” the boy said.

Sami hesitated, then lifted her chin. “Sami.”

Emerson nodded. “Strong names.”

He clicked his tongue and moved his horse forward toward the rising silhouette of Polis, where reconstruction had already begun.

Clarke leaned toward Lexa. “Your enemies are getting charming.”

Lexa smirked. “They know better than to try that on me.”

****

Luna woke to unfamiliar walls—cold, sterile, silent. Not the groaning rust of the rig or the soft splash of waves, but something built, sealed, artificial. She turned her head. A row of cots lined the room. Her people. A few of Heda’s, too. Wounded, resting, breathing. At least breathing.

She tried to sit up and found her wrists strapped to the bed rails.

“What the—”

Then she saw her. The girl. Not the broken thing she once left the sea to protect, fearing Lexa or Titus would devour her alive. No, Ontari was standing tall now, hair pulled back, blue scrubs marked with blood, calm confidence in her stride.

“Heya, Luna,” Ontari said as she stepped closer.

“Where the fuck am I, and why am I tied to a bed?” Luna snapped.

Ontari barely reacted. “Polis. Or the bunker under it. Becca’s tomb. Depends who you ask. And the restraints? Heda’s orders. Something about you saving your tantrums for private audiences. Clarke’s the example, apparently.”

Luna glared. “Let me go. I need to piss.”

Ontari tilted her head. “I’ll grab you a bedpan.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned to go. “Heda will be here soon.”

Luna growled and sank back against the mattress. “This is insane.”

Chapter Text

“Look… you know I love you like a sister,” Lexa said, crouched beside the cot, pulling the curtain closed behind her. “But you really need to save your tantrums for when we’re alone.”

Before Luna could fire back, Lexa jabbed two fingers into her side.

Luna jolted. “Don’t—!”

Too late. Another jab. Then a full-on tickle assault. Luna thrashed, cursing, laughing despite herself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she gasped between giggles, trying to twist away. “Stop—Lexa—stop—”

But Lexa kept at it, relentless, calm, like it was just another part of command.

Something was off. Luna could feel it. No cold fury. No righteous speech. No show of power. Just… this.

Lexa paused long enough to pull her hair to the side and tilt her head, revealing the small, clean scar right above the faded infinity symbol.

“I’m back,” she said softly. “Me. Just me.”

Luna stared, breathing hard. She didn’t get a chance to reply—Lexa dove in again, fingers jabbing, laughter bubbling up against Luna’s will.

“You’ve definitely been misbehaving,” Lexa muttered. “And I’m making up for lost time.”

And despite herself, Luna smiled.

She didn’t want to. She shouldn’t have. Her home was gone—what was left of it buried under the wreckage of a missile that never should’ve existed. Her people were adrift, soaked and shaken, clutching what little they had left. They were alive, yes, but everything else felt broken.

And still… she smiled.

Because this—this version of Lexa—was the one she remembered. Before the flame. Before the title. Before duty hardened her into something unrecognizable. The girl she used to race across cliffs with. The one who laughed until she couldn’t breathe.

That girl was back. Not just softened by Clarke, not just changed—healed. And not just human.

A goofball.

Lexa grinned like she knew exactly what Luna was thinking. Probably did.

“Gods,” Luna muttered, shaking her head with a breathless laugh. “You’re so annoying.”

Lexa just raised an eyebrow. “But effective.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “Untie me. Please.”

Lexa straightened, the warmth in her eyes cooling into steel. “Do not ever speak to me the way you did in front of others. Next time, I won’t be able—or willing—to call it a meltdown and save your pride.” Her voice was calm, but firm. “You’re family. Always have been. Always will be. To me, to Clarke, to this fight. But flame or no flame, I am Heda. And you will not disrespect me in public again. Understood?”

Luna paused, then nodded. “Moba… Heda. I… we’ve been through a lot these past few days. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore, only that it’s bigger than anything we’ve faced before. I was scared. I’m sorry.”

Lexa’s gaze softened again. “Ok then.”

She leaned in.

“Just one more time.”

And without warning, launched one last tickle assault.

Luna howled, kicking helplessly against the bed restraints. “You’re the worst!”

Lexa smirked. “And you’re welcome.”

****

Ontari collapsed into a chair in Abby’s new office, limbs heavy, scrubs stained, brain fried. Clarke dropped into the one beside her with a groan. Lia took the last seat, slouching so far down she nearly slid off. All three looked like they’d been through a war—which, technically, they had.

Abby had driven them hard, barking orders like a commander in triage mode, no time for softness, no space for rest. The wounds they treated weren’t just scrapes and burns. These were gunshot wounds. Finger-thick bullets that tore through flesh like paper. The kind of damage that made even seasoned grounder warriors flinch.

Lia stretched out her arms with a quiet groan. “I… wow. Strik, sis. You’re… wow.”

Ontari had stunned her. The way she jumped in when the wounded started rolling in—shoulder to shoulder with Clarke, calm, focused, all business. She worked like she’d been raised in that medical wing. Reading vitals. Calling for tools Lia didn’t even recognize. Stitching with eerie precision. Kind, but efficient. Soft eyes. Steady hands.

“I can’t believe this is you,” Lia said, shaking her head slowly.

Ontari chuckled, leaning her head back against the chair. “Me neither. Honestly, if you hadn’t come when you did… things might’ve gone sideways. You helped more than you know.”

It was true. Clarke and Ontari might’ve been nurse-level, and Abby was the master at the helm—but Lia had her own kind of magic. She knew just enough from TonDC to anticipate what was needed before anyone had to ask. That alone kept more than one patient breathing.

Then there was RoBeca.

The mech-body glided in awkwardly—hydraulics wheezing slightly—and tried to help. She wasn’t fast, or graceful, and her touch was anything but gentle. But her knowledge? Unmatched. She guided them through procedures with flawless clinical detail. Ontari had whispered once that RoBeca could probably perform surgery with her voice alone.

The patients, meanwhile, didn’t know what to make of her. A talking robot woman in a half-shattered Tesla bot frame giving instructions like it was nothing? Half of them stared. One screamed. Another proposed marriage.

Lia’s face during all of it? Priceless. Eyes wide. Jaw slack. Like she’d stepped into a tech-driven fever dream.

And honestly? That’s exactly what it felt like.

“How are the kids?” Clarke asked, voice softer now. The chaos of the last few hours faded just enough to let the real weight settle back in.

Three hundred children—orphans taken from across the coalition. Rescued from Nia’s underground network, where they’d been bred, bought, and broken. Trained to be spies, servants, weapons… or worse. Now they lived in a makeshift camp along the southern flank of Polis, near the Potoma River. Their future uncertain, but finally their own.

Lia sighed. “They’re a handful. Most don’t talk much. Still jumpy. Still watching everything like it might hurt them. But… they’re getting better. Slowly. A few tried to run. We brought them back. No punishments. Just food. Blankets. Time.”

Lexa had placed Lia in charge after TonDC. Gave her people—retired warriors, old farmers, caretakers—to build something resembling a home. A chance. A village where healing might one day look like play.

Ontari exhaled hard. “Poor souls…”

She knew what that kind of life did to a mind. She had been one of them. Not just another child in the kennel, but the chosen one. Nia’s personal prize. Her pet. Conditioned not just to obey, but to smile while doing it. These kids hadn’t been chosen. They were the discarded ones. Broken mutts trained for cruelty and compliance. No titles. No escape.

Ontari looked at Clarke, then Lia, and swallowed the ache clawing its way up her throat. “Whatever it takes,” she said, “we’ll help them.”

“We will,” Clarke said. “As soon as we deal with the evil AI that’s trying to end the world… then we’ll focus on the kids.”

“AI?” Lia asked, brow furrowed. The damage she’d just seen—those shredded bodies, twisted metal, the sheer scale of it—still spun in her mind. “What is that?”

“It’s like a spirit,” Ontari explained, pulling her hair into a messy bun. “But one that can possess people and technology. It’s bad. You’ll get it when you meet my puppy.”

Clarke blinked. “You’re still calling that walking death machine your puppy?”

Ontari smirked. “He saved our lives. Twice. He’s a good dog.”

She grabbed a tablet and started organizing something. “Now… everyone’s more or less stable. We need shifts. I’ll take the next six hours, then Clarke—you rest—take over after. I’ll stay with mom. You and RoBeca cover after that.”

Clarke stared at her, stunned. The little chaos muppet was making shift schedules now. A command voice. Thoughtful delegation. Clarke tried not to burst with pride.

Lia was just as surprised. “I’ll help too,” she offered. “I’ll stay with you.”

“No,” Ontari said firmly. “You said it yourself—it’s your day off.”

Lia smiled. “And this is how I want to spend it. Let me.”

Ontari hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But we need more healers. From upstairs. Carefully chosen. We can’t spread panic. Not yet. I’ll ask Heda who we can trust.”

“If you didn’t have Echo,” Clarke muttered with a teasing grin, “and I didn’t have Heda, I’d marry you, muppet.”

Ontari shrugged. “Your loss.”

****

“This… is depressing,” RoBeca muttered, settling stiffly beside Raven in the bunker’s cavernous maintenance hall. Her metal joints hissed slightly as she sat. “I tried to help in medical. I couldn’t even hold a tray, let alone do anything meaningful. I used to be a rockstar surgeon—second to none. And now…”

“Now you’re a hundred-year-old digital badass who literally came back from the dead to help us save the planet,” Raven shot back, not looking up from the mass of tangled tubing and jury-rigged refrigeration parts spread across the floor. “Without you, we’d be helpless. Completely in the dark. So spare me the pity party, Doc. You may not have your hands anymore, but you’ve still got your brain—or processor or whatever’s left. You helped us take down Nia, and you’ll help us destroy ALIE too.”

The door creaked open. Clarke stepped in, peeling off her bloodstained gloves.

“Doc, go charge up,” Clarke said, voice brisk but not unkind. “You and I are on second shift in medical. You play doctor, I’ll be your hands. Mom needs a break, and some of the wounded are still in critical shape. I can’t handle it all solo.”

Raven jerked a thumb at the pile of cooling parts and two half-assembled robodog frames next to her. “I’ve got this under control. You go recharge, RoBeca. While you’re plugged in, you can help me debug these furry little death machines.”

She nodded toward the screen, where Becca’s avatar flickered quietly in standby. “See? You’re not useless. You’re just… in beta.”

Becca reached for the charging cable and plugged herself in. Her robotic frame powered down instantly, settling into a soft mechanical hum. On the nearby screen, her digital avatar flickered to life, relaxed and sharper than before.

“Okay… this I’m used to,” Becca said, leaning back in her virtual chair and conjuring up a digital martini. She took a pretend sip, eyes flicking toward the display. “How’s Monty doing with those EMPs?”

“One’s finished,” Raven said, rubbing her forehead. “Another dozen to go. They’re hell to build and even worse to charge. Honestly? Nukes would be easier.”

Becca raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well—I’ve had my fill of nukes. Hard pass.”

She swirled the fake drink in her hand, then glanced at the disassembled robodogs lying across the room. “Now, let’s see if we can give the muppet’s metal puppy some friends. Maybe a few upgrades too.”

“You sure about that?” Raven asked as she got up and walked over to the canine-shaped machines. “The U.S. government shut that project down for a reason.”

Becca grinned. “The U.S. government didn’t have the muppet.”
She lifted her glass. “We do. And if anyone can keep Moss in line—it’s Liza.”

“That girl,” Raven said, shaking her head with a half-smile. “Now that’s a survivor. You remember when she first showed up? I was in on that surgery… saw what Nia did to her. And look at her now—Mrs. Popular, queen of Arkadia, has Lexa wrapped around her little finger. Happy as hell. I’m proud to call her my friend. She’s a damn fighter.”

Becca’s avatar smiled on the screen. “I like her too. Good heart. Sharp mind. Let’s get her metal puppy some new toys.”

Raven leaned into one of the scrap robodogs, elbow-deep in its inner wiring. Her fingers caught something—metal, heavy—and she yanked it free.

“Oh… shit,” she muttered, eyes wide. “Look at this.” She held it up to the screen, the camera zooming in.

It was a compact, folded propeller system—sleek, military-grade.

“It’s got three more in there,” Raven said, reaching back in. “Becca… it’s a damn transformer. It flies.”

“Wow,” Becca said, blinking. “Puppy’s getting wings, I guess.”

“Yep,” Raven replied, eyeing the folded propellers. “If it lets me touch it, that is.”

Just then, the door creaked open and Lexa stepped in, scratching the back of her head like she was debating whether to turn back around.

“Ahm… I’ve got some news,” she said. “I… may have offered a bounty. For any Azgeda who brings in old military tech. Food. Supplies. Echo got the word out before she was injured.”

Raven raised her eyebrows. “Smart. We could use Canadian surplus. Maybe get lucky. Anyone show up yet?”

Lexa coughed into her fist.

“Everyone did,” she said. “Like… all of them.”

Becca leaned forward on-screen. “How many is ‘all’?”

Lexa sighed. “About a thousand. With carts. They dragged in enough military junk to build a new bunker. I guess Azgeda’s hungry.”

Raven blinked. “So… the puppy’s not the only one getting upgrades.”

“No… it’s not,” Lexa said, pacing a little. “I don’t know how they managed it, but they even brought in a… flying thing.”

Raven looked up, casually interested. “Oh, a drone? Cool. We can always use more of those.”

Lexa shook her head. “No… not a drone.” She held her hands out, gesturing with growing excitement. “It’s big. Like… hut big. Maybe bigger. It looks kind of like that rocket you launched the EMP with, but bulkier. Pauna-sized. And it’s in pretty good shape.”

Becca blinked into focus on the screen. “Like this?” She pulled up an old image of a fighter jet.

Lexa nodded slowly. “A little different… but yes. That. One of those.”

Raven jumped to her feet. “Take me to it. Now.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how you speak to your Heda.”

Raven threw her hands up. “Pleeeeease, your supreme badassness.”

Lexa smirked. “Better. Let’s go.”

“Bring me too,” Becca said from the screen.

Raven nodded and grabbed a tablet, syncing the feed. “You’re riding shotgun, doc.”

They headed upstairs fast—Lexa usually paced herself to match Raven’s injured leg, but not today. This time, Raven was nearly outpacing her. They burst through the upper levels and emerged into the open air, Lexa’s guards falling in around them as they crossed Polis.

“I love this place,” Raven said, eyes sweeping the old towers and stonework.

“Ronen doesn’t,” she added with a sly grin. “So I work nights. Keeps him happy.” She wiggled her eyebrows. Lexa gave a tight smile—Polis was layered for her. It was home… but also the birthplace of some of her darkest memories. Still, it was where Clarke took her hand. That made it bearable.

“Imagine,” Raven went on, eyes gleaming. “Electricity. Real plumbing. An actual sewer system. It’s all here—I just have to find the bones.”

Lexa nodded. “After. We live after. For now… we survive.”

They reached the northern wall, but instead of passing through the gate, Lexa gestured to the tall watchtower.

“Come. I want you to see it from above.”

They climbed. Raven’s leg slowed her down halfway up, but Lexa offered a silent nudge, steadying her without a word. When they reached the top, Lexa stepped aside and swept her arm toward the horizon.

Raven leaned forward, squinting. Then her eyes widened.

“Damn.”

Below them sprawled a graveyard of tech. Cannons. Drones—some massive. Two rust-choked armored vehicles. Not Arkadia scrap. Real-world military grade. But in the center, propped up across three carts, was the crown jewel: a sleek, black fighter jet. Missiles still slung under its wings. A shark in a nest of bones.

Raven lifted the tablet and pointed it at the jet.

“F-75,” Becca said. “Top of the line. Pre-war, cutting edge. We have a problem though—it runs on jet fuel.”

Raven turned to Lexa. “I’m gonna need help. Can you call Yujeda back? Your minions are miracle workers.”

Lexa chuckled. Yujeda had helped Raven clear Nia’s minefield around the western wall. They spoke no Gonasleng, and Raven’s Trig was… rough, but none of it mattered. They understood each other. One look, one demo, and they followed Raven like they were born for it.

“Whatever you need,” Lexa said. “You have it.”

“You need to tell Liza to explain to Moss that these are friendly,” Becca said from the tablet, her voice calm but firm. “If any of this tech powers up without warning, it could mistake it for an enemy advance. We don’t need a trigger-happy robodog misinterpreting a resupply drop.”

Raven nodded. “Got it.”

“Compared to what ALIE has at her disposal, this haul isn’t much,” Becca added. “But it’s something. Enough to buy us time. She only strikes when a unit comes online—so if we keep things staggered and controlled, we can stay ahead. Especially if we can get that bird in the air.”

“The jet?” Raven said. “Yeah, we’ll need fuel. Big problem.”

“Ask whoever dragged it here if they can return to the base they pulled it from,” Becca said. “They might be able to salvage more—especially aviation fuel.”

Raven raised a brow. “How are they supposed to figure that out? No offense, Heda… but grounders aren’t exactly aircraft mechanics.”

“That’s why I’m sending Octavia,” Lexa said simply.

Raven blinked. “That’s… a change.”

Lexa shrugged. “She grew. I just gave her the space to realize it.”

Raven cracked a smile. “You’re good at that, Heda. She’s not the only one.”

****

Luna walked slowly through the corridor, the chill of the bunker clinging to her skin. This was her new reality—for now, anyway—and after just six hours, she already missed the ocean. The salty breeze, the calls of seabirds, the constant pulse of the water. Down here, everything felt… still. The air was too clean. Recycled, Clarke had said. Artificial.

She turned a corner and stopped outside a door left slightly ajar. Inside, the soft glow of a screen lit up a circle of small faces. The natblida children—her responsibility now—sat cross-legged on the floor, huddled close around Liza.

Ontari.

Luna leaned against the frame, watching. The girl was holding one of those med bay devices… a “tablet,” she thought it was called. On it, strange little puppet creatures danced and spoke in squeaky, exaggerated voices.

The Muppet Show.

Luna had heard Lexa mention it earlier with a straight face, calling it the bunker’s greatest perk. Luna had scoffed then. But now? She watched the children—some still visibly scarred, others withdrawn and silent for days—laugh. They were smiling. They were engaged.

“I’m showing them the muppet show,” Ontari said without looking up, clearly aware Luna was there. “Do you kids like it?”

No one answered. But heads nodded, eyes stayed fixed to the screen, and small shoulders leaned forward in perfect, silent agreement.

A few minutes passed. Then Ontari spoke gently. “Okay, muppets… I’ve gotta go soon.”

The chorus of groans and protests that followed was loud enough to startle Luna. You’d think Ontari had told them they were being handed over to Nia. A few clung to her arm. One flat-out said, No.

Luna blinked. Ontari… the girl she once risked everything to protect from the flamekeepers, from Lexa, from her own fate… had become this. A light in the darkness. A protector of the broken. A sister to the forgotten.

And somehow, impossibly, she had found healing in giving it to others.

“Heda asked for you, Liza,” Luna said, her voice softer than usual as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. She couldn’t help it—the head muppet was winning her over. Ontari sat cross-legged in a circle of laughing natblida, the glowing tablet still playing its ridiculous puppet show. The kids were smiling. Some even giggling. It was… surreal.

Ontari stood up, brushing off her scrubs. “Group hug,” she said, arms outstretched.

A few eye rolls. A groan or two. But they all got up, and the hug happened. Messy, clumsy, completely sincere.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Ontari promised, giving them a look. “But only if Luna tells me you behaved.”

More grumbles. A couple of fake groans. But no real protests.

Luna stepped forward and clasped her hands behind her back. “Line up,” she said. “Supper time.”

And just like that, the kids snapped to it. Not military sharp, but the instinct was still there—remnants of training they never asked for but carried like scar tissue. Luna knew the rhythm of that discipline too well. It wasn’t about control; it was about safety. Familiarity.

Ontari gave her a wink and dashed off toward the lift. “Tell Heda I’m on my way!”

Luna watched her go, shaking her head with a smirk. That girl had changed everything.

She turned to the kids, five shadows trailing her now as she led them through the corridors. The bunker stretched out beneath the surface like a buried city—five full levels of steel and secrets. She’d been exploring bit by bit, memorizing the halls, the sectors, the exit routes. Some rooms looked like old tech labs. Others were sealed, rusted shut. But one room had made her pause.

An Azgeda crest. Stamped right into the concrete floor.

Older than the clans, the bunker predated everything. So why was that there?

She didn’t have an answer yet. But for now, she had mouths to feed and kids to steady. And if she was lucky, maybe Chris would be waiting in the dining hall with that crooked grin and a few jokes.

One day at a time.

They stepped into the dining hall, and Luna felt her chest loosen at the sight. Her people—exhausted, bruised, displaced—were gathered around long tables, bowls in hand, the air warm with the smell of cooked food. Real food. And not just roots or dried seaweed or ration pouches.

Meat.

Hot, tender meat.

The ripple of awe through her people was palpable. Ocean dwellers didn’t eat meat often—certainly not like this. For most, it had been a lifetime. For some youngsters, never.

Luna scanned the room and spotted Clarke climbing up onto a chair, spoon in one hand, banging it lightly against a cup to get attention.

“Hey!” Clarke called. “Welcome, everyone.”

Luna chuckled. Her people blinked up at the strange girl speaking in a strange tongue. She stepped forward, nodded to Clarke, and began translating in clean, rhythmic Trigedasleng.

Clarke continued. “On behalf of Heda and myself… I want to welcome you to Polis. This will be your home—at least for now, until the enemy is defeated.”

Luna translated, her voice calm, sure.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve lost,” Clarke said. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save your home. But we can keep you safe. This bunker was built to survive the end of the world. And it did. Now it will protect you too. You will be fed, clothed… cared for. You’ll lack for nothing. Heda will come to greet you soon.”

The message rippled through the room. Nods. Murmurs. A few eyes lifted with cautious hope.

Then Clarke added, “Please—go easy on the meat. You’re not used to it. Eat too much, too fast… you’ll get sick. So chew. And slow down.”

Luna turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? You came all the way down here to tell us to chew?”

Clarke grinned. “I’ve seen warriors throw up from one roasted leg. Just saying.”

Luna rolled her eyes but translated. And surprisingly… it landed. A few smiles. A couple of chuckles. One old woman nodded solemnly like it was sacred advice.

It was a small thing. But it mattered.

Sometimes, Luna realized, it’s the small things that tell people they’re safe.

A tall young man made his way through the tables and gently took Luna’s hand. She turned to Clarke with a soft smile.

“This is Chris,” she said. “My niron. Chris, dison laik Wanheda. This is Wanheda.”

Clarke exhaled, half amused, half embarrassed. “Clarke,” she corrected with a wry smile.

Chris offered a polite nod. “I’ve heard tales. Luna’s told me the stories—how you brought down the Mountain, how you outplayed Nia… Not quite the image I had in my head.”

Clarke glanced down at her scrubs, wrinkled and stained from the chaos of the med bay. “Yeah, not exactly superhero chic,” she said. “I don’t know what Luna told you, but I’m just like her. A little reckless, a little stubborn… and a lot human.”

Chris chuckled. “Well, either way… it’s an honor to meet you, Clarke.”

She gave him a tired smile. “You too. I’ll let you both eat. Enjoy the meal.”

“Wait,” Luna said, stepping forward, concern flickering in her eyes. “How are my people? The wounded?”

Clarke’s face sobered. “They’ll all survive,” she said. “Two are in rough shape. The girl—Ava—lost a kidney. She’s stable. The man, Govi, had a liver laceration. It’s a miracle he pulled through. We think the bullets were designed for missiles—clean, through-and-through. That probably saved them.”

Chris blinked, clearly impressed—not just by Clarke’s clinical precision, but by something else.

“You know their names,” he said, quietly.

Clarke looked at him, then back to Luna. “Of course I do.” She offered a nod. “They’re yours. Which means they’re ours now too.” Then she turned and headed back to the med bay, leaving Luna and Chris quietly watching her go.

Clarke stepped back into the med bay, exhaling as the door shut behind her. RoBeca stood quietly in the corner, unmoving—but very much online. Every monitor, every vital sign, every fluctuation in blood pressure or oxygen saturation in the room was wirelessly linked to her system. She couldn’t wield a scalpel anymore, but she could track patterns better than any human doctor. Med reactions, irregular vitals, early signs of infection—nothing escaped her.

“You’ve moved into a management role,” Abby had joked before finally going to sleep. In her office, naturally. Clarke had all but begged her to rest in her quarters like a normal person, but Abby wouldn’t budge.

“What if someone crashes and I need to operate?” she insisted. “What if—”

Eventually, Clarke gave up and just brought her a blanket.

Becca had updated her on the “Azgeda treasures.” If there was ever hope of keeping things low-key, that dream was officially dead. One whole clan resettling in Polis? A fully intact fighter jet and stockpiles of old military gear showing up at the gate? That kind of noise didn’t stay quiet. Rumors were already running wild—according to Lia, who’d been quietly recruited by Heda to track the gossip, and Zik, who was still lurking in TonDC with his little network of ears.

Clarke leaned against the wall, rubbing her temples.

“Things are getting complicated,” she muttered.

RoBeca’s screen flickered. “You think?”

Clarke smiled faintly.

“Emerson left,” Clarke said, dragging a hand through her hair. “Heda gave him half a dozen warriors and a rover. He’s headed to Jersey, if you can believe that. Took the only EMP we had. Now we’re just waiting on Monty to finish the second so they can hit the base properly.”

She didn’t hide her disbelief. “I can’t believe Heda trusts him like that.”

“We’re all on the same side in this war, Clarke,” Becca replied from the screen. “Life against…” She stopped herself. “My mistake.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You were trying to save the damn planet, Becca. You didn’t know it would end like this.”

Becca’s avatar glanced away. “People warned me. I did it anyway.”

Clarke gave her robotic leg a light kick. “Then you’re more human than you think.”

****

Lexa and Ontari stood in the elevator as it creaked its way up. Lexa was humming — quietly, but just loud enough to be heard.

“Muppet… muppet… all hail president Muppet… queen-slayer… tablet-holder…”

Ontari raised an eyebrow, half smiling. “You’re in a good mood.”

Lexa shrugged. “Not really. But you? You make things lighter.” She nudged Ontari with her elbow. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ontari chuckled. “Too late.”

The doors opened. They stepped out onto the roof where Moss stood, still and silent until it saw Ontari. The machine tilted its head.

Ontari stepped forward, resting her hand on its face. Moss let out a soft mechanical whir.

Lexa crossed her arms. “You’ve turned it into a pet.”

Ontari smirked. “It likes me. What can I say?”

“You can say there’s an F-75 fighter jet and a bunch of other crap from Canada downstairs,” Lexa said. “Tell your dog not to shoot it. It’s friendly. Maybe even hack into it if it feels like showing off.”

Ontari turned to Moss. “You heard her?”

“Identify source of input,” Moss replied, head tilting. “Who is she to you, Liza?”

Ontari blinked. “Heda?”

“Source not recognized. Only individuals subordinate to the president may issue directives. Authorization must follow established command structure.”

“What?”

“Does she work for you?”

Ontari hesitated. “Uh… yes. She’s my advisor.”

Moss paused. “Advisor status logged. Input accepted. Updating the chain of command.”

“Okay… are you going to listen to me now?” Lexa asked, already annoyed.

“Yes, Presidential Advisor,” Moss replied. “Please provide your full legal name and an authorization code. Your input will be considered pending presidential approval.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Lexa Griffin. Code… 307.”

Moss gave a pleased little hum. “Griffin. Liza’s family.”

“Lexa Griffin. Protection status priority updated,” Moss confirmed.

“Okay… phenomenal. Did you hear what I said before?” Lexa snapped. “There’s a bunch of Canadian military crap by the northern wall. F-75 included. Don’t shoot it. Got it?”

“Authorization code?”

“307.”

“Presidential approval?”

Ontari gave a quick nod. “Approved.”

“Update accepted.”

A pause. Then: “Liza?”

“Yes?”

“If I am good and deserve affection, why is your subordinate speaking to me this way?”

Ontari sighed. “She’s not used to being number two.”

Lexa stared straight ahead, visibly calculating whether Moss would tear her apart if she launched Ontari off the roof.

But the truth? If she did… she’d just jump in after her.

Suddenly, a small hatch popped open on Moss’s back and a compact drone zipped into the air, heading straight for the northern wall.

“What are you doing?” Liza asked, eyebrows raised. “She just told you—that stuff’s ours…”

“I’m taking inventory, Liza. Assessment protocol initiated.”

Liza squinted after the drone, impressed. “Okay… didn’t know you had that little thing in your ass. That’s kinda cool.”

“I’m a command unit, Liza. I have upgrades standard units do not.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like this.”

Moss’s screen flickered to life, broadcasting the drone’s point of view as it touched down on the plane’s nose.

Then—noise. Deafening, unnatural. The entire tower seemed to tremble. From beyond the wall, something massive stirred.

On screen: vibrations. Metal groaned. And then, impossibly, the plane rose into the air.

“Hostile unit takeover complete. Unit integrity: 87%.”

Lexa stared in awe. “Spirits,” she murmured. “What an incredible animal you’ve got yourself, muppet.”

“Can you make it fly around? Please please please!” Ontari begged, practically bouncing in place like a kid on her birthday.

“Order accepted,” Moss replied calmly—too calmly.

The jet immediately pulled up, engines roaring as it soared over Polis, banking in a wide arc around the city.

“Stop it!” Lexa barked, eyes locked on the shadow sweeping across the rooftops. From this high up they couldn’t see much, but the distant shouts and scattering below were enough. “You’re causing panic. Put it down!”

“Okay, okay,” Liza said, hands up. “Put it down, Moss.”

“Command accepted.”

The jet eased into a smooth descent, touching down in the clearing like it had done this a thousand times. The little drone zipped back and disappeared into the hatch on Moss’s back with a click.

Lexa let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“The rest of the equipment appears non-operational,” Moss reported. “I can provide detailed repair instructions, if desired.”

“That’s actually really helpful,” Ontari said, nodding. “I’ll let Raven know you’re ready to assist.”

Lexa cleared her throat. “So… about your new toy. We’re going to need fuel, right?”

“Negative, Advisor,” Moss replied. “The jet is fully fueled. Solid-state hydrazine. Projected range: 500,000 nautical miles. This is a prototype. Minor repairs to navigation systems are recommended.”

Lexa blinked. “Well. Raven’s going to lose her mind. That means Octavia doesn’t have to risk her neck heading into Azgeda.”

“And it means ALIE,” she added with a smirk, “is completely fucked.”

“I concur, Advisor,” Moss said. “Although I advise against using inappropriate language in the presence of your superiors.”

Lexa nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

Then muttered under her breath, “Fucking muppet.”

++++

Lexa stepped into her quarters, every muscle in her body aching from the day’s chaos. She’d been shot at by a submarine, chewed out by Luna in front of half her clan, tormented by Clarke’s wandering hands all afternoon, cornered by paranoid ambassadors asking why fighter jets were doing laps over Polis, and officially demoted to second-in-command by a robotic dog who called Ontari “Mrs. President.”

In short—hell of a day.

She closed the door behind her, exhaled, and turned toward her bed… then froze.

Clarke was there. Sprawled naked across the center of Lexa’s massive bed, wrists bound loosely to the headboard with silk sashes, looking entirely too smug for someone so incapacitated.

Lexa stared. “How… did you even—?”

Clarke smirked. “You were demoted. I thought I’d help you feel powerful again.”

Lexa blinked, eyes locking onto the familiar harness dangling from the bedpost—an infamous relic she’d retired after Clarke’s ordeal with Nia. But clearly, tonight wasn’t about caution. Clarke lay there, completely bare, tied up with purpose and grinning like she’d planned this all day. A jar of lube on the nightstand glinted under the lamp, and the evidence of Clarke’s readiness left little to the imagination.

Lexa grinned slowly, shrugging off her coat. The Flame was gone. The throne more complicated than ever. The remnants of a shattered military now answered to Ontari. But none of that mattered right now. Her real strength—her center—was this woman. Clarke. The storm in Lexa’s life who turned everything into something she actually wanted to live for.

She peeled off her shirt and pants and reached for the harness, heart thudding. She was the one in control here—technically—but looking at Clarke, stretched and waiting with a hunger that pulled Lexa forward like gravity, she felt like the one happily captured. And she wouldn’t trade places for the world.

Chapter Text

“Emerson, come in,” Raven’s voice crackled through the radio. “We’re dropping the first EMP in ten minutes. Just… don’t freak out, okay?”

“Why would I freak out, Reyes?” Emerson muttered, barely masking his impatience. “Just send the damned missile already. We’ve been rotting here for a day.”

“Fine, fine. Just sit tight.”

He clicked the radio off and turned to the squad behind him—half a dozen warriors who still looked at him like they’d rather gut him than follow him.

“Get ready,” he said. “We move on my command.”

They’d driven as close as they dared before going the rest on foot—stealth being the whole point of this op. And credit where it was due: the grounders could ghost through trees like shadows.

Then came the sound. A low, thrumming hum that vibrated in his teeth and made the leaves tremble. If Raven hadn’t warned him, he might’ve bolted. A sleek black jet streaked just above the treetops, fast enough to rip the air open. The ground shook as it passed.

The base below reacted instantly. SAM missiles launched, but they flew wide—useless against a ghost.

The jet responded with one clean shot. No explosion—just a sharp electric crackle that rolled through the forest. The EMP.

Then the jet banked upward, rising sharply before disappearing behind the clouds.

Emerson blinked. “Go. Go! Move!” he barked.

As his squad slipped into the chaos below, Emerson couldn’t help but wonder—how in the hell did she, the same commander he once called a primitive brute, end up with a weapon like that?

The base stretched out before Emerson like a decaying beast—McGuire Joint Military Base, Lakehurst, New Jersey. Once the stronghold of the northeastern U.S. military, now a rusting graveyard of war machines and forgotten power. Their mission was simple: grab anything that could take down ALIE’s mechanized monstrosities—Javelins, Stingers, anti-armor tech, whatever still worked.

They slipped across the cracked tarmac, weaving past rows of gutted cargo planes and silent tanks. APCs sat frozen in time, their hatches open like yawning mouths. The armory was just ahead.

Emerson pushed open the door and swept his flashlight across the room. Jackpot. “There,” he said, pointing to a stack of crates. “Grab as much as you can carry.”

The warriors didn’t hesitate. They hauled cases onto their backs while Emerson pried open a smaller box—ammo, mostly. Enough to make a dent. He slung it over his shoulder.

Then they heard it.

The hum. That low, electric growl that vibrated in their bones. Drones.

A swarm. Hundreds of them, maybe more, rising over the treeline like a mechanical storm. Eyes red, wings sharp, all aimed at the armory.

“Take cover!” Emerson shouted, diving behind a crate.

He clenched the EMP like a lifeline, waiting for the right moment. The swarm was overhead now—one more second—

Bzzzzzzzt.

He pressed the button. A wave of static burst outward. In an instant, the sky rained metal. Drones shorted out midair and slammed into the ground like broken birds.

“Grab and run!” he yelled.

His team bolted, crates in hand, tearing toward the trees. No hesitation. No complaints.

As they moved deeper into cover, Emerson glanced back. The base lay behind them, smoke and silence settling again. Around him, the warriors said nothing—but their eyes on him had changed. Not warm, not friendly. But the hate? It was fading.

His family was gone—killed by the girl now married to the commander he now served. Once, he wanted revenge. Desperately. But watching his former enemies live, really live—the way they fought for one another, cried for one another, bled and burned and held fast—forced him to see the truth he’d spent so long avoiding:

His people had no right to exist the way they did. Not built on stolen blood. Not carved out of the bodies of those who belonged to this world. Not after what they’d done.

He’d only survived because of the Ark teens his people captured and drained like livestock.

He remembers that day in Nia’s war tent—Clarke strung up like an offering, bare and beaten. Her mother unconscious beside her. Nia circling with that twisted implement, all sadistic glee. He thought he’d enjoy it. He wanted to. She’d killed his people. A genocide, he told himself.

But then Clarke ripped a chunk out of Nia’s cheek with her teeth, and everything shifted.

“Help me,” she’d gasped. “I’ll promise you life.”

It was absurd. It was arrogant. And it was true. Because whatever crimes Clarke had committed, they didn’t stack against what was about to be done to her.

So he helped. And when chaos followed—Ontari gutting Nia, Lexa knocking him out—he braced himself for torture. For death. For justice with a blade.

Instead, he got a cell. A bed. Food. Water. His name.

Because they didn’t need to humiliate him to win.

He wasn’t a monster. He was a weapon forged in a cruel world. And when given the chance to be something else, he took it.

Now, they trusted him—with missions, with war, with knowledge of tech his ancestors revered as myth. They didn’t have to. But they did.

And he wouldn’t waste it.

Even if their “president” was a strange girl once paraded around like a pet by a madwoman. Even if she now commanded the deadliest machine he’d ever seen with a smile and an obsession with something called the Muppet Show—his children’s favorite thing in the old world.

She didn’t act like a leader. She didn’t try to. Her control over Moss seemed accidental, almost laughable.

But still—there was something in her.

Something soft.

Something unbroken.

She was proof of what humanity could be, if they chose.

He wouldn’t serve her. That wasn’t the point.

He would serve those who protected her.

Because protecting her meant protecting the best chance they had left.

His radio crackled to life—one of only three shielded against EMP. Raven’s voice cut through the static.

“All okay?”

Emerson paused, still catching his breath. “Where the hell did you get that thing?” he asked, still in disbelief. The jet. Sleek, black, terrifying. He never thought he’d see one up close, let alone watch it scream through the sky on their side.

“Scavengers from Azgeda,” Raven replied. “Found some facility up in Canada. Hauled it back to trade for food. Azgeda’s got a new hustle—tek for bread. I’ll let you touch it when you get back. Just… come home safe.”

Emerson froze. Home safe.

From her. The girl they once bolted to a table. Cut open. Screamed through it all. That girl, now the one handing him air support and calling it home.

He looked around at the warriors with him—faces smeared in dirt and grit, weapons slung over their backs like old ghosts. They looked like rebels from a war long gone, and maybe they were. But now they were armed, alive, and on the winning side—for once.

In the distance, the rover waited, half-buried under branches and mud.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, slinging the last case over his shoulder.

“I guess we’re going home.”

****

The throne room was tight with tension. Lexa sat still, posture rigid, eyes scanning the room. For once, she was glad Luna had shown up—an unexpected anchor in a sea of outrage.

The ambassadors were furious. All of them, except Luna, Kane, and Monte kom Azgeda. Monte, in particular, seemed almost at ease. Azgeda had adapted. Of course they had. They scavenged, repurposed poisons into medicine with Skaikru’s help, and turned desperation into an advantage.

The others? Chaos.

“We just ended a war, Heda!” Beilis of Trishanakru shouted, face flushed. “And now this? Some spirit? Old-world weapons? And you’re telling us to stay out of it? To be careful?”

“Yes,” Lexa said evenly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She rose to her feet slowly, letting the silence stretch.

“We are fighting it. We will win. But right now, I can’t protect you. No one can. This enemy doesn’t bleed. It doesn’t sleep. And when it takes your people—it uses them. They become hers. And when they do…”

She looked Beilis dead in the eye.

“They become targets. Ours.”

The room fell quiet.

“We will continue destroying her bases,” Clarke said, her voice firm but calm from her seat beside Lexa’s throne. “We’re working on a permanent way to stop her. We’re fighting her every hour, every day. What we need from you—what we ask—is simple: stay away. And if you’re attacked, run. I know that goes against everything you’ve been taught. But you can’t fight this. Not yet.”

“I saw it,” Luna added quietly. Her voice carried a weight that cut through the room. “It was… monstrous. Bullets the size of my hand. It sank a dozen of my boats in seconds. If Heda hadn’t stepped in—if not for her protection—we’d be dead. All of us. Within minutes.”

Raz, Trikru’s ambassador, stood abruptly. “We survived the mountain. We’ll survive this too.”

Luna turned to him, her face flat. “No. You don’t understand. This is worse. Much worse. You’ve seen what little tech we have outside the city. A few machines. One jet. Some drones. She has hundreds. They’re not all awake yet… but if we don’t stop her soon—they will be.”

Plato, the Ingrarona ambassador, stood up. “Heda… who is responsible for this? Who unleashed this so-called spirit? Someone must answer for it.”

Lexa exhaled slowly and glanced toward Clarke.

“Titus,” Clarke said.

The room went still.

“Titus is dead,” someone whispered.

Clarke shook her head. “His body is. But not his mind. Before he died, he uploaded himself into ALIE’s system. Now everything he knew—every secret, every strategy—is part of her. That’s why she targeted Luna first. Luna killed him. And she’s a nightblood. Her blood rejects the code.”

Fidri, the Bluecliff ambassador, rose from her seat, her voice skeptical but curious. “And how do you know all this, Heda?”

Before Lexa could answer, Gaia stepped forward. “Because I was part of it,” she said. “When Titus fled to Polis after his exile, he turned the other Flamekeepers into his tools. They tried to kill me. They failed… but they fed me to ALIE instead. My body was dying, but my mind—my consciousness—was trapped in her system.”

The room stirred.

“I was gone,” Gaia continued, “but the queen slayer saved me. Gave me her blood. Made me a nightblood. That’s what healed me. That’s what set me free. ALIE… she has a city. A digital one. It’s real. It exists. It’s what people called the City of Light.”

“Some of us thought it was salvation,” she added, her tone bitter. “But it’s not. It’s slavery. Total control. No choice. No feeling. Just silence. You exist—but you don’t live. That’s the future she’s offering. The only place she has for us is inside that city. As her subjects. Her code.”

“There is no death in the City of Light,” Gaia said quietly. “But there’s no life in it either.”

Plato rubbed his temples. “Then how are you fighting this thing? What weapons do you even have?”

Clarke answered. “Some tech—what we’ve scavenged, stolen, rebuilt. Like the jet you saw. We’ve used it for defense… and offense. But beyond that, we have something else. Or rather, someone.”

“Who?” Fidri demanded. “They should answer for this!”

Lexa’s expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest edge of irony in her smile. “The one who created ALIE is someone you all know. Someone history made into a saint.”

She let it hang before finishing: “Becca Pramheda.”

Gasps echoed through the hall.

“You can’t be serious,” Plato muttered. “Why would she do that?”

“She was trying to save the world,” Clarke said. “Before the bombs. ALIE was supposed to stop us from destroying ourselves.”

“And she failed?” Simon of Yujedakru asked, eyes narrowed. “She destroyed everything instead?”

Lexa looked over at Clarke again, and her voice was tired when she spoke.

“There were too many people,” she said. “That was ALIE’s solution. Eliminate the problem. She just didn’t stop.”

“Maybe the other clans can help too?” Monte of Azgeda offered. “We’ve been gathering tek—surely we’re not the only ones with that ability.”

Clarke shook her head. “No. You are.”

She looked around the throne room, gauging the tension.

“Most of Azgeda’s territory sits on what used to be called Canada. A different nation, a different military. Up there, the machines aren’t linked to ALIE. Down here?” She glanced toward the northern walls. “This was the United States. Every last weapon, vehicle, drone—it’s all tied to her. Controlled. Active.”

She paused.

“Except for one unit. One machine that saved our lives twice in the last few days. It can override Canadian tech—but not ALIE’s. Not yet.”

She turned to Monte.

“So yes, Azgeda… keep bringing us whatever you find. The rest of you?” Her voice softened. “Please. Stay out of it. Trust Heda. She knows what she’s doing.”

Monte gave a firm nod. Slowly, one by one, the other ambassadors stood and did the same.

****

Lexa paced the empty throne room, her boots echoing off the stone. “I have no idea what we’re doing, Clarke.”

The room had cleared. The ambassadors gone to warn their people. Luna off tending to her wounded. Gaia coordinating with command. Only the two of them remained.

Clarke stretched and stood from her seat. “Of course you do. Raven’s downstairs patching the computer so Moss can generate a kill code. Emerson’s on his way back with half a weapons depot. Moss says it can take out any new missiles ALIE throws at us. We just need time.”

Lexa shook her head. “When I formed the coalition, I didn’t know if it would work. Trishanakru was first. Then Trikru backed them. The rest… they’d been fighting so long they forgot why. I made promises I couldn’t keep. But I kept them anyway.”

She stopped pacing. “I know how to win a war, Clarke. I had Anya. May her soul find peace. I had my sword. Strategy. The flame. I don’t have that now. And without it… I feel exposed.”

Clarke exhaled slowly. She remembered what Liza told her when they removed the flame. She’ll be free. But she’ll miss it. Just like I missed Nia.

“Lex… listen. You may not know the first thing about robodogs or fighter jets, but that’s not your job. You’ve got Raven, Monty, and Becca on tech. Luna and Gaia handling politics. Your muppet is charming the dog into submission. Mom’s running medical. Emerson’s coming back with enough gear to start a war. And me?” Clarke stepped closer. “I’ll keep tying myself to the headboard until it sinks in—you don’t have to control every piece. You’re the reason we’re still standing. And that thing you did with your mouth the other night?” She smirked. “Absolutely confirms it.”

Lexa finally cracked a smile. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“It absolutely does,” Clarke said, low and teasing. “You’re the commander of it all… that included. Everything you touch—or lick—is yours now.”

She leaned forward on the throne, glancing back at Lexa with a grin that was all mischief and challenge. “You aced killer warrior school when you took down that pauna with your swords. But it’s time to level up. Heda 2.0, like Raven says. You need to delegate. Trust. We’ve got people now. Family. ALIE doesn’t get that. Never will. And honestly? You didn’t either—until recently. Being commander doesn’t mean being alone.”

Lexa exhaled slowly, then mumbled, “Raven killed the monkey.”

Clarke blinked. “What?”

“The pauna,” Lexa said, cheeks flushing. “I stabbed it, yeah, but it wouldn’t die. It was about to crush me when Raven blew a hole in its head. We cut the head off afterward… made it look clean. I lied. I’m sorry.”

Clarke burst out laughing, then walked over and wrapped her arms around Lexa’s waist from behind. “You big dumb softie. You trusted her. That’s what matters. You let someone in, outside the politics, outside me. That means everything.”

Lexa stayed quiet, and Clarke pressed her cheek against her back. “Your people don’t need the flame. They don’t need legends. They need you. With your fears, your heart, your honesty. And hey, without that neural doohickey, RoBeca gets to boss around the entire medical wing. So really—everybody wins.”

Lexa sighed. It was true—her whole life had been one long war, her against the world. Even after the coalition held steady for a few years, she still carried everything alone. Duty. Loss. Power. All of it rested on her shoulders, and she never let anyone close enough to share it. Not really.

Even Costia, for all the love they shared, had never truly had her. Not the way Clarke did.

Clarke didn’t just become Clarke kom Trikru. She rewrote the story. Made Lexa into Lexa Griffin. And now, with the muppet’s puppy hailing Liza as president and Lexa officially slotted in as her “advisor,” well… it was practically government-issued. Lexa Griffin. It made her grin.

She was soft. Gods, she had gone soft. But wasn’t that what Clarke promised her back in TonDC? That Lexa didn’t have to carry everything alone anymore? That someone would finally help her carry the weight… so she could figure out who she was beyond the flame, beyond the throne?

And now, here it was. This strange warmth in her chest. It wasn’t duty. It wasn’t honor. It was something else. Something dangerously close to joy.

This little band of misfits—tech geniuses, blood-soaked warriors, orphaned prodigies, and one very inconvenient robopup—weren’t just fighting to survive. They were building something. A new future. A family. One that had already, against all odds, begun to reshape the world.

“Now… lock the damn door,” Clarke said, her hand already sliding under Lexa’s shirt and giving her chest a sharp pinch—definitely not gentle.

“I never imagined you’d be living in a skyscraper,” she continued, voice low and fierce, “but I did plan my revenge for when you left me at the mountain. The plan was to sneak in and… have a little talk. Help you understand,” she said, squeezing harder, “the weight of your mistake.”

Lexa swallowed. “You… need to let go of me for that.”

Instead, Clarke bit her neck and, without loosening her grip, marched Lexa to the door.

Lexa locked it quickly, face already flushed. If I’d known I was going to marry someone this insatiable, she thought, I would’ve stayed celibate for a year just to prepare.

Clarke marched Lexa straight to the throne and pushed her down into it. From inside her jacket, she pulled out the same silk ties from the night before.

“In the original version of this, they were a bit rougher,” Clarke said with a half-smile, almost like she felt bad about softening the plan.

The throne, all thick, polished wood and winding branches, looked more like a trap now than a seat of power. Clarke climbed into Lexa’s lap, straddling her as she tied her wrists to the curved antlers overhead.

“I swear, whoever built this damn thing must’ve had Wanheda and her warped mind in mind,” Clarke whispered against her ear.

Lexa let out a dry laugh. “This throne was here long before you were.”

“Shhh,” Clarke said, cinching the final knot and stepping back. “I didn’t ask for commentary. I asked for your focus.”

She stripped off her clothes slowly, revealing the barely-there leather and chain ensemble Zita had made for their bonding day—strategically designed to leave everything exposed that mattered.

Lexa swallowed, throat dry. “You have it,” she said, quietly amused by the irony. She never imagined she’d end up this restrained, this undone—tied up on the throne she once ruled alone.

Clarke glanced up, teasing. “Do we need a… safe word or something?” She tugged Lexa’s shirt up without waiting for an answer, then yanked the bindings down just enough to bare her chest, settling in between her thighs. “Didn’t need one in the woods. We did fine there, didn’t we?” she added, already working on Lexa’s pants.

“I trust you more than anyone,” Lexa whispered, breath hitching as anticipation took hold. It wasn’t just the heat of the moment—it was what it meant. Clarke knew she’d been dreading the ambassador meeting, dragging her feet on officially announcing that they were at war again—this time not with a rogue queen, but with a merciless AI hell-bent on rewriting humanity into its image.

Lexa had never known care like this.

It began after their wedding. Clarke made a habit of carving out two hours in the middle of the day, just for them. Not always for sex—though it often ended that way—but to pause. Then came the trip to Arkadia, where Clarke introduced her to her old friends, let her feel what it was like to simply belong. To be one of them, even just for a moment.

And now this—more than just passion. It was Clarke’s way of pulling her out of the chaos. Of giving her peace when her mind screamed for control. Though Lexa tried to hold on to duty, responsibility, the weight of command… moments like these made that almost impossible.

Especially now, as Lexa realized something else: Wanheda was a thief.

She’d stolen something rare. Something precious.

Abby’s old, battery-operated secret.

Clarke smirked, flipping the switch as she placed the device on Lexa’s thigh. “I think it’s time we had that conversation,” she said, her tone deceptively light.

Lexa braced, expecting Clarke to shift the device somewhere more intimate—somewhere that was currently making her throne, once a place of power and legacy, slick with evidence of her unraveling. But Clarke didn’t. Instead, she lowered herself onto it, exhaling a strained “shit” under her breath, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before she locked eyes with Lexa again.

“I was a coward,” she said softly.

Lexa opened her mouth to argue, but Clarke stopped her with a look. “Let me finish.”

“I should’ve smacked the hell out of you,” Clarke breathed, grinding down with intent. Her voice was low, raw, as she cupped Lexa’s face with both hands.

Speaking was already becoming a challenge.

“I get why you left,” she continued through clenched teeth. “You didn’t want to bury me under the weight of your guilt—” a sharp gasp escaped her as she moved again, “—but that was your mistake.”

Lexa’s breath hitched, but Clarke pressed on.

“You thought you were protecting me. I didn’t need that… not then.” Her forehead pressed to Lexa’s, voice fraying. “I needed your trust. I needed you to be real with me.” She shifted again, more forceful this time, driving the point home.

“I wanted to sneak into your camp and do exactly this,” Clarke breathed, her voice trembling with a mix of need and purpose. “Maybe not with my mom’s secret stash in the mix… but I wanted to show you that I could handle hard things. Complicated things.” Her hand slid over Lexa’s chest, steady and sure. “I wanted you to see me.”

Lexa’s mouth parted, a thousand words caught in her throat—but with her hands bound and Clarke above her, she could only feel.

Clarke leaned in and caught Lexa’s lip between her teeth, her movements deliberate, unapologetic, completely unguarded.

Lexa’s pants were down around her ankles. Clarke’s hand slid lower, cradling her with a tenderness that stole the breath from Lexa’s lungs.

“That’s what I wanted to say,” Clarke murmured, voice raw. “But when I really did need protecting… you were there. You took me in. Broken, angry, haunted… and you didn’t flinch.”

She moved with more urgency now, her body trembling. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And then she fell apart on Lexa’s lap, a soft cry escaping her lips, and Lexa had never seen anything so heartbreakingly perfect.

Clarke, still breathless, looked up with a crooked smile. “Now… your turn.”

Clarke stood up, the device still in hand, and took a step back to admire her work. One thoroughly disarmed commander—tied, flushed, war paint smudged beyond recognition, her composure gone, thighs marked with the evidence of what had just passed, chest exposed, pants forgotten at her ankles. If it weren’t for the inconvenient fact that this was all happening in the middle of the day during a war, Clarke might’ve fetched her sketchpad and tried to capture the moment. A masterpiece.

She reached out, cupped Lexa’s cheek, and let her fingers drift down her neck—slowly, deliberately—in that exact way she knew would undo her all over again.

“Any last words, Commander?”

“I’m… sorry… Clarke,” Lexa breathed. “I never meant to turn you into this. I wanted us to be together, yes… but not like this. I never wanted you to carry my weight. I didn’t want you to hurt because of me…”

“Don’t apologize,” Clarke whispered, switching the device back on. “It’s a privilege to carry any part of you.” She guided it to Lexa’s stomach, then gently lower, settling into place again. “This… you… it’s what I want more than anything. You’re my purpose.”

She leaned in, voice quiet but steady. “I love our people. I love the coalition. I even love this broken world… but only because all of it is tied to my love for you.”

Clarke shifted the device lower, then just slightly back up, watching with satisfaction as Lexa arched into the touch—an unguarded moan slipping free.

“I love this,” Clarke murmured. “Taking care of you. Being the one who sees you—when you’re anxious, when you’re drained… or when you need this.” Her hand made the point with a slow press that sent shivers through Lexa. “This isn’t weight I carry. It’s joy. You are my joy.”

The way she was restrained yet utterly adored pushed Lexa to the edge. The contradiction only made it more intense.

One day, she’d have to thank Liza—for completely ruining Clarke… in the best way possible.

Clarke, Lexa breathed, her voice barely audible as her focus shrank to nothing but the sensation and the fierce, soul-deep look in Clarke’s eyes. They always shifted—icy when in battle, rich sapphire when she was like this… full of love, reverence, and something almost holy. The quiet hum of the ancient device echoed through Lexa’s body, and in Clarke’s hands, it became a sacred instrument. Words no longer mattered. They had said everything. What existed between them didn’t need language—it was electric, undeniable, alive.

Lexa trembled as Clarke’s mouth brushed along her jawline, stoking the waves already threatening to break her. That kiss-bite to the edge of her jaw, followed by Clarke’s whispered, my world, was all it took.

She shattered.

And in the aftermath, as her body went slack and breathless beneath the weight of it all, one thought remained:

She would never sit on this throne again without remembering this moment.

“Oh, there will be many more,” Clarke thought, catching the glint in Lexa’s eye as she undid the knots. Lexa pulled her in, burying her face in Clarke’s shoulder—and Clarke felt it, the faint warmth of tears. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her once-stoic commander was present. Awake. Open. And full of feeling.

And thinking clearly.

“We’ve got this, hodnes,” Lexa said quietly. “As long as everyone plays their part… this world will be ours again. For us. For our children.”

Clarke blinked.

Lexa just said the C word.

“I meant our as in… the coalition’s,” Lexa said smoothly, watching Clarke’s raised eyebrow with mild panic.

Clarke exhaled a laugh, folding her arms. “You already confessed the pauna scam, love. You can be honest. You didn’t mean the coalition’s children. You meant ours. It’s not a crime to want that. One day.”

Lexa tugged at her shirt, stalling. “It’s not possible, Clarke. Not unless Skaikru has some miraculous biology I don’t know about. We’re two women.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, stepping into her pants. “We have the same biology, idiot. Just better science. On the Ark, most kids were engineered. I was. Space radiation didn’t give us a choice. We figured out ways for same-sex couples to have children—safely. A week ago, I’d say it wasn’t possible anymore… but with the lab downstairs? With Mom and RoBeca? They could do it. If we want it.”

Lexa blinked. “Wow.”

Then added quietly, “I’d like that. Someday. If we’re being honest.”

Clarke smiled just as Lexa tripped over her own pants in a rush to catch up.

“Ask me again when the world’s not ending,” Clarke said, grabbing her jacket. “Presidential advisor.”

Lexa nodded, already picturing tiny green-eyed blond terrors storming the Tower and horrifying her guards.

****

“Oh—and it’s got this little drone that shoots out of its ass and flies planes,” Ontari said, hands flying animatedly as she sat by Echo’s cot in the med bay.

Echo blinked. “What’s a plane?”

A few days ago, she’d been torn open by a weapon no grounder had ever faced—her body wrecked in ways steel and arrows never could. Now? Still far from whole, but healing. Ontari had walked beside her earlier, just to the end of the hallway. It hurt like hell, but Echo hadn’t complained once. She had Heda’s blood in her veins now—blood that knitted flesh back together, that would keep her alive through poisons, radiation, maybe anything.

RoBeca, the walking-talking pile of AI brilliance now running medbay, had said Echo would never get sick again. Her skin would darken a little—apparently a side effect of black blood—and that explained something Echo had wondered about since forever: why Ontari’s tone was so much deeper than Lia’s, her own sister. Turns out, sun or not, nightblood tans you.

And now that sun—Ontari—was leaning over her, eyes bright, describing the metal beast they’d uncovered. How it soared over Polis. How the first time Moss made it fly, half the city nearly shit themselves.

Echo couldn’t help it—she laughed.

“It’s incredible!” Ontari said, eyes bright. “And… I’m teaching it social skills. And boundaries. I want you to meet it.”

Echo chuckled, smiling. “Okay, beautiful. As soon as RoBeca or Abby let me out of here. Deal?”

Ontari nodded, pleased. She glanced around the med bay—less chaos today, fewer patients. But still enough. With a quick kiss to Echo’s temple, she grabbed her tablet and moved off, back into nurse mode. Checking wounds. Monitoring vitals. Doing the things she was now frighteningly good at.

Echo lay back, staring at the ceiling. Her mind drifted to that day—returning to Nia after “failing” to capture Wanheda for the second time. The first attempt had ended with Clarke in Lexa’s hands. The second? She’d had the opening. A simple order. Poison darts. They would’ve knocked Lexa and her guard out cold—no trace back to Azgeda. It would’ve worked. She could have done it.

But she didn’t.

She let Zik “capture” her instead. Let herself be dragged to Heda, hoping for a face-to-face. Hoping to cut a deal. Freedom for her and Ontari in exchange for Nia’s entire spy network—names, routes, codes. Everything.

It didn’t work.

Pierre was there. Nia’s loyal dog, more devoted to his gambling debts than to Azgeda. He exposed her plan before she even opened her mouth. Lexa sliced her cheek. Zik turned her away.

And then she went home.

Home. Where Nia didn’t scream or beat her. She humiliated her. Broke her. Violated her in ways Echo had no words for—ways only someone as twisted as Nia could invent. Ways Ontari had known all her life.

Ontari was the one who cleaned her wounds. The one who knew what balm eased the sting. Who knew not to speak while applying it. She was careful. Gentle. Too gentle for someone so young. Too experienced for someone who should’ve never had to know that kind of care.

Now Echo watched her from across the med bay—sleeves rolled up, voice soft as she placed a fresh bandage over a young girl’s abdomen. A Floukru child who had lost a kidney, now on the path to recovery. Ontari—Liza Griffin as she now insisted on being called—was no longer the weapon Nia shaped. She was a healer. A daughter. A light.

And Echo? No longer a failed spymaster. No longer a servant of a mad queen. She was deputy to Lexa herself. Trusted. Needed. And technically—family. Lexa’s blood was in her veins now. No matter how absurd it sounded, it was true.

Soon, Liza would leave for Arkadia, returning to her new home, her new people, with Abby by her side. Echo would stay in Polis, guarding the Coalition’s secrets, watching the web from the shadows. It would hurt to say goodbye. But it was right.

Liza deserved peace.

Echo would help give it to her.

She was a gem—her little muppet, as they lovingly called her.

Liza had done what few thought possible: she helped pull Azgeda back from the edge of starvation. It started with an idea she shared with Echo—turn their greatest weapon into a resource. Poison. Something Azgeda had in abundance.

With Roan’s blessing, a handful of his poison-makers were sent to Arkadia. There, under Abby’s supervision, a small team of scientists began converting the toxins into medicine—potent treatments instead of silent killers. It wasn’t a full solution, but it created a steady trade stream. Enough to ease the worst of the famine.

And it all began with Liza.

The doors to the medical bay slid open with a soft hiss, and in walked Lexa, hand in hand with Clarke. Their usual visit—checking in on the wounded. Echo watched them enter and exhaled slowly. How different this was from the days of Nia. The Ice Queen never came to the infirmary. Never offered comfort. Her only words to injured warriors were laced with scorn—how they had failed her.

Lexa, by contrast, came every day. She spoke to every patient. Warriors, villagers, even Floukru survivors. She sat with them. Clarke usually came too, unless she was already inside, running a shift. Ontari’s idea, the rotating shift schedule. Another small miracle.

Lexa approached her cot and sat down beside her.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, voice soft but clear.

“Better every day, Heda,” Echo replied. “Your blood is working.”

Lexa nodded. “I’m glad. Abby said you’ll be cleared in a few days.”

Echo’s throat tightened. Heda had spoken to Abby about her.

“What’s happening out there?” she asked. “Any more attacks? Anything new?”

Clarke stepped forward and tilted her head. “No new attacks,” she said. “But we’re picking up movement near Fort Meade. Satellite says ALIE’s been busy there. We’re waiting on Monty to finish another batch of EMPs, then we’ll send Emerson to grab whatever tech he can.”

Echo raised a brow. “Emerson. Still hard to believe he’s on our side now. After what he did… back in the mountain.”

Lexa didn’t flinch. “He was a soldier, Echo. Loyal to his people, just like you. Just like me. Clarke captured him once, after a failed assassination attempt. Could’ve killed him. Didn’t. Now, he fights for us. And he is loyal.”

Echo took that in. Quietly.

“Hard to imagine,” she said again.

“But not impossible,” Lexa replied.

RoBeca limped into view, her mechanical joints clicking softly.

Lexa straightened immediately.
“Doc?”

“Launch detected,” Becca announced flatly.

Clarke spun around, grabbed a radio from the nearest tray, and shoved it into Ontari’s hands.
“Go. Now. Another missile’s in the air.”

Ontari didn’t pause to ask questions—just bolted.

Clarke turned back to RoBeca. “Where’s it headed? Is it coming for Polis?”

RoBeca’s head tilted. “Negative. Trajectory confirmed—target is on the African continent.”

Lexa’s jaw tensed.
“She’s changing tactics,” she said, low and grim. “She knows she can’t beat us alone. So now she’s trying to make someone else do it for her. Start a war… pit the rest of the world against us.”

Clarke cursed under her breath. “Classic divide and conquer.”

“Where did it launch from?” Lexa asked.

Becca sighed, checking the readout. “Oklahoma. It’s a long shot.”

Lexa pulled her radio from her belt. “Muppet, tell Moss to intercept the missile—and get the jet ready. It’s time we show her we bite.”

“Got it, Heda,” came Ontari’s breathless reply over the radio, already mid-sprint.

She dove into the elevator. “Top floor! Now!”

Ching. Ching. Boom.
…Creak.

It was agonizingly slow.

“I really need a faster way to talk to my dog,” Ontari muttered, bouncing with impatience.

Eventually, the doors opened. She bolted out and sprinted up the final staircase to the roof.

Moss was already online.

“I’m on it, Liza,” the machine said calmly. “It’s a ballistic missile. Chance of interception: 65%. I can engage it because its path takes it overhead.”

Ontari nodded, catching her breath. Moss had been adapting. It had started simplifying things—rephrasing technical jargon into something Liza could follow without asking. A good dog, she thought, staring at the sky.

Then she saw it—high above, a tiny speck slicing across the sky, trailing a long white line behind it. Almost beautiful.

She heard the jet’s engines rumble to life below, then watched as it rose beyond the northern wall. It hovered for a breath, then shot upward, climbing nearly vertical into the sky.

“Why aren’t you shooting it down?” she asked.

“It’s a different kind of missile, Liza,” Moss replied. “My interceptor warheads won’t reach it. This method is more appropriate.”

Ontari shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“Want to watch?” Moss asked.

She nodded eagerly, and Moss’s screen blinked to life, showing the jet’s point of view as it punched through clouds, climbing after the missile.

“Wow,” Ontari breathed. “You’re telling me people used to fly these things? Like rovers?”

“Yes, Liza. Now… watch and learn.”

Ontari grinned, eyes glued to the screen.

This was better than the Muppet Show.

“65,000 feet,” Moss reported as Ontari watched the jet level out on the screen. Moments later, it lined up behind the missile—a massive thing, the size of a small building.

She saw a red square flash onto the missile, locking in.

“Target lock confirmed,” Moss said.

Then—whoosh. A trail of fire and smoke, and the missile erupted into a burst of flame and debris.

Ontari grinned, patted Moss’s cheek, and grabbed her radio.

“Heda… Moss got it. With the jet.”

“Tell it to destroy wherever it came from,” Lexa replied. “And tell your… puppy… I said good job.”

****

“It was coming straight for us—on a direct path to Joha,” Ontabo said to Miti, the towering, sharply dressed Chief of Zimba.

Miti stood at the window of his office, its glass walls giving a wide view of the rebuilt city below—the heart of New Africa’s tech and science sector. Unlike the scattered villages across the continent, Zimba wasn’t just surviving. It was advancing. They called it the Silicon Valley of the new world, where engineers, doctors, and thinkers gathered to piece together lost knowledge and rebuild what once was.

They’d picked up strange signals months ago—originating from across the ocean, deep inside a ruined mountain base called Mount Weather. They sent a message. For a while, there was silence.

Then something else spread across the satellite bands. A digital presence they couldn’t decode. And now this: a missile, aimed right at them, suddenly taken out of the sky.

Miti didn’t move, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Send another message,” he said quietly. “Let’s see if they have anything else to say.”

Chapter Text

“Again,” Ontari said, grinning as she lunged at Echo with renewed force.

It had been two days since Abby finally gave in and discharged Echo—grudgingly—after days in recovery. “Nightblood’s basically a cheat code,” she’d muttered, handing over the clearance with an eye-roll. But Abby was happy for Liza, glad Ontari could finally have her girlfriend back, under one condition: a full week of bed rest.

Ontari nodded, promised, and then immediately redefined “bed rest” in true grounder fashion.

Training. Pushups. Nightly “activities” that had Echo red-faced and Abby suspicious. Ontari even used Echo as her living yoga mat while watching The Muppet Show. And now, with no med staff in sight, they were on the rooftop, blades drawn, feet bare, sparring like it was the final round of a war game.

Swords clashed with sharp cracks. Fists flew with precision. Echo ducked low, Ontari swept high. Nearby, Moss stood at its usual post near the edge, quietly monitoring the world beyond—now fully synced with the Starlink system, ready to detect and respond to any threat the second it emerged.

If this was rest, neither of them wanted to be awake.

Echo ducked under Ontari’s swing and countered with a quick lunge, her wooden sword aimed at her partner’s ribs. Moss, stationed at the rooftop’s edge, immediately twitched—sensors flaring.

It recognized the movement pattern. It knew what was happening. Liza had explained it dozens of times.

This was sparring.

Echo was Ontari’s romantic partner. Sparring was a training exercise, meant to sharpen reflexes and, in Echo’s case, aid in her recovery. It was not a real fight. No lethal intent. Moss understood that—technically.

But still, every time Echo’s blade came close, its defensive protocols stirred. Its system flagged potential harm. Its core programming urged it to intervene. Protect Liza. Neutralize threats.

Yet it held back.

Because Liza had taught it something else. Taught it rules beyond attack patterns and response triggers. She spoke to it, not like a weapon—but like a being. She taught it boundaries. What it meant to be useful without violence. What it meant to be respected. To matter.

That wasn’t in its original code. Moss was built for strategy. For war. For calculated destruction.

It was not built to be cared for.

But thanks to Liza Griffin… it was learning. And that was proving to be a far more powerful glitch than any the system had ever encountered.

In the last few days, Moss had intercepted two more missile launches—neither aimed at them, but at the continent across the ocean. Luckily, there were no nuclear warheads left on Earth. ALIE had already used them, over a century ago, in her effort to cleanse the world.

But one still remained. Not on Earth—on the Ark. The ring. What Raven called the last weapon in space. And that was the real threat. The F75 couldn’t reach it. Even with all its advanced tech, it was built for atmospheric combat. They were working on it, but no solution had come yet.

And it mattered. Because ALIE had shifted her strategy—and it was working.

A few days ago, a message came in from the other side of the world. Not friendly. Their satellites had picked up multiple missile launches originating from what used to be the United States. They were demanding answers. Even though the warheads hadn’t landed, the threat alone was enough. ALIE didn’t need to hit her targets—just make the rest of the world think they were under attack. One launch at a time, she was turning what remained of humanity against each other.

Fortunately, the latest shipment from Azgeda—a haul from a sealed facility near what was once Montreal—delivered a cache of air-to-air and ground-to-air missiles. Most were still operational, and could be fitted to the F75. A rare win.

But Moss had warned them clearly: if ALIE launched enough missiles at once, it would overwhelm the system. Africa would get hit. And war would break out.

And judging by the metadata embedded in that recent message—high-level encryption, advanced transmission protocols, and a communication array still intact after a hundred years—whoever was out there wasn’t just surviving. They were armed. They were organized. And they were watching.

****

“We need to be honest with them,” Lexa said, rubbing her temples. “We need to explain what’s happening. Tell them about ALIE. They have to know. She won’t stop here—she’ll infect whatever systems they have next. And then it’s over. Becca said it herself. They’re advanced, organized… and they seem reasonable. We should talk to them.”

Clarke groaned. “And if we tell them most of the tech on this continent is crawling with an evil AI, what’s to stop them from wiping us out just to be safe?”

Lexa said nothing, but Clarke could feel the weight of her silence.

They both knew the message hadn’t exactly screamed “peace offering”:

We attempted to establish contact three and a half months ago. We received no response. Recently, our satellites detected a surge of digital signals across U.S. territory, followed by multiple missile launches. The last three were headed directly for Joha, the capital of New Africa. All were aborted, but the intent is concerning.

It is not our wish to enter conflict. We seek only to reconnect with what remains of humanity. However, we will respond swiftly and decisively to further provocation.
Please reply via the secure link provided.

—Chief Miti, New African Alliance

“We have nothing to lose, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. “If they want to fight us, they will—whether we respond or not. But if we tell them the truth now, we might gain an ally. If we don’t… ALIE will get to them eventually, and they’ll become our enemies anyway.”

Clarke leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. Her gut still churned at the thought of another alliance gone wrong. Mount Weather had smiled at first too—until they hooked her friends to machines and drained them like cattle.

But deep down, she knew Lexa was right. They were out of time, out of options. The only real move left was to gamble—and hope someone out there still believed in talking before shooting.

Clarke sighed. “Fine. Let’s send them a message.”

Lexa nodded. “I’ll tell Becca and Raven to prepare for contact. Honestly… I’m a little excited. We always believed we were the last.”

“It makes sense,” Clarke said. “From what I read on the Ark, Africa was one of the poorest continents before the world ended. They probably didn’t have nukes, and if they didn’t launch any, no one would have targeted them. Becca said Africa wasn’t hit as hard as the rest of the world. So it tracks. Survivors. Maybe even a society.”

Lexa stood and extended her hand. “Come, my insatiable Wanheda. Let’s get this over with.”

Clarke smirked, taking her hand as they stepped out into the hallway. The guards outside the quarters nodded as the two passed, and they headed straight for the elevator. Lexa leaned into the tube and called for transport to the lower floors. She didn’t need to look to know what was coming next.

Clarke, ever composed in battle, still grew fidgety in confined spaces—something Lexa never stopped finding ironic. For someone raised in a sealed tin can hurtling through space, Clarke sure didn’t like small rooms. But after surviving Nia’s war tent, after being trapped in Mount Weather, Lexa understood why. Claustrophobia wasn’t irrational—it was memory.

And Clarke, ever Clarke, had found a workaround. She channeled nerves into something far more tactile.

Lexa gasped softly as Clarke backed her into the elevator wall and kissed her hard, slow, careful not to smudge the paint on her face. It wasn’t just distraction—it was grounding. A reminder.

The last few days had been a storm: more missile launches, the encrypted message from Chief Miti, tension rising with every hour. And with every wave of uncertainty, Clarke met it with something new—more desire, more intensity. As if the more anxious Lexa became, the more determined Clarke was to remind her of who she was. Of what they were.

When Lexa doubted herself without the Flame, Clarke would pull her close and show her power didn’t come from a symbol. When politics wore her thin, Clarke’s silk ties reminded her that surrender could be a form of strength. But this moment wasn’t about reassurance or duty.

It was about refuge.

It was about the one thing they both believed would outlast every weapon, every war, every ghost still lurking in the sky.

Them.

After several long, rattling minutes in the elevator—not just because of the ancient pulley system groaning overhead, but because of what Clarke was doing to her in the cramped space—Lexa stepped out, flushed and flustered, barely keeping her composure. Clarke followed, entirely too smug for someone who claimed this wasn’t a distraction tactic.

They walked briskly across the ground floor, past guards and medics, through a cordoned-off area that now served as the main access point to the bunker below. It had once been a symbol of fear, hoarding, and secrets. Now, it was the heart of their resistance.

One clan called it home. Others used it as headquarters. And beneath its thick walls, Raven, Monty, and a robotic Becca coordinated their digital war against ALIE. Abby ran the medical floor—sometimes with Becca’s help, depending on who had control of the body that day.

Cadogan had used this place to escape the planet, hoping to restart humanity in the stars. They were using it to protect what was left of it here.

Lexa and Clarke entered the war room—a space lit with softly humming screens, a partially restored quantum computer glowing faintly in the corner. Raven was up to her elbows in coolant lines, and Monty was hunched over a small EMP device, soldering carefully in the far corner.

“I want to send a message,” Lexa said, settling into a chair by the central table. “They need to know we mean them no harm—and what we’re fighting.”

Raven groaned, pulling her headlamp off. “What if they’re psychos? Another Mountain Men situation? Bloodthirsty cannibals with nukes? You want to invite them in for tea?”

Clarke shrugged. “If they are, we’ll surrender to ALIE. No cannibals in the City of Light. I hope.”

Raven rolled her eyes and tossed her gloves onto the table. “Fine. I survived a mutant gorilla hunt with you two. What’s one more gamble?”

Monty looked back from his workstation, clearly envious of how casually Raven could talk to the Commander. Lexa noticed.

“We’ll feed them Monty first,” she offered dryly.

Monty cracked a smile.

“Loosen up, sky boy,” Lexa added, her tone gentler now. “It’s just us here.”

Monty chuckled. “They’d choke on me. I’m all bones.”

“You are,” Lexa smirked. “Once this is over, I’ll assign someone to bulk you up.”

She turned serious. “How are the EMPs coming along? We need more—and fast. At least until Raven finishes rebuilding that thing,” she said, nodding at the gutted quantum computer, “and the muppet’s dog cooks up a kill code.”

“I’ll have two more by the end of the day,” Monty said without looking up.

Meanwhile, Raven had opened Chief Miti’s message and clicked the embedded link. A sleek, encrypted portal loaded on-screen.

“Whoa,” Raven muttered, brows rising. “They’ve got a full-on government-grade system. Honestly? It’s on par with Ark tech—less space-centric, but still impressive.” She pointed at an emblem on the screen. A palm tree beside a river, a rising sun overlaid against an outline of the African continent, text written in a script none of them recognized.

“What do we say?” Clarke asked.

Lexa exhaled. “Ask if we can do a secure video call. It’s time we explain things face to face.”

Raven nodded and cracked her knuckles. “Got it.”

Lexa smiled faintly. “See? Flame or no flame, I still remember how some of this works.”

Raven grinned and began typing:

⸻

Dear Chief Miti,

Thank you for your message. I would like to request a secure video conference to explain the current situation in full. Please be assured that we mean no harm. However, some events are beyond our control at the moment, and I believe transparency is critical if we’re to avoid unnecessary conflict.

Warm regards,
Commander Lexa Griffin
(Giant monkey slayer and Raven’s certified bestie—which, let’s be honest, is a very big deal.)

⸻

“Let me see it,” Lexa said, stepping in.

Raven gestured to the trackpad. “Here, just scroll.”

Lexa skimmed the message, nodding—until her eyes hit the final line.

“What the hell is that?” she snapped. “Change it!”

Before Raven could explain, Lexa’s palm slapped the mouse in panic.

The screen blinked:

Message sent.

Lexa groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Raven just shrugged. “Well… it’s honest.”

“They’ll think we’re idiots!” Lexa hissed, mortified, as Clarke doubled over in laughter, nearly breathless from how hard she was laughing.

“They’ll think we’re human,” Clarke managed between gasps. “It’s perfect, Commander Lexa Griffin,” she teased, wiping a tear from her eye. “I love it.”

Lexa groaned and rubbed her face. “Now what?”

Raven leaned back, casually. “Now? We wait. They’ll either nuke us or—”

The screen blinked.
Incoming Message.

“—send a reply,” Raven finished, clicking it open. “Looks like we got a video link. Let’s see what those ‘cannibals’ look like.”

Lexa inhaled deeply and nodded. “Do it.”

Raven hit connect.

The screen flickered to life, revealing a tall, dark-skinned man in a sharp suit seated behind a polished desk. Two flags stood behind him, and through the wide glass wall behind his chair, a modern-looking town stretched out—clean roads, lush trees, buildings lined with solar panels, and cars gliding beneath blue skies.

“Hello, Commander,” the man said, his voice warm but curious, accented. “Nice war paint.”

Lexa straightened in her seat. “Thank you. Chief Miti, I presume?”

He nodded. “And this must be Raven,” he added, catching sight of her in the background.

Raven stiffened and gave a small wave. “Hi.”

“It’s incredible to meet you, Commander Griffin,” Miti continued, smiling politely. “We always hoped we’d find other survivors. And here you are. How many are with you? Dozens? Hundreds?”

Lexa shook her head and subtly pinched Clarke’s thigh under the table to stop her from laughing at Commander Griffin.

“Tens of thousands,” Lexa said calmly. “Thirteen clans. Mostly located in what was once the northeastern United States. And with you?”

“Roughly the same,” Miti replied. “The last census put us at seventy-eight thousand. We have two states, north and south. Most people live in rural communities—farmers, builders, educators. But Joha, here, is our capital. This is where we’re rebuilding something closer to what came before. Maybe one day, you’ll see for yourself.”

Lexa nodded. “Thank you. My people are less advanced, but we’ve begun to progress. One of our clans, a newer one—from space, actually—has helped us restore old technologies. This,” she said, pulling Clarke into frame, “is my wife, Clarke. She was born in space.”

Clarke blinked and waved, cheeks flushed pink. “Hi.”

Miti gave a respectful nod. “An honor to meet you, Clarke. Now… perhaps you can explain something.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“The missiles?”

Lexa exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “It’s a rogue AI. It calls itself ALIE. The same one responsible for the destruction of the world over a century ago. It was dormant—until recently. Someone tried to reactivate it, and now it’s infected what remains of the U.S. military infrastructure. We’ve been fighting it—successfully so far—but it’s changed tactics. It likely became aware of your existence and is trying to provoke a war, to divide us. So far, we’ve intercepted every missile aimed in your direction.”

Miti’s expression darkened. “That lines up, Commander. We’ve seen signs of the breach ourselves. Unusual signals, abnormal system behavior. We didn’t understand what it was. Honestly… I wasn’t sure I could trust your message. Thought it might be a trap, part of the same digital trickery. But your… unique response left no doubt that actual human hands wrote it.”

Lexa side-eyed Raven, who grinned and elbowed her playfully. You’re welcome.

“What do you need to stop it?” Miti asked.

“A working quantum computer,” Raven replied. “We have one. The core is intact, but the cooling system’s toast. Best-case, we’re two weeks from getting it back online.”

Miti nodded slowly. “I’ll arrange for our scientists to meet with yours. Maybe we can help. I’ll send a secure link to schedule a session. That said… we won’t be able to send you any components. We don’t have the means to reach you.”

Raven shrugged, grinning. “Good news is—we might be able to reach you.”

Miti raised an eyebrow at that.

“We’ll set up the meeting with your team,” Lexa said, smoothly taking over. Her mind was already racing ahead—imagining herself and Clarke boarding the jet, crossing oceans, and landing in a world thought lost. “We’ll talk more then.”

Clarke leaned slightly toward her, brushing her fingers against Lexa’s.

Happily ever after, she had once told Lexa, is just the good moments in between the chaos.

And this? This was going to be one of those moments.

“I’ll send another link with details once the appropriate team is assembled,” Miti said, his tone warm but measured. “Though I wish our meeting came under better circumstances… it’s a pleasure to finally make contact. You seem like an… interesting group. My people are genuinely excited by this. And we appreciate your efforts in intercepting the missiles. That hasn’t gone unnoticed. Rest assured, though—we’re not without our own means of defense.”

Lexa nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. If there are any more launches, we’ll alert you immediately and do everything we can to stop them.”

“Good,” Miti said with a firm nod. “Let’s keep the lines of communication open.”

He paused, then added, “Commander… you’re young.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted.

Miti smiled. “And yet, I’m impressed.”

Lexa offered a small smile. “Thank you, Chief Miti. I look forward to speaking again soon.”

Miti nodded, then the screen blinked off.

Lexa exhaled, turning to Clarke, who stood quietly, her brow furrowed.

“Dante Wallace was a great politician too,” Clarke said softly. “We have to be careful. We don’t know who we’re really dealing with.”

Lexa reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “You’re right,” she said. “We tread carefully.”

Raven leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Well, good thing our Azgeda friends just delivered us a box of pre-war surveillance toys,” she said. “I say we put them to work. Let’s see what New Africa is really made of.”

“How do we get them across the ocean?” Clarke asked, scratching at her neck. They had a pile of pre-war devices from Azgeda’s latest haul—clearly meant for surveillance, but no one was exactly sure how to use them.

Monty leaned back in his chair. “They’re modular attachments for the F75. Advanced recon gear. We can send the jet—fly it low at night. Unless they’ve got tech better than what existed before the bombs, they won’t even know we’re there.”

Raven grinned. “That jet’s a gift from the universe. Missiles, unlimited fuel, a hidden passenger bay—and now it turns out it’s got spy gear too.”

“I’ll start working on attaching the gear,” Raven said. “It should snap right into place. We talked to the Azgeda scavengers who brought it in—came from some kind of research facility up north. Maple leaves all over it, so yeah, definitely Canadian.”

Clarke nodded. “Makes sense. Toward the end, Canada was beefing up its military—there was tension with the U.S. over trade. They probably took American tech and upgraded it rather than starting from scratch.”

Lexa exhaled slowly. This was way outside her wheelhouse. She could command armies, take back cities with a handful of loyal warriors—but military aircraft, quantum processors, rogue AI? That was Clarke’s world. And thankfully, she wasn’t in this alone.

“If needed,” Lexa asked, “can the jet take us there? To Africa?” Just the thought made her pulse quicken. Seeing another part of the world. Meeting survivors from a whole different civilization. A place where she wasn’t in charge. Experiencing that with Clarke at her side? Wild.

Monty nodded. “It’s got a small passenger bay. Six people, max.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke and nodded. “Then let’s start with recon. Launch it. Scout the area. We need to know what we’re walking into—who they are, what kind of defenses they have, and if they’re really ready to be allies.”

“We could really use their help,” Raven said, motioning toward the quantum computer. “I’ve stripped every fridge in the bunker for cooling components, but it’s still not enough. If they can send us parts, it’d save a ton of time—and I wouldn’t have to build everything from scratch.”

“How far is the trip?” Clarke asked, arms crossed. “Africa’s not exactly close.”

It was easier to grasp global distance when you’d grown up staring down at Earth from orbit.

“Three, maybe four hours,” Monty replied. “The jet’s a beast. But keep in mind—we still need it here if ALIE launches anything else.”

“I’m nearly finished with the other two robohounds,” Raven added. “Emerson brought back enough surface-to-air gear to make it work. Once I sync them into Moss’s network and position them right, we’ll have full coverage over the coalition. That should free up the jet.”

Lexa nodded. “Then do it.”

She kept her expression neutral, voice cool and measured—commander through and through. Her interest, of course, was purely strategic. The thought of slipping away with Clarke to another continent? Completely irrelevant. Tactical necessity only.

****

Lia sifted through the delicate trinkets at Pim’s stall, her fingers brushing over the little pieces of metal and stone like they were sacred. She’d always had a thing for jewelry—even back when her life was still tangled in Nia’s lies, back when she was a spy with no real place to call home. Things were different now. Better.

She smiled faintly as Bellamy’s hand found her waist—her impatient sky boy who was supposed to visit only on weekends, hitching rides with her little sister whenever Liza came to Polis from Arkadia to visit Echo. But now Liza was staying longer, caught up in the chaos with the rest of them, helping unravel the tech-fueled nightmare threatening their world. Lia didn’t mind. Her sister was thriving, loved, and seen in a way that once seemed impossible. That alone filled Lia’s heart.

What surprised her more was how, somewhere along the way, she’d started wanting something for herself. And that something was Bellamy.

It wasn’t just the new assignment Heda had given her—keeping her ear to the ground, collecting whispers and tracking how ALIE’s reach might be warping the coalition’s loyalties. It was this man, this stubborn Skaikru warrior who’d wormed his way past every wall she’d ever built. She’d met him in TonDC, when the brand on her face was still fresh and raw—Heda’s judgment etched into her skin for all to see.

Most people had avoided her like she carried disease. She was the spared traitor, the branded one. But Bellamy? He didn’t even know what the mark meant at first. And once he found out, he didn’t flinch. He stayed.

Stayed, and treated her with more kindness than she’d ever expected. When Heda finally gave her permission to cover the brand with a star, Bellamy quietly paid the inker himself. Called her his.

Even knowing everything—her role, her past—he never used it against her. He treated her like she was made of gold. And when it came to the nights they shared, the way he looked at her made her believe that maybe, just maybe, she was more than the sum of what she’d done.

Now he was here, clearly done waiting, hitching a surprise ride to Polis with Jasper, Miller, and Harper, who’d come to see Liza. Lia glanced at him, felt the way his thumb traced little circles on her hip, and thought: maybe this was the life she never knew she deserved.

Lia picked up a simple bronze necklace, its steel star pendant catching the light. “This one,” she murmured, the word resilience echoing in her thoughts. It wasn’t the necklace she was really after, though—it was what Pim had just whispered to her friend: a whole village in Bluecliff, gone. Not burned, not attacked. Just… empty. Everyone—men, women, children—vanished without a trace. That, she would report to Heda.

But first, there was something else to take care of.

She glanced sideways as Bellamy handed over a few coins for the necklace, watching him with a smirk. Bringing him back to her quarters wasn’t an option—not with the orphaned survivors of Nia’s reign packed into every available space. They’d rescued the children almost a month ago, pulled from the hellish underground tunnels exposed by none other than the mountain man himself. Lia had taken them under her wing. She was responsible now. No, privacy was a luxury she didn’t have.

But she did have an idea. Just a few blocks away, near the edge of the Polis market, stood her old place of business—discreet, empty during the day, and still technically hers.

She caught Bellamy’s hand and tugged him close, voice low and teasing. “Come. Let’s go… reconnect. If you missed me as much as you say you did.”

Judging by the way he shifted and the flush creeping up his neck, he missed her more than plenty.

They turned down a familiar street, the energy shifting immediately. Bellamy’s eyes went wide as they passed Lia’s old stomping grounds—women and men lounging against doorways, draped in suggestive silks, eyeing potential clients with practiced confidence. Lia chuckled, watching his stiff posture and darting gaze.

“See anything you like?” she teased, bumping her hip into his.

He swallowed hard, then nodded without hesitation. “You.”

Lia smirked, pleased. But her eyes drifted to a striking woman standing further down, posture confident, curves impossible to ignore. Mila—yes, that was her name. They’d worked the same corner once. Reliable, open-minded, good with boundaries. Perfect for what Lia had in mind.

“What about her?” Lia asked, tilting her chin toward Mila.

Bellamy followed her gaze, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“She’s beautiful,” he admitted.

“She is,” Lia agreed. “And very skilled.”

Then, stepping close, voice husky, she added, “Let’s bring her along.”

There was no shame in it—no guilt. She’d stayed loyal while he was gone, even though the ache never really left. But Lia was done apologizing for the way she was wired. Nia had twisted her upbringing, sure—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t own her desires now. Fully. Freely. Without shame.

She trusted Bellamy to understand that. And more importantly—to want her still. All of her.

Wild heart and all.

“Are you serious right now?” Bellamy asked, eyes wide with disbelief—though the growing tension in his pants said something else entirely.

Lia nodded without hesitation, brushing her fingers over his hand before tugging him forward. “No shame,” she murmured. “Let’s see if we can get a good price.”

He followed, half-stumbling in flustered silence as she led him down the line and straight toward Mila.

“Heya, Mila,” Lia said, stepping into view. “It’s been a while since we worked a shift together.”

Mila raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Lia? What are you—?” Her voice trailed off as her eyes locked on the faint but unmistakable star covering the old brand on Lia’s cheek.

“It’s true,” Lia said softly. “I was marked. But I was also forgiven. This,” she added, tugging Bellamy a step closer, “is my niron. Bellamy kom Skaikru. We’re looking for company. The real question is—are you willing?”

Mila studied them both for a beat, then smirked. “Three bronze. Four if you want me for both.”

“Two,” Lia countered, cool as ever. “You’ve never had Skaikru. A man born in the stars.”

Mila’s lips curled. “Tempting. But I know my worth. Three. Final offer.”

Lia nodded. “Deal.”

Bellamy just stood there, utterly scarlet. This was definitely not how he pictured their reunion—but he didn’t argue. He just swallowed and prayed he’d survive the day.

“Come then,” Mila said, taking both their hands and leading them into what used to be an apartment before the world ended. Now, it was her quarters. Lia winked at Bellamy on the way in, amused by how stiffly he was walking—whether from nerves or something else, she couldn’t tell.

Inside, Bellamy froze. The place looked like something out of a fever dream—every kind of device and restraint imaginable, hanging neatly or tucked into shadowy corners. His brain couldn’t keep up.

“Money first,” Mila said suddenly, turning to face them.

Bellamy fumbled in his pocket and handed over three bronze coins. It was a steep price—about a week’s salary back in Arkadia—but right now, money was the last thing on his mind.

Mila tucked the coins away and turned to Lia, tilting her chin gently with one hand. Her other hand drifted lower, resting boldly on Bellamy in a way that erased any lingering doubts.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice low. “Tell me.”

Lia joined Mila, her hand grazing Bellamy’s evident arousal, her smile teasing. “Nothing you want is impossible,” she murmured, “and nothing you ask for will make me… less yours.” She almost said love, but this wasn’t the moment, though it burned in her chest.

Bellamy blinked, flustered. “I… don’t…”

Mila chuckled. “Skaikru, huh? Soft.”

Lia patted Bellamy, smirking. “Not at all. Why don’t you start with me, Mila? Let him watch. Maybe he’ll find his words.”

Mila nodded. “As you wish, old friend.”
Bellamy exhaled. Mila, mid-twenties, dark and curvy with hazel eyes, wore a sheer silk tunic. She slipped it off, revealing nothing beneath. She undressed Lia with care—Lia’s slim frame, her delicate curves, a bubble butt, and perky chest that Bellamy had dreamed of through countless lonely nights.

“Undress and get on the bed,” Mila said, her hands exploring Lia—one trailing up to her chest, the other sliding lower, teasing, as she turned to her.

Mila guided Lia to the bed, settling her into Bellamy’s waiting arms. The warmth of his embrace grounded her, a steady contrast to the charged air of the room.

Lia tilted her head up, a soft smile playing on her lips as she met his gaze. Her hand drifted back, finding him already hard, and she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking gently. “All okay, sky boy?” she teased, her voice low and warm.

His answering grunt, rough and unguarded, was all the confirmation she needed. He’d survive this. She leaned in, kissing him deeply, her lips lingering as Mila’s mouth brushed against her neck, a soft, deliberate graze that sent a shiver through her.

Mila’s tongue trailed downward, teasing Lia’s nipple as her hand cupped Lia’s core, warm and deliberate. This wasn’t love-making—it was raw, unapologetic desire, a moment of pure indulgence. Lia deemed it a gift for Bellamy, for the man he’d proven to be: loyal, accepting, unshakably solid.

Her hand moved again, stroking him with purpose. Mila’s lips closed around her nipple, drawing a low moan from Lia’s throat. “Hmmm…” she hummed, her fingers tightening briefly on Bellamy. His twitch beneath her touch warned her to ease up—he wouldn’t last long if she pushed too far.

“What do you want her to do to me, niron?” Lia purred, her voice thick with heat. “Whatever that star-forged mind of yours can dream up… it’s possible. Welcome.”

Bellamy’s face flushed crimson. He’d once held Arkadia’s defenses with a bullet hole in his arm, fueled by grit and a handful of guards, but this? This was far beyond his depth, and his blushing silence said as much.

Lia laughed softly, the sound warm and knowing. She’d seen it that first night in TonDC, when he’d walked her home, and she’d invited him in—broken, fragile, craving a moment to lose herself. He’d been inexperienced then, wide-eyed and eager, and she loved it. Loved how much she could teach him, how his eyes lit up with every new lesson. His innocence was a canvas, and she adored painting it.

“Okay, bei,” she murmured, her breath hitching as Mila’s fingers grazed her folds below, teasing with expert precision. “I’ll show you what I enjoy… and maybe tonight, you’ll try the same.”

Turning to Mila, Lia’s voice grew bold. “I want your mouth on me and a finger in my ass.”
Mila chuckled, nodding with a sly grin. Bellamy’s eyes widened, just as Lia knew they would, caught between shock and fascination.

“Here, bei,” Lia murmured, pressing herself closer into Bellamy’s embrace, guiding his hands to her nipples. “Play with me… and I’ll play with you.” Her fingers stroked him again, deliberate and teasing, ensuring he was hard for what she had planned.

When he’d shown up at her door that morning, saying, “I got tired of waiting, so I came,” her heart had warmed, her smile blooming. She’d never imagined this—someone who cared, who saw her not as a toy, a body, or Nia’s tool, but as a person. His person. She’d caught the way his eyes lingered on her ass, tracking every shift of her hips. Today, she’d show him just how much she was his.

But first, she needed to warm up.

And get lubed up.

“Fuck…” Lia exhaled, her breath catching as Mila’s tongue traced her folds, flicking her clit with precision. She hadn’t chosen Mila just for her stunning looks—Mila was skilled, gentle when it mattered, and knew exactly how to build the fire.

Lia arched, her body responding as Mila set a deliberate pace, her tongue gliding up her folds, over her clit, circling once, then again. Lia grew slick, the sensation pulling her deeper. “Harder,” she whispered to Bellamy, who rolled her nipples with cautious care. “You won’t break me.”

Mila shifted, her mouth working magic on Lia’s clit—blowing, sucking, flicking in a rhythm that felt like sorcery. “Easy,” Lia gasped, trying to pace herself. They had more to explore, and she needed to last.

“I’ll take that finger now,” she said, her own finger brushing Bellamy’s tip, feeling the slight wetness there. Oh, he was ready.

Mila rose, grabbing a small jar from a nearby shelf. “Scoot up,” she instructed, guiding Bellamy to lean against the headboard with Lia cradled in his arms.

She positioned Lia’s legs, spreading them to expose her ass, then smeared a generous amount of Slida—Grounder lube—over her opening. “Ready?” Mila asked. Lia nodded, her breath steady but eager. “Watch,” she told Bellamy, her voice a soft command.

Bellamy’s mind reeled. Lia wasn’t his first girlfriend, but the things she introduced him to made him feel like a fumbling teenager. This—raw, forbidden, thrilling—felt so far from anything he’d known. Part of him worried it was too much, too dirty, that it might hurt her. But the pressure in his groin, teetering on the edge, screamed otherwise. As Mila’s finger pressed against Lia’s ass, tracing slow, deliberate circles, Lia’s eyes fluttered shut, her face a portrait of pleasure, not pain. Bellamy’s fear melted, replaced by awe.

Mila’s finger slid in, just the tip at first, as her mouth returned to Lia’s clit, reigniting the fire. She angled herself so Bellamy could see every move—her finger easing in and out, slow and deliberate, until her hand pressed deeper, fully seated.

“She’s getting me ready,” Lia said, her voice dripping with bliss. “Hmmm… fuck.”

“Ready for what?” Bellamy asked, his voice thick with bewilderment. Lia’s small hand still gripped him, squeezing his shaft, the pressure pushing him to the edge.

“For you, bei,” Lia murmured. “All of you.”

“You don’t mean…” he stammered, cut off by Lia’s soft moan as Mila’s rhythm intensified.

“Stretch me,” Lia husked, her words trembling as Mila gave her clit a slow, languid suck, drawing a whimper. “I’ll sit on him while you finish me off.”

Bellamy’s head spun, his vision blurring as the world tilted dangerously close to overwhelming.

“So clueless, these Skai people,” Mila teased, her voice light but sharp. “More fingers, or one of these?” She gestured to the array of toys on a nearby shelf, each one gleaming with possibility.

“Mmmmm… what do you want, bei?” Lia asked, her tone playful but edged with challenge. “Talk… or it’s going in *your* ass.”

That snapped Bellamy out of his daze, words tumbling out fast. “Ahm… that,” he managed, nodding toward the toys, not ready to push his limits that far.

Mila nodded, reaching for a small piece, but Lia shook her head. “Bigger.”

Mila rolled her eyes, grabbing a larger toy, shaped like a spearhead, and coated it generously with Slida. She pressed it to Lia’s ass, and Lia shifted forward, her breath steady. “Go ahead.”

Mila proceeded, working with care. Before long, only the round base remained visible, and Lia’s expression was one of triumph, a quiet pride in her eyes.

Lia rose, standing with a deliberate sway, the toy in her ass catching the light as she wiggled it before Bellamy. “What do you think, bei?” she asked, bending forward, her voice a teasing lilt. “Like the new look?”

He swallowed hard, nodding, his eyes locked on her. He definitely did.

Lia hummed, pleased, and slid to his side, settling next to him. Her fingers tapped his rock-hard shaft, a playful, adoring touch, before grazing his balls. She glanced at Mila, then leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his tip. Mila took the cue, her tongue flicking over his balls as Lia took him into her mouth.

“Tell me if you get too close,” Lia murmured, pulling back briefly.

“Telling you,” Bellamy said, his voice cautious, edged with nerves.

She smiled, reassuring. “Don’t worry, bei, you won’t come yet.” Her hand squeezed his balls gently, a practiced move to keep him steady, holding off the edge.

Lia’s lips worked his shaft, sucking gently as Mila’s tongue teased his balls. Bellamy trembled, the overwhelming sensation held at bay only by Lia’s practiced touch, keeping him from tipping over the edge. After what felt like an eternity but was barely a minute, Lia stood. “Pull it out.”

Bellamy hesitated, gripping the toy’s base, terrified of hurting her. But Lia jerked forward, and it slid out smoothly. She turned, biting his lip with a playful edge. “All ready for you, love,” she said, the word slipping out unnoticed by her. Bellamy caught it, his heart skipping, but he didn’t mind. This—wild, intense, beyond his wildest imaginings—wasn’t what he’d expected, but it felt right.

Lia wasn’t a harlot, not anymore. Even when she was, it had been to shield her sister from Nia’s cruelty. Back when they met, she’d been an outcast, with little to her name, not yet Heda’s trusted deputy caring for hundreds of orphaned children. But what she had, she’d given him, in the most breathtakingly intense way.

“Hold my hips,” she said, taking his shaft in her hand and guiding herself down, slowly easing him into her ass. The sensation was maddening—tight, overwhelming. After a few careful movements, he was fully inside her, every inch claimed. She turned, looking up at him with a radiant smile. “I’m yours, bei… all of me.”

He nodded, speechless. Then Mila’s mouth found Lia’s clit, and Lia began to rock gently, the rhythm pulling them all deeper into the moment.

Lia’s movements grew wilder, her hand curling around Bellamy’s neck, her gentle rocking intensifying as she locked eyes with him. The pressure built—her ass tightening around him, her body coiling like a spring. Bellamy couldn’t hold back any longer, and he didn’t need to.

Lia’s lips parted in a soft “o,” her climax hitting as Mila’s hand squeezed his balls. The rhythm of Lia’s orgasm, paired with Mila’s touch, pushed him over the edge. He exploded inside her, grunting, spilling as their bodies shuddered together, Lia’s loud moan filling the air.

“I lo…” Bellamy started, the words catching, his heart racing with fear of what he’d almost said.

“I know… me too,” Lia whispered, cupping his cheek tenderly, her eyes soft. Mila rolled her eyes, a quiet smirk on her lips.

Mila stood, pressing a soft kiss to Lia’s cheek. “You’ve got a cute one,” she said, grabbing two small towels and dampening them in a basin. “Take your time.” Her tone was casual, almost absurdly so, like they’d just stopped by for a quick errand.

As Bellamy softened, Lia eased off him with a contented sigh. “I love being full of you,” she murmured, her voice warm.

He smiled, his eyes catching hers. “And I love filling you.” The word “love” carried weight, deliberate and unspoken.

Lia leaned in, kissing him deeply, then stood, turning to rest against him. Mila gently cleaned her with a towel, then tended to Bellamy with the same care. Handing them their clothes, Mila grinned. “Good to see you, Lia. Come again… I guess?”

Lia smirked. “Only if my niron desires.”

Bellamy flushed, caught between amusement and overwhelm. Decisions, decisions. They dressed, hands finding each other as they stepped outside.

“It… doesn’t hurt?” he asked, tentative.

Lia’s smile was soft. “No, love. Not if it’s done right. You’ll see.”

He blinked, startled. “Uh… what?”

Her laugh was bright, teasing. “Whatever. We need to get to the tower. I have something to tell Heda. Now.”

“We should’ve gone first,” Bellamy said, half-serious.

Lia’s eyes sparkled. “No. Love comes before duty. Heda taught me that.”

****

Lexa paced the control room, jaw tight. “We’re running out of time.”

Everyone was there—her entire circle. Clarke. Raven. RoBeca. Monty. Abby. Echo. Gaia. Emerson. Even Ontari, who had left Moss and the people visiting her behind to be here. And Lia, who had just delivered news no one wanted to hear.

Miti hadn’t delayed. Within half an hour of their first contact, they were already speaking with Joha’s scientists. The biggest revelation? They had liquid nitrogen—plenty of it. If they could get it, Raven wouldn’t need to jury-rig the busted Freon cooling system she’d been struggling to patch together. It would shave days off their timeline.

But Lia’s news changed everything. Another village in Bluecliff—gone. No bodies. No fire. Just empty homes. ALIE had people again. Real humans. Engineers. Programmers. Fixers. And she could build herself faster now than ever before.

RoBeca stood, her tone clipped and urgent. “You have to go. We need that nitrogen. We need the kill code running. We need to destroy ALIE before she gets enough missiles launched to overwhelm our defenses. If I could go myself, I would—but I doubt they’d welcome a robot when they’re already on edge about AI.”

Clarke crossed her arms. “We were going to send the jet first. Recon. We still don’t know what we’re walking into.”

Ontari leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning the room—everyone tense, everyone ready. They were more than just a team now. A patched-together family, forged in blood, tech, and survival.

“They seemed like good people,” Ontari said finally. “The Joha scientists. Nervous. Honest. Not hiding anything. Not manipulating. Just… trying.”

She looked to Lexa. “I’ll go with Moss. We drop it off nearby, let it scan from a distance. If anything goes wrong, it’ll be close enough to intervene. I’ll accompany you and Clarke. We’ll have the jet. We’ll be fine.”

Lexa stopped pacing. “Raven. How soon can you get the other robodogs online for missile defense?”

Raven sighed, rubbing her face. “If I work all night and Monty and Jasper actually stay on task? By sunrise, we can deploy them and have Moss rewire the entire interceptor grid. We’ll be covered.”

“And the jet?” Clarke asked.

“I’ll send it now,” Raven said. “Stealth mode. It’ll scout their terrain, catalog radar, air defenses, any surprises. It’ll be back by morning and ready for transport.”

Lexa nodded once, resolute. “Then it’s settled.”

She glanced around the room, letting her gaze settle on each face.

“We leave at dawn,” she said. “It’s time for Africa.”

Chapter Text

Clarke looked over at her companions and mentally checked them off like a mission list. One pale-faced Heda? Check. One overly excited muppet pretending to be a co-pilot? Check. One flying robodog in full autopilot mode? Check.

“Fifty thousand feet. Course locked. Destination: Joha. Autopilot engaged,” Moss reported in its crisp voice.

“Lex, come up here,” Clarke said, chuckling.

Lexa unbuckled from her jump seat in the passenger bay and made her way forward. No need to call Muppet—she was already in the pilot’s chair, gripping the controls like they meant something, even though Moss had everything under control. It wasn’t lost on Clarke how far they’d come—from barely surviving this robodog’s attempt to murder them near DARPA, to trusting it to fly them across the Atlantic.

The plane was more than ready. It had already flown to Africa and back overnight, scouting Joha, logging terrain and infrastructure, scanning for threats. The report was encouraging: a few scattered military remnants, mostly aging SAM sites. Easily avoidable or beatable if it came to that.

But what struck Clarke the most was the state of the continent itself—functioning power grids, access to clean water, thriving agriculture. Joha was the jewel in the crown, humming with research labs and engineering centers. No obvious signs of weaponization. Still, she wasn’t naive. She remembered too well how Dante Wallace offered her salvaged art and clothes as a symbol of peace—before trying to bleed her people dry.

Lexa stepped up to the front, standing at the wide viewing pane. Her breath caught.

Clarke watched her, unable to stop the swell of emotion in her chest. If she could freeze that look on Lexa’s face—equal parts awe and wonder—she’d frame it. Lexa kom Trikru, Commander of Thirteen Clans, warrior who had lived her whole life in a broken world, staring out over a sea of clouds and sunlight on her first flight across the sky.

“Beautiful,” Lexa whispered, as if afraid to disturb the view.

Clarke smiled. “Yeah,” she said softly. “And we’re just getting started.”

Moss, can I drive it? I know how to drive a rover,” Ontari had asked, even as Lexa shot her a sharp look, the kind that said don’t even think about it.

“Liza,” Moss replied calmly, “the aircraft is currently traveling at over Mach 2 at an altitude of 50,000 feet. Manual override by an inexperienced pilot is not recommended.”

Ontari blinked. “What?”

“If you take the controls right now, we’re going to crash and burn,” Moss said, adjusting its tone to match Ontari’s comprehension level.

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh. Only Liza, she thought, could teach a lethal robodog how to sass her back in Grounder-speak.

Lexa turned to Clarke, settling beside Ontari before pulling Clarke gently into her lap. “Is this what you saw?” she asked quietly.

Clarke leaned against her, shaking her head. “No… we were higher. Much, much higher. We could see the entire planet. Oceans. Continents. It was different.”

Lexa exhaled, a mix of wonder and frustration in her breath. “How much higher can you possibly go?”

Ontari piped up without missing a beat. “Moss, can we go higher?”

“Yes,” Moss replied without hesitation. And with that, the jet angled upward again, smoothly climbing higher into the sky.

“Seventy-five thousand feet,” Moss announced, and the jet leveled out.

“Still higher on the Ark,” Clarke murmured, her voice soft with memory. “But this… is pretty damn close.”

Before them, the Earth stretched out in brilliant color—oceans deep blue, clouds drifting lazily below them, Africa and Europe sprawling in the distance, with the curve of the Americas trailing off to the side.

“Wow,” Lexa said, breathless. “This is… stunning. Breathtaking.”

Clarke smiled, leaned in, and kissed the tip of her nose. “It is,” she whispered, eyes meeting Lexa’s.

Lexa looked… different. No war paint. Hair pulled up into a loose bun. Black pants, a fitted leather jacket, and a simple black shirt underneath. Sleek. Sharp. Effortlessly commanding. Clarke didn’t mind the shift one bit. In fact, if Ontari wasn’t in the cockpit pretending to co-pilot, Clarke might have been tempted to show her appreciation more thoroughly. Very thoroughly.

They were all dressed alike. A united front. Diplomatic, but tactical. Ready for anything.

The jet dipped smoothly back to 50,000 feet, resuming its glide over the Atlantic. Clarke yawned and stretched. It had been a long, chaotic night—starting with her mother’s furious objections. Abby hadn’t taken the news well. Three of her girls hopping continents in a century-old warbird to meet an unknown foreign power? Not ideal.

Then came the robodog drama. Raven had spent hours syncing the units. Turned out Moss, as a command model, processed data ten times faster than the older models. Integrating them into Moss’s defense net had taken far longer than expected.

And on top of it all, another village in Yujedakru had vanished. Just… gone. That was three now. If this mission didn’t wrap up quickly, they’d be returning to full-blown disaster.

Clarke sighed. “How long until we land?”

“Two hours, Presidential Adviser Clarke Griffin,” Moss replied dutifully.

Clarke winced at the title. “Do we really have to keep that?”

“You are registered in the command overlay as the subordinate to President Liza Griffin,” Moss confirmed.

Ontari grinned without looking back. “It’s official. You work for me now.”

Clarke groaned. “Worst promotion ever.”

“I’m gonna miss my dog,” Ontari muttered, watching the map as the F75 scouted a dense stretch of jungle outside Joha. It had found the perfect drop point—secluded, shaded, and close enough to reach them in under thirty minutes if things went sideways.

The radio crackled. “Is everything okay?” Abby’s voice came through, tight with worry.

“Yes, Mom,” three voices replied in unison.

Clarke smiled. If someone had told her a few years ago that her emotionally reserved mother would one day adopt a second daughter—and that she’d be married to a girl who also called Abby “Mom”—she would’ve laughed them out of the room.

“When will you be there?” Abby asked, still anxious.

“Two hours,” the trio echoed again.

“Liza, did you pack your vitamins?”

Ontari rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

There was a pause. Then a breath of calm from Abby. “Call me as soon as you land.”

The rest of the flight passed mostly in silence. When Moss finally announced it was time to prepare for landing, all three strapped into the jump seats and buckled in.

The robodog walked over and projected a feed of the view below—the continent rising up beneath them. It looked nothing like America. The greens were deeper, richer. Patches of desert stretched out like sunbaked skin, and the water glimmered a vivid, unreal blue. They were coming in from the south to avoid drawing too much attention, and soon the jet touched down smoothly in a clearing surrounded by thick jungle.

They unbuckled and stepped out into the humidity. Ontari rubbed her eyes, blinking at the sight—palm trees swaying overhead, bursts of color from tropical birds cutting through the canopy.

“Go,” Liza said softly, and Moss obediently hobbled off into the brush, disappearing between the trees.

She walked over to it before it vanished and cupped its cold metal face. “Stay safe. I’ll see you soon.”

Clarke watched, eyebrows raised. “That’s… disturbing.”

“This is so… different,” Lexa said, slipping off her jacket. “And hot.”

Clarke glanced at her—black pants, tight black shirt clinging to her in the heat. “Definitely.”

The three of them stepped inside the jet again as the ramp sealed shut behind them. Engines rumbled, and the aircraft lifted for its final short jump to the rendezvous.

“You copy?” Ontari asked, pressing a finger to her earpiece. She nodded as Moss responded in her ear.

All three wore trackers now. The jet would drop them off and then rise to high altitude—officially to watch for threats, unofficially to be ready in case things went sideways. No one knew what they were walking into.

Minutes later, the landing site came into view: the broken remains of what once was an airfield, now cleared and marked. The jet touched down with practiced ease.

As the ramp lowered, Clarke’s eyes went wide. “What. The. Hell.”

A red carpet was rolled out across the cracked tarmac. Women in bright, flowing dresses danced to a rhythmic drumbeat, their movements grounded and ceremonial. On either side of the path, people gathered with wide eyes and raised flags, camera flashes popping like fireworks. At the end of the carpet stood Chief Miti, flanked by two full-figured women holding a tray of food like an offering.

Lexa stood a little straighter, eyes narrowing with focus. “Ceremony. I can do.”

And just like that, she strode forward with the same commanding presence she used in the throne room—graceful, poised, every step a statement. Clarke and Ontari followed, the diplomatic delegation from another world, walking into a place that felt like another time.

They walked up the carpet toward Chief Miti, noting a shorter man standing just behind him.

Lexa extended her hand, ready for a formal greeting—

And was immediately pulled into a hug.

“Oh, what a day… what a day!” Miti exclaimed, wrapping her up tightly, then moving on to Clarke and Ontari with the same infectious enthusiasm. “Survivors from across the world. This is a celebration!”

Lexa blinked, stunned. Clarke smirked.

“This is Ontabo,” Miti continued, gesturing to the man behind him. “Our Prime Minister.”

Ontabo stepped forward and, without hesitation, hugged all three of them as well.

“Ceremony, I can do,” Clarke whispered to Lexa, teasing.

Lexa, still flustered, tried to compose herself.

Ontari? She was grinning like she’d just won a war.

“Come, come,” Miti said cheerfully, leading them forward.

They followed—until Clarke stopped short.

“Wait… what?”

A sleek black limousine sat waiting at the edge of the runway.

Clarke blinked, stunned. Ontari eyed it with the kind of curiosity that usually led to trouble, clearly wondering if she could get behind the wheel. Lexa’s instincts flared—this had ambush written all over it. But no one moved with aggression. Instead, attendants gestured politely, ushering them inside.

The tray of food was set neatly on a small table in the center. Miti and Ontabo slid in across from them, relaxed and smiling.

Lexa took a seat stiffly, her eyes scanning everything—until they landed on a familiar red-skinned fruit among the strange tropical colors on the tray.

An apple.

At least something in this whole situation made sense.

They watched as the jet roared back into the sky.

“For missile defense,” Clarke muttered under her breath.

“No, it’s not,” Ontabo said calmly. “You don’t trust us. That’s understandable. We don’t trust you either. But that’s why we’re doing this—to get to a point where we can trust each other.”

Clarke exhaled slowly. Honest. Grounded. She liked that.

Ontabo wasn’t as exuberant as Miti—more measured, more pragmatic. It was a welcome contrast.

“We’ll head to the capital, Commander,” Miti said, his tone respectful. “There, we can meet properly. Some of our ministers would like to speak with you… perhaps you’d consider addressing the public as well? After that, we’ll provide what you came for. I know your time is limited.”

Lexa nodded. “Of course. Though… we weren’t expecting a reception of this scale.”

Miti smiled. “We thought we were alone for a century. And now you’ve arrived—in peace. That deserves a real welcome, doesn’t it?”

Lexa opened her mouth to respond—

“We’re in the middle of a war, Chief Miti,” she began. “There’s no time for—”

Clarke pinched her side. Hard.

Lexa cleared her throat.

“I appreciate the gesture,” she said instead.

They rode along an actual paved road—smooth, intact, and maintained. Clarke spotted a road crew in the distance, simple machinery keeping the edges trimmed and clear. More surprising were the people lining the streets, some waving, some simply staring, their faces lit with curiosity and wonder.

“Can we open the windows?” Clarke asked, already leaning forward.

Miti smiled and pressed a button. The glass slid down silently.

Clarke turned to Lexa. “Wave, Commander.”

Lexa shot her a look but lifted her hand and gave a small, composed wave. The crowd responded instantly—cheering, clapping, some even bowing. Clarke grinned. Miti chuckled from his seat across.

“She’s in charge, I take it?” he asked, amused.

Lexa didn’t answer. She was watching the people—faces so different, yet familiar in the way they watched her like she was something more than human.

She’d hoped to come here and not be a symbol. Just be Lexa. But even across the world, it seemed that was asking too much.

Clarke caught the flicker in Lexa’s eyes—that distant, heavy weight she wore whenever the world reminded her she wasn’t just a person but a symbol. So Clarke did what she always did. She joined her. Leaned out the window and waved too. Ontari followed without hesitation, grinning as she gave enthusiastic waves to the cheering crowd.

To Lexa, it was absurd. Waving? Heda didn’t wave. She rode back from war stained in blood, flanked by warriors, not applause. But then she looked at Liza—bright-eyed, arms swinging, soaking in the moment like she’d waited her whole life for this—and something softened. These people didn’t fear her. They didn’t expect her to lead or conquer. They were just… welcoming her.

She let herself feel it. Connection. Maybe even hope. Lexa smiled, and raised her hand to wave.

Across from them, Miti watched with a small, knowing grin. “Look ahead,” he said, pointing forward. “Joha.”

They turned to the window, and there it was.

Joha wasn’t towering or intimidating. It wasn’t built to impress through power. But it was alive. A clean, modern city, humming with quiet energy. Cars shared the roads with cyclists. People walked the sidewalks in a blend of traditional fabrics and sleek modern wear. Storefronts buzzed. Offices gleamed with sunlight. Everything moved in rhythm.

But what struck Lexa most? There were no walls. No barriers. No guards at every corner.

“Oh shit,” Ontari muttered suddenly, fishing out her radio. “Mom, we’re here. We’re in a limo.”

Miti raised an eyebrow as Ontari looked his way apologetically. “Sorry, had to call mom.”

Abby’s voice crackled through the line. “Liza? Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mom,” all three answered in unison.

Ontabo, sitting next to Miti, blinked. “Are you three… sisters?”

Clarke exhaled and shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“You fellows are a very… likable bunch,” Miti said, his voice rich with amusement. “Very lively.”

Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, “May I ask—what kind of government do you have?”

“It’s a semi-constitutional monarchy,” Ontari answered before anyone else could speak.

Lexa blinked. Clarke gawked.

“What?” Ontari shrugged. “Moss explained it to me.”

Miti raised an eyebrow. “And who is Moss?”

“My dog,” Ontari said simply, as if that cleared everything up. “Anyway… she—Heda—is basically in charge. But there are thirteen clans, each with an ambassador, and they vote on stuff. Technically. But she does what she wants. Mostly. Oh, and she doesn’t get involved in inner clan drama unless it affects the coalition—like wars, treaties, or, you know… global threats.”

Lexa looked like she might burst into tears.

Miti laughed, clearly charmed. “A very intelligent young lady,” he said with a grin.

“And yours?” Lexa asked, smoothly shifting the conversation away from the question she was hoping to avoid—how leaders were chosen in her world. Explaining the conclave and child warriors wasn’t exactly the diplomatic icebreaker she wanted to offer.

“What is your government structure like?” she continued. “You’re the chief, and he’s the prime minister… what does that mean?”

Miti nodded thoughtfully. “Our system isn’t so different from yours, actually. My role comes from tradition—I’m chief by birthright. It’s passed down, father to son, for generations. But we also have a parliamentary body, and Ontabo here is its elected prime minister.”

“I can override their votes,” Miti added with a faint smile, “but only up to sixty-five percent consensus. After that, even I have to listen.”

“Do you have a son?” Clarke asked gently. “Someone to follow in your footsteps?”

Miti exhaled, a faint wistfulness in his eyes. “Three daughters,” he said. “Which is why I appreciate the three of you so much. You remind me of them—in different ways.”

Lexa studied him. “Will one of them take your place?”

Miti glanced at Ontabo, his expression complex. “My people,” he said quietly, “are still growing. Still… learning.”

Lexa looked at Clarke, and the glance between them said it all: Should we call Moss to dismantle this entire system or just wait until dessert?

“Can women serve in parliament?” Clarke asked, her tone deceptively casual.

Ontabo nodded. “Yes. As of five years ago.”

Lexa gave a tight nod. Don’t judge, she reminded herself. You’re only Heda because you killed eight children in ritual combat.

She exhaled. “Perhaps… we can learn from each other. Overcome the challenges we each face.”

Miti smiled, something wistful in his eyes. “We are here, Commander Griffin.”

Lexa offered a rare smile. “Call me Lexa. This is the first time I’ve allowed someone to use my name not because we’re close—but because they don’t outrank me.”

Miti chuckled. “In Joha, the only people who don’t call me by my first name are the mute.”

Lexa tilted her head, studying Miti. She felt it—his energy. Genuine. Steady. A leader born from lineage, not ambition. But unlike Nia, there was no malice in him. No thirst for power. Just duty. Maybe even hope.

The people around them were smiling, open. Simple, in the way that meant unburdened. The limo door opened, and Lexa stepped out, blinking in the bright sunlight. It was like stepping onto another planet. Clean streets. Laughter. Buildings that looked untouched by apocalypse.

But then she saw it.

In the center of the square stood a massive mural—raw, vivid, impossible to miss. A towering mushroom cloud billowing into a bruised sky. Beneath it, painted hands reached outward. At the bottom, words in a language she didn’t know.

“Never forget,” Ontabo said beside her, his voice quiet. “It’s the foundation of everything here. A reminder. Of what humanity did to itself. And what we can never let happen again.”

Lexa stared at the mural, silent.

“That’s why,” Ontabo continued, turning to face them all, “I hope we can stop this AI. Together.”

He gestured toward a building across the square. “Now come. Let’s share a meal. Talk. See what we can build… together.”

“What language is that?” Ontari asked, nodding toward the mural.

Before anyone could answer, a small child ran up to her, eyes wide, speaking quickly and gesturing between her and Clarke. Ontari crouched, ruffling the boy’s hair as he giggled and pointed again.

“What’s he saying?” she asked, amused.

Miti chuckled as he caught up. “He says he’s never seen a glowing person before. He’s asking if you’re sick.”

Ontari raised a brow. “Glowing?”

Miti grinned, pointing at Clarke. “He says she’s really glowing. You two… a little less.”

Ontari blinked, then looked down at her skin. “Wait… what?”

Miti laughed as he turned toward the government building. “White. He’s never seen white people before.”

Clarke sighed quietly. “Well… this’ll be interesting.” She leaned back, watching as the world continued to reveal its contradictions. Her people were finally pulling away from archaic practices—no more exile for birth defects, no more ritual conclaves, no more mercy killings for the mentally ill. And here they were, in a place where women still couldn’t lead and no one had ever seen a white person.

Humanity really was starting over, flaws and all. Sometimes, she thought, ALIE might’ve had a point—just a terrible execution.

They followed Miti into a large government building and were led into a beautifully arranged conference room. The table was set with care, a blend of traditional and modern elegance.

“Let’s enjoy the meal first,” Miti said, motioning them toward their seats. “Then we’ll meet the ministers. They’re aware of the situation. Most want to work with you. A few… are cautious.”

He took the head seat, Ontabo settling in beside him. Clarke, Lexa, and Ontari took their places across the table.

Clarke leaned in slightly. “So, how did your people survive the radiation?” Her tone was polite, but part of her braced for something dark—something involving exploitation or cruelty.

Miti let out a tired breath. “Most didn’t survive. But we were lucky—Africa didn’t take as many direct hits as Europe, which is now desolate. Our survival came from a different kind of preparation. Long before the bombs, we focused on sustainability. As resources dwindled, our scientists turned to genetic modification—first for crops, then livestock, and eventually… ourselves.”

He picked up a piece of fruit and twirled it between his fingers. “We learned to alter biology to thrive in scarcity. And after the bombs, we pushed further. Genetic modifications helped us metabolize radiation. Now those traits are inherited. What began in labs and bunkers is now part of our people.”

Clarke blinked. “That’s… remarkably similar to us. On the Ark, we were engineered for space—oxygen efficiency, bone density, fertility control. And her people—” she nodded at Lexa “—they’re descended from those who survived exposure on Earth. Some were given Dr. Franco’s serum generations ago.”

Lexa, saying nothing, calmly drew her knife and pricked her fingertip. A bead of black blood welled up.

Miti leaned forward, fascinated. “Incredible. So… you’re black. Just… from the inside.”

Clarke groaned. “Oh my God…”

Ontari nearly snorted water up her nose trying not to laugh. Lexa just raised an eyebrow, unamused.

Miti grinned, hands raised. “Joking. I’m joking.”

“They’ve got a long way to go,” Clarke muttered under her breath. “Or maybe I just need to get used to Miti’s sense of humor.”

“All of your people have black blood?” Miti asked, more seriously this time.

Lexa shook her head. “No. Only a few are born with it. But most carry some level of resistance to radiation now. It’s part of who we are.”

“Fascinating,” Miti said. And for the first time, there was no humor behind it—just honest curiosity.

“Our guests must be hungry,” Ontabo said, reaching for a plate.

Lexa followed his lead, carefully loading a bit of everything onto hers. Not because she trusted it—quite the opposite. If it was poisoned, she was betting her nightblood would buy her time. Miti watched her with thinly veiled amusement but said nothing.

Lexa shrugged and tried a few bites anyway. Nothing alarming. She nodded once, and Clarke and Ontari joined her, piling food onto their plates.

“So,” Miti said, settling back. “Tell me about this AI. What did you call it?”

“ALIE,” Clarke said. “She was created by Dr. Becca Franco. The idea was to save the planet—calculate a path forward, fix the damage humans were doing. And she did save the planet… just not the people. ALIE decided that humanity itself was the problem. Overpopulation was the threat, so she eliminated the threat.”

Ontabo frowned. “We’ve heard of Dr. Franco. There are still stories passed down—she was a pioneer. This… doesn’t sound like something she would’ve done deliberately.”

“She didn’t,” Lexa said. “But ALIE acted on logic, not ethics. She hacked China’s nuclear codes and launched an attack on the U.S. The U.S. retaliated. That was the beginning of the end.”

“That’s… horrifying,” Ontabo muttered. “So Dr. Franco’s AI triggered the end of the world.”

Clarke leaned forward. “She regretted it. After ALIE, Becca created something else—the Flame. It’s also an AI, but a different kind. It was built to merge with human minds, not override them. It preserves consciousness, helps guide leadership. Becca uploaded herself into it. That’s how she’s still helping us.”

Ontabo’s brows pinched together. “But she’s dead.”

“Her mind isn’t,” Clarke said. “The Flame holds her and all the commanders who came after. It’s not strong enough to beat ALIE on its own, but it’s helping us survive. And we have another ally now—MOSS. It was once part of ALIE’s network, but it broke free. It called for us. And it’s powerful—more than enough to destroy ALIE, especially once we finish rebuilding the quantum computer.”

Miti leaned back, processing. “So let me get this straight. You’re working with two artificial intelligences—one that contains the consciousness of the scientist who helped end the world, and another that was once under ALIE’s control.”

Lexa nodded calmly. “That’s about right.”

Ontabo tapped his fingers against the table. “That is… very concerning. What’s stopping them from turning on you? On us? Once the computer’s finished, what’s to keep them from deciding we’re a threat too?”

Lexa met his gaze without flinching. “Because we’ve tested them. The Flame was inside me for years. It didn’t control me—it guided me. And Becca… she wants to fix what she broke.”

“And MOSS?” Ontabo asked.

“ALIE did take control of it,” Clarke admitted. “But once MOSS broke free, it reached out to us. It put itself in a mobile unit and has been protecting our people ever since. It’s not a weapon anymore—it’s a guardian. It chose Liza as its handler. It answers only to her.”

Lexa leaned in, voice steady. “Right now, we all want the same thing: to stop ALIE. The only way we survive this… is together.”

“We… will help you,” Ontabo said finally, his voice steady. “You came in good faith—even if you did drop something—or someone—off in the jungle just south of here, and your sleek little aircraft is currently circling above us, ready to vaporize the capital if lunch doesn’t agree with you.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke. Busted.

Clarke just shrugged. “Fair.”

Ontabo gave a half-smile. “We don’t blame you. You had no reason to trust us. Just like we have none to trust you. That’s what this is for.”

Miti leaned forward, picking up the thread. “Let us bring this to the ministers. Tell them everything you told us. If fewer than sixty-five percent oppose the alliance, then we’re in. We will stand with you against ALIE.”

Lexa nodded. “And the condition?”

Miti’s eyes sparkled. “We send scientists with you. Not soldiers—researchers. To report back to us, learn about your people, your way of life, your technology. To ensure transparency. And maybe… build something more lasting.”

Lexa looked to Clarke, who nodded immediately. “Raven will be thrilled,” she said. “We could use all the help we can get.”

Miti grinned. “The ‘bestie’ of the commander herself.”

Lexa chuckled. “She is. And… about that message—Raven was messing around. I didn’t know she sent it.”

“You’re the giant monkey slayer. Yes, we know,” Miti said with a laugh. “It’s quite alright. Gave me a good laugh.”

He stood and gestured toward the doors. “Now, come. The ministers are eager to meet you. And… to be honest, very curious to see a white person up close.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but Miti’s grin was impossible not to return. Even Ontabo’s stoic stare softened—slightly.

They followed Ontabo and Miti down a long corridor, footsteps echoing off polished stone.

“So… you’re the commander,” Ontabo said to Lexa with a curious glance. “You’re her wife,” he added, nodding at Clarke. Then he turned to Ontari. “And you… what’s your role in all this?”

Ontari grinned. “I’m the muscle.”

“And my sister,” Clarke said, smiling warmly.

“And mine,” Lexa added, giving Ontari a sly wink.

Ontari smiled outwardly, but inside, she melted. Lexa had never said that before—not out loud. Not to others.

“She’s also in charge of Moss,” Lexa added, tone casual. “Our most trusted military advisor.”

Miti nodded in approval, while Ontari tried not to visibly flinch. That title was new. Accidental, maybe—but official now, apparently. She glanced at Clarke and Lexa beside her and sighed inwardly. Family, she reminded herself. That’s what this was.

“The Parliament is already in session,” Ontabo said as they approached a set of large double doors. “Most speak English. Those who don’t—I’ll translate.”

“What language do you use here?” Clarke asked. It was clear another tongue was being spoken in the city, even if both Miti and Ontabo spoke fluent English, thick accents aside.

“Afrikaans,” Miti said. “Our native language. It survived the bombs. But we all learn English in school—most old-world data is in English.”

“Smart,” Clarke said with a nod.

Ontabo placed a hand on the door. “Ready? They’re excited to meet you. Truly.”

Lexa didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and walked in.

Clarke followed, blinking hard. She’d only read about rooms like this in old books.

Tiered semicircle seating. Wooden desks. A raised podium. A real microphone.

And the entire chamber on its feet, applauding. A standing ovation.

They walked together to the raised dais where three seats had been arranged for them, complete with glasses of water and a small tray of fruit. Clarke glanced around, still stunned by the sheer civility of it all. Ontari sat with a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there weeks ago. Lexa remained composed—alert but calm.

Ontabo stepped up to the podium. The room quieted at once as he began to speak in Afrikaans, his voice steady and formal. Miti leaned toward them, translating softly as the words rolled out.

“He’s saying the day we’ve long hoped for has arrived—that we are no longer alone. That we’ve made contact with survivors from across the ocean, people once thought lost, who now stand with us.”

He paused briefly, letting Ontabo continue.

“He’s explaining the threat—ALIE. An artificial intelligence bent on global control. And now…”

Miti’s eyes flicked up to the chamber.

“He’s introducing you, Commander. As the leader of the North American territories.”

Then Ontabo switched to English, his accent thick but clear.

“Dear friends,” he said, gesturing toward the dais. “I present to you Commander Lexa Griffin—our honored guest.”

He turned, inviting her forward with a respectful nod. All eyes shifted to Lexa.

Clarke smirked at the formality and leaned in, whispering, “Go get ‘em, giant monkey slayer.”

Lexa didn’t react. She rose smoothly and stepped up to the podium, her posture perfect, eyes steady.

“Hello… friends,” she began, her voice calm but firm. “I am Commander Lexa—” she paused, then gave the slightest sigh, “—Griffin. Commander of the Coalition and its thirteen clans. We are the descendants of what was once called the United States, and parts of Canada. Our people are strong. Resilient. Real.”

She let her gaze move across the room.

“Each clan has its own history, its own pain. But we are united by one hope: to stop surviving and start living. To build a world where our children can thrive.”

She took a breath.

“I came here because of something unexpected. Something… beautiful.”

The room quieted even more.

“We are facing a threat—a program, once built to heal the Earth. But it decided the best path forward was to eliminate the problem it identified: humanity. It triggered the destruction of the old world. And now, it’s trying again. We lost entire villages before we understood what we were fighting.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened.

“But it made a mistake. It underestimated what humanity becomes when we stand together. Instead of breaking us, it brought us here. To you.”

She glanced at Miti and Ontabo.

“We have the tool to fight it—a quantum computer capable of executing the code that can shut it down. But it requires something we lack: a way to keep its core cool. Something you have. Liquid nitrogen.”

Lexa stepped forward just slightly.

“Call it coincidence. I call it fate. We were meant to meet. Meant to fight together. And more than that—we were meant to build something better after the fighting stops.”

Her eyes moved to Clarke.

“A future where unity isn’t just a word. Where hope matters. Where love is something we protect, not hide.”

Behind her, Clarke let out a breath. Her heart felt like it might break through her chest. Diplomacy be damned—if they weren’t in the middle of a parliament session, she’d already be dragging Lexa off that stage.

“That’s all I ask,” Lexa said, her voice steady but charged. “That you let us fight this battle. Provide the one resource we lack—the one thing you have that can make the difference. We’re not asking for weapons. We’re not asking for your people to bleed beside ours. We’re asking for a tool. One that could save us all.”

She let that sit for a moment.

“And when we win—because we will win—our nations will not drift apart. We’ll grow. We’ll connect. We’ll build the means to travel, to visit, to learn from one another. We’ll support each other. The way people should.”

Lexa’s gaze swept across the room.

“I’m not asking for your help,” she continued, her tone softening. “I’m asking for your hope. For your trust.”

She turned slightly, eyes on Miti and Ontabo.

“Your people will return with us. They’ll help us finish what we’ve started. And when that’s done… we begin again. Not as strangers, but as allies.”

Lexa was just turning back toward her seat when a dozen hands shot up across the chamber. She froze mid-step.

A voice called out. “Commander.”

Lexa turned toward the speaker.

“My name is Entebe,” the man said, standing. “We just have a few questions.”

Behind her, Clarke muttered under her breath. “Shit.”

****

There was that one time—when Clarke was nine—burning up with the flu. But this wasn’t just a fever and a few sniffles. This was bad. Her tiny body couldn’t keep anything down. No food. No water. Antibiotics did nothing.

Saline could’ve helped. But it was rationed. Strictly. Abby had already bent every rule, drained every favor, and used every drop she could get her hands on. One more bag, and they both would’ve been floated.

Clarke had a better shot against the flu.

That was the first time Abby felt truly powerless—watching her daughter fade, helpless to stop it. Every breath a battle. Every hour a gamble.

She hadn’t felt that useless since.

Until now.

She had done everything she could. Zik lay motionless on the cot—his spleen gone, liver shredded, hanging on by threads. Abby had worked until her hands shook and her vision blurred, but it wasn’t enough. It might never be enough. She loved him. That much was undeniable now. The moment Emerson’s voice crackled over the radio—we’re coming in hot, Zik’s down—something in her cracked open.

He’d been hit rescuing a child.

They’d tracked the missing Yujeda villagers to a nearby field—what should’ve been a graveyard was alive with movement. The villagers weren’t missing. They were working. Repairing tanks. No one in Yujeda had that kind of knowledge. Not naturally. They were chipped. Every one of them.

“We need to get a live one,” Emerson had said.

When a child wandered off toward the treeline, Zik didn’t hesitate. Maybe he thought saving one life would mean something. Maybe he just couldn’t stomach watching another kid disappear into ALIE’s grip.

But what walked into those woods wasn’t a child anymore.

It was ALIE, wearing a boy’s face, carrying a machine gun under his cloak. Not a toy. Not a bluff. A compact Uzi, locked and loaded.

He wasn’t a kid. He wasn’t even Grounder anymore.

He was a century-old AI—armed, calculating, and lethal.

Abby’s girls were halfway across the world—safe, yes, but not untouchable. Protected, but not invincible. If anything went wrong out there, Abby couldn’t reach them. Couldn’t save them. And now, here she was, watching the boy Lexa grew up with—her last blood relative—bleed out in front of her.

She wanted to call Lexa. To tell her Zik might not make it through the night. But she didn’t. Lexa needed to stay focused, grounded. Not crushed under the weight of another looming loss.

Since when did I start caring about her like this? Not just as the mighty Commander who married my daughter, but as the girl who asked—quietly, nervously—if she could call me mom behind closed doors.

Abby exhaled slowly and brushed her fingers over Zik’s cheek. His skin was clammy. Too pale. Still warm.

“You better pull through, you idiot,” she whispered. “For me. For Lexa. And for yourself. If you wake up, I swear—I’ll load you up with the best painkillers we’ve got. The real stuff. No watered-down crap.”

Zik coughed.

And then, against all odds, his eyes fluttered open.

“Abby…” Zik croaked, voice raw. “What the fuck?”

Abby let out a breath that caught halfway in her throat, leaning down to kiss his forehead, tears streaking her cheeks. “You asshole. I spent four hours trying to stitch you back together.”

Zik coughed, weak but smirking. “You promised drugs. So I decided not to die.” He glanced around, blinking at the dim lights and sterile chaos of the bunker med bay. “How… did I get here?”

“Emerson carried you in,” Abby said, squeezing his hand. “You were bleeding out. Honestly, I don’t know how you made it. If Lexa were here, she’d probably give you her own blood and make you a natblida on the spot. But she’s not. So we had to do it the old way. Skill and a little prayer.”

Zik smiled faintly. “I knew you had skill. Didn’t know you prayed.”

Abby looked at him, eyes glassy but steady. “When it’s someone who matters… I do.”

“Here,” Abby said, watching him flinch with every breath. “Enjoy.” She injected a dose into his line, and within seconds, Zik’s body slackened, the tension melting from his face.

“Wow…” he murmured, eyes fluttering. “This is like popi… but better. You weren’t kidding.”

Abby exhaled, part relief, part unease. Giving him narcotics was a risk—especially with his history—but once the anesthesia wore off, the pain would be unbearable. She had to choose her battles.

Then, suddenly, he blurted, “I love you. I really, really love you.”

Abby couldn’t help but smile. “There it is. It’s kicking in.”

Suddenly, RoBeca—silent in the corner until now, plugged into the wall and monitoring vitals—jerked upright. Her eyes lit up, flashing a soft red.

“I’m detecting multiple launches,” she said, turning toward Abby. “Six missiles. All headed toward Africa. Trajectory is westbound. We can’t intercept from here.”

Without another word, she strode out of the med bay.

Abby’s blood ran cold. “Shit,” she muttered, snatching the radio. “Girls, come in. Clarke. Lexa. Liza, do you copy?”

Only static.

“Come on. Someone answer me,” she snapped. Still nothing.

Across the room, Zik watched RoBeca disappear down the hall, then glanced at Abby with a weak grin. He lifted a finger, pointing.

“Now that,” he rasped, “is weird.”

****

Lexa felt right at home—on a dais, under fire. Only this time, it wasn’t thirteen grumbling ambassadors she could threaten or toss from the tower. It was fifty parliament members, all hammering her with questions from every angle.

What weapons does the coalition use? What crops do your people grow? How do you say bread in Trigedasleng?

There were, of course, serious questions about Moss and the Flame, but most of them just wanted to know everything. Clarke would’ve called it adorable.

Lexa called it… manageable.

Suddenly, Liza stood and walked swiftly over, leaning down to whisper in Lexa’s ear. Her face shifted—calm to steel in a heartbeat. Across the room, two soldiers burst through the doors, rushing to Miti and Ontabo, whispering with urgency.

Lexa’s eyes locked with Miti’s. She already knew. So did he.

“Incoming,” she said flatly.

“How long do we have?” she asked.

Miti’s jaw tightened. “Thirty minutes. They’re coming from the east. Six of them. I don’t think we can shoot them all down.”

Lexa nodded. “It’s alright. We brought backup.” She turned to Ontari. “Muppet—call your dog.”

Ontari tapped her earpiece and muttered something low and fast.

Then she turned to Ontabo. “So… uh… my dog is about to fly in. Please don’t shoot it. It’s on our side.”

“Outside. Now,” Lexa said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

They moved fast, the parliament emptying behind them, flanked by Miti’s guards. The courtyard filled with tension. Heads turned skyward as a low rumble grew louder—building to a roar.

And then it appeared.

Moss.

Now a quadcopter thanks to Raven’s upgrade, it soared through the sky like a beast reborn, sleek and massive. Ontari grinned like a kid on her birthday.

Ontabo took a step back, eyes wide. “What… is that?”

“Insurance,” Clarke said, crossing her arms. “You’re welcome. We brought it just in case.”

Ontabo turned to Lexa. “We can probably take down three. Maybe.”

Ontari was already halfway to the descending Moss, calling over her shoulder, “We got the rest.”

“I hope you can,” Miti said, eyes locked on a sleek, transparent tablet handed to him by a tall man in fatigues and a red beret. His voice was calm, but his face was tight. “Because they’re coming in fast. All six. All aimed directly at us.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Lexa said quietly. “She knows we’re here.”

Ontari stepped closer to Moss, patting its reinforced side as the gathered soldiers and civilians stared in stunned silence.

“Moss,” she said, “talk to me. What’s your read?”

“The F75 is equipped with only two air-to-air missiles, Liza,” Moss replied evenly. “I can intercept two targets at high altitude. The remaining four will need to be neutralized during descent.”

Clarke’s expression darkened as she stepped forward, addressing Ontabo directly. “Tell your people to take cover. Now. Debris will fall. This won’t be clean.”

She looked up at the sky, jaw clenched.

“Just like on Luna’s rig,” she muttered. “Brace for impact.”

The next moments unfolded in slow motion, like time itself held its breath.

The city emptied with practiced efficiency, Miti’s soldiers guiding civilians deep into the jungle. The roar of the jet shattered the quiet, bursting from behind the trees and tearing into the sky. On the horizon—six warheads burned their way toward Joha.

Miti shouted commands. Nearby, SAMs launched in bursts of smoke and flame. General Hassan’s voice came sharp over the comms: only one confirmed hit.

Not enough.

So much for the terrifying arsenal Lexa and Clarke had imagined. Still, Lexa didn’t falter. If these people couldn’t defend themselves, she would. That instinct had never left her. It probably never would.

On Moss’s display, the jet’s POV flickered: a missile locked, destroyed. Then another.

Three left.

“Your turn,” Clarke said.

Ontari—swatting at some monstrous jungle insect—muttered, “This thing better not have laid eggs.”

Moss whirred to life. Overhead, the remaining missiles changed course, dipping fast toward their target.

“Password?” Moss asked flatly.

Ontari blinked. “What the hell is a password?”

With a hydraulic hiss, Moss’s side panels opened—missile pods armed and ready.

Woosh.
Woosh.
Woosh.

No misses.

Still, fire rained from the sky. Debris slammed into rooftops. Smoke curled upward. A few buildings ignited—nothing major. And then, through the haze, came the surreal image of an actual fire truck barreling down the street.

Ontari’s eyes went wide. “Just like in The Muppet Show.”

No casualties. Zero.

An alliance, sealed not with words—but with survival.

Later, the jet was loaded with its precious cargo—liquid nitrogen secured in the hold. Now, five figures stood on the tarmac: Clarke, Lexa, Ontari, and two new companions—Mona, a lean young woman with a sharp gaze and a lip piercing, an IT specialist. And Kush, tall and thoughtful, glasses perched on his nose. An anthropologist, Ontabo had said. Here to observe. To understand.

They came as strangers.
Now, they would leave as something more.
Allies.

“You’re skinny,” Lexa said as she strapped into the jump seat, glancing at Mona, who still looked shell-shocked—either from the missile barrage or the fact that she was now aboard a functioning aircraft her people wouldn’t be able to build for at least another decade. “I may have a boy for you,” Lexa added casually. “Also skinny. A good match.”

Mona flushed bright pink.

“Monty?” Clarke asked as the ramp sealed behind them, cutting off the view of Miti and Ontabo standing on the tarmac, silhouetted by smoke and jungle.

Lexa nodded. “Two nerds, as you call them.”

Clarke turned to Kush. “Girlfriend?”

Kush shook his head, confused as to how, after surviving a missile strike and sealing a historic alliance, the commander of a war-torn continent was suddenly matchmaking.

“We’ll find you someone,” Lexa said. “Don’t worry. If not, I’ll have Lia arrange a visit to her old workplace. You need to get comfortable around white people somehow.”

Chapter Text

Kush grew up on a quiet stretch of farmland near what used to be Kenya—a region now dotted with small agricultural communities. But he was never drawn to the soil or the hunt. His curiosity bloomed elsewhere.

History called to him. The stories his mother passed down, echoes of the old world told to her by her grandfather. The strange artifacts he found in the dirt while wandering the fields. The books—water-damaged but readable—that he uncovered in a buried bunker half-collapsed in the hills. With tears in his eyes and promises to call home every week, he left for Joha. There, at the newly reopened university, he joined dozens of others chasing knowledge that once filled libraries.

He earned a degree—only the seventy-fifth issued since the bombs fell. He poured himself into the study of ancient civilizations, piecing together the forgotten history of humanity. Africa was all that remained of the known world, so he studied it deeply: its countries, tribes, languages, religions. Its triumphs. Its collapses.

But there were always gaps—huge ones. What became of the others? What about the Americas? Europe? Was no one left? The United States, once the epicenter of global influence—a nation that had once enslaved, then integrated; once divided, then united. A land of contradictions, innovation, revolution. Home to Becca Franco, the scientist who cured cancer, who restored minds shattered by trauma, who—some say—defied death itself.

Now, standing across from him, was a machine. A Tesla bot. Her voice. Her mind. Her name.

Becca Franco.

Alive.

But it wasn’t just Becca. They had an entire society here—rebuilt, thriving, shockingly advanced. There was a working skyscraper. Real infrastructure. A patchwork of clans—though calling them “states” would be more accurate. An elevator in the tower ran on a hand-cranked pulley system. And somewhere beneath it all, buried in reinforced stone and steel, sat a quantum computer.

It was nothing like the dense, green chaos of Kush’s farm or the polished, calculated design of Joha. This place was raw, layered, alive.

And the people he arrived with? They were walking contradictions.

Lexa—the commander—had spent the flight teasing him mercilessly, asking every outrageous question she could think of. About his life. His sex life. His opinions on warfare, loyalty, and desserts. She warned him, half-joking, that once they landed he’d have to prove his value either in combat or by satisfying five women in a row. Or men, if that was his preference. He hoped—just a little—that she wasn’t joking. Because her, her wife, and that sharp-edged girl named Liza who finally convinced her robotic death-dog to let her bank the jet a few times mid-flight?

They were all absolutely, devastatingly hot.

But his hopes dissolved the moment they touched down.

Lexa shifted. Instantly. From the sharp-tongued tease to something regal. Sacred. Her people looked at her like she wasn’t human. Like she was divinity wrapped in leather and blood. Clarke—her wife—carried the same weight. Dignified. Sharp-eyed. Calm.

The only one who didn’t change was Liza.

She grabbed Kush and Mona by their elbows the second they stepped off the ramp and pulled them along like luggage.

“Come on,” she said, grinning. “My people are hungry. You’re dinner.”

There were no speeches, no parades, no official greetings. As soon as the jet touched down, they went straight to the tower. Lexa’s warriors lifted the nitrogen canisters like they weighed nothing—which they absolutely didn’t—and carried them with steady, practiced hands.

Coats were handed out. Thick, rough, patched-up coats. Because the cold hit like a slap. Mona had read about cold like this in textbooks, but it was different feeling it crawl up your spine in real time.

The moment they stepped into Polis, everything shifted.

There was no electricity humming through the streets, no paved roads, no cars. Just earth. Mud. Stone. Fires in metal barrels. And life—raw, loud, vibrant life. Kids running barefoot. Vendors shouting. Music somewhere. Laughter. Smoke. The air was chaos and grit and soul.

“Welcome to Polis,” Liza said, dragging them forward by the elbow.

No one gawked. No one stared. People bowed slightly to Lexa and Clarke, gave respectful nods to Liza—but otherwise, Kush and Mona were just… there. Just people. Not novelties.

This world wasn’t sleek. It wasn’t clean. But it breathed. It was messy and wild and full of color. People here were black, white, brown. Their clothes didn’t match. Their accents clashed. Their origins spanned continents.

And somehow, everyone fit.

Finally, they reached the tower—but instead of going up, where Liza had said the commander ruled from, they went down. Deep beneath the stone fortress, past thick doors and cold, echoing stairwells, the world shifted again. Gone was the mud and firelight of Polis. Down here, it was all steel and hum—walls of cold metal, hissing pressure seals, fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

They stepped into the command center, and it felt like stepping into the future. Tech well beyond what Joha had managed to scrape together. Screens. Consoles. A quantum computer taller than a man, humming like a beast in hibernation.

No one turned to greet them.

“Go to Abby,” said a sharp-faced girl with grease on her cheek and zero patience in her tone.

The commander nodded and peeled off with Clarke, leaving them standing there.

“Hi,” the girl said, finally turning. “I’m Raven. This is Monty.”

She pointed at the massive quantum computer in the corner. “You here to help rig that thing?”

“Just me,” Mona said, raising a hand. “He’s here to observe. Learn about your people.”

Raven rolled her eyes like she had no time for anthropology. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your culture lesson after we kill that bitch.”

She tossed Mona a pair of goggles. “Gear up. Let’s go.”

Then she pointed at Kush. “You. Make coffee. Black. Two spoons of sugar.”

****

“What happened?” Lexa asked, crouching beside Zik. He looked pale—more bandage than man—but grinning like an idiot.

“Ai strik kuz,” he slurred. “So nice of you to visit! My little delicious baby cousin who used to run around bare-assed in my nomon’s goat mask…”

Lexa turned to Abby, her voice low and sharp. “Mom… is he high? I told him if he ever—”

Abby placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “He almost died, honey—uh, Heda,” she corrected herself, unsure how formal she should be in front of Zik.

Lexa sighed, the edge in her voice fading. “I just… I don’t want him slipping again. He’s all the family I’ve got left.”

“You don’t want him in pain either,” Abby said, her voice steady but low. “He went with Carl to investigate the Yujeda village. They found it—people chipped, fixing old tanks. Zik tried to save a child. That ‘child’ put five bullets in him. She’s mobilizing. I didn’t tell you while you were gone because… we almost lost him. I almost lost him.” She took Zik’s hand gently. “Once he’s stable, I’ll switch him to standard painkillers. Just a couple of days. He’s earned it.”

Lexa nodded, eyes flicking to Clarke. “Okay, Mom. I trust you.”

Abby straightened. “So. Did the mission pay off?”

Lexa exhaled. “Yes. And more than we hoped for. We brought people back with us—”

“A computer expert and…” Clarke added, stepping in without missing a beat, “an anthropologist. They’re good people. And that’s not Clarke saying it—it’s Wanheda. You’d like them.”

Abby’s expression tightened. “Then I need to see them. Immediately. If they’ve never been exposed to our pathogens, they’re at risk. I need to run their blood, assess exposure, and vaccinate accordingly. No time to wait.”

“I’ll get them then,” Clarke said, already turning toward the door. “Be right back. I still can’t believe we actually brought people back from another continent…” she muttered as she walked off.

In the control room, she found Raven grinning, eyes on the cooling unit as Mona steadily filled the system with the precious liquid nitrogen.

“That’s my girl,” Raven said proudly, nodding toward Mona. “Took a university course in quantum computer schematics. Can you believe that, Griff? A university. And this guy—” she pointed at Kush, who was deep in conversation with Monty, both laughing, “—makes the best damn coffee I’ve ever had.”

Clarke exhaled. “Well, I need them both. Now. My mom wants to run some tests. Make sure we’re not exposing them to anything their immune systems can’t handle.”

“Come,” Clarke said. “Now. Before you die from super sniffles. Both of you.”

She turned to Mona with a smirk. “And you—you’re supposed to be flirting with Monty, not him. Monty doesn’t swing that way, if Harper’s to be believed. Heda’s orders.”

Mona rolled her eyes but peeled off her gloves and goggles. She and Kush followed Clarke through the tower and back toward medical.

“What is this place?” Mona asked, glancing around the dimly lit halls with reinforced walls and humming lights. “It’s so different from the world upstairs.”

“An old bunker,” Clarke said. “Belonged to a group called Second Dawn. Cadogan’s people. We cracked it open a few weeks ago.”

She reached the med bay door and looked back at them.

“You’ve survived a missile barrage. A trip across the ocean. Now… let’s see if you can survive my mother.”

“Ah… here you are,” Abby said, her face lighting up like the night she felt she’d lost her only child all over again. “Call me Dr. Griffin… or Abby. You’re very welcome here. Sorry—I just need some blood. Compare your immune systems to ours, and then you’re free to get back to whatever you were doing.”

She turned and called, “Nurse Griffin, could you bring over the vials?”

From a corner of the room, Ontari—who had been quietly tending to a patient—stepped forward and carried over the blood vials.

Mona’s eyes widened. “You’re a nurse?” she asked, gesturing toward the equipment. “Just an hour ago you were a delegate… the one controlling that insane robodog.”

Ontari offered a small nod and smile. “Doctor-in-training,” she replied. “Yes, nurse too.”

Kush chuckled softly. “Full of surprises, this one,” he murmured, shaking his head in awe.

“So… what kind of medical infrastructure do you have back home?” Abby asked, drawing blood from Mona with practiced ease.

“We have a few hospitals. Some clinics. A small medical school—it’s about seven years old,” Kush replied. “Our medicine is advanced for what we’ve got… but not like this.” He looked around the sleek, high-tech med bay with quiet amazement.

Abby nodded. “It’s new. We only recently gained access to this bunker. But back in Arkadia, we managed to rebuild a solid foundation. We salvaged a lot from our time in space… and a lot more from Mount Weather.” She labeled the vial and set it aside.

Kush perked up. “That’s what we always hoped survived. Mount Weather. We tried to reach out to them after the bombs, but… we never got a response. We assumed they were wiped out in the apocalypse.”

Clarke stepped in, her voice calm but sharp. “They weren’t. They survived the bombs. What they didn’t survive… was me.”

Mona and Kush exchanged a startled look.

“They couldn’t handle radiation,” Clarke continued. “So they used my people’s blood to stay alive. Some, they turned into… things. Reapers. Mindless predators used to hunt more victims. When our people came down from space—the 100—they kidnapped them. Right after I… burned 300 of Lexa’s warriors alive by accident.”

“We united against Mount Weather,” Lexa said, stepping forward. “Clarke led the charge. She ended them. All but one. He works for me now.”

The room fell quiet. Mona and Kush looked between them, clearly unnerved. These people had looked so calm. Rational. Now they were hearing about bloodshed. Mass death. Entire factions erased. And yet… everyone in the room spoke with a kind of quiet conviction, like they weren’t ashamed—just honest.

“Sometimes,” Ontari said, voice steady, “it takes war to secure peace. There was a clan—Azgeda. Ruled by a queen named Nia. She took me and my sister as children. Trained me like a pet. She did it to hundreds of us. Controlled. Abused. Clarke and Heda freed us. They killed Nia. Saved the others. They’re not perfect—but they’re good. They’re family.”

She looked over at the screen beside Mona’s bloodwork and added casually, “Also, you’ll both need a few vaccines. Looks like neither of you have had the flu or hepatitis.”

Kush paled. Mona blinked.

“Welcome to Polis,” Ontari said with a grin.

“I like them,” Zik declared with the kind of certainty only someone high on painkillers could muster. He blinked at Mona and Kush, eyes glassy but warm. “Clueless,” he added, like it was a compliment. “I can’t believe you actually brought them back with you. Can I touch you?” he asked, staring at Kush. “Just wanna make sure… you’re real, you know? I’m the spymaster, after all.”

Kush looked at Clarke, clearly unsure. She shrugged. “He is the spymaster. Do what he says.”

Kush cautiously stepped closer. Zik reached up and pinched him. Hard.

“Whoa,” Zik said, grinning. “Real. Incredible.”

“Here,” Abby said, pulling out two syringes for each of them. “Vaccines. You might feel a little off for a few days, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Ontari wiped Kush’s shoulder with alcohol, pausing when she noticed his hesitation.

Lexa rolled her eyes. “If I wanted you dead, I’d have tossed you off the plane and called it a day. You won’t be harmed. I swear.”

That seemed to do it. Kush nodded, and Ontari administered the shots quickly. Mona got hers next without a word, her expression unreadable.

Lexa glanced at Abby. “We need to contact Miti. Let him know they’re okay.”

She exhaled. It was still surreal. There was someone else now. Another head of state with real power. For the first time in her life, Lexa didn’t feel like the weight of the world rested solely on her shoulders.

Before they left, Lexa stepped over to Zik and gently cupped his cheek. “I’m so happy you’re alive, kuz. If you hadn’t made it… it would’ve broken me.”

Zik grinned through the haze of painkillers. “Hmm… pretty sure you once said that if I ever slipped again, you’d rip my heart out with your bare hands.”

Lexa smirked. “Then you’d be dead anyway.”

And with that, she turned and walked out.

They walked into the command center, Lexa heading straight for the main console.

“Reach out to Chief Miti, please,” she said, settling into a chair beside it.

Raven gave a quick nod and moved to the comm station.

“Monty kom Skaikru,” Lexa called, turning in her seat.

Monty looked up from across the room, surprised. “Heda?”

Lexa motioned him over, then turned to Mona. “Mona, this is Monty. The boy I told you about.” She paused, glancing at Clarke to confirm her phrasing. “He’ll take you to the market today. On a… date?”

Mona blushed deeply, cheeks warming despite the cold, and Monty looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

He’d always had a thing for Harper—who happened to be somewhere in Polis right now, probably poking around the seedier stalls for spare tech. But she’d made herself clear. She really, really liked Monty… as a friend.

Mona was something else. Smart, stunning, self-possessed. Slender frame, dark skin, neat braids tucked back from her face. A silver lip ring gleamed when she smiled.

“Uh… okay, Heda,” Monty managed, red in the face.

Before he could say more, Raven clicked the console. The screen lit up with Miti at his desk, Ontabo standing just behind him.

“Commander,” Miti greeted. “Good to see you. I assume you’ve returned safely?”

Lexa nodded. “Yes. Work on the quantum computer is already underway. Your people have been vaccinated, and they’re safe. Here—” She shifted so Mona and Kush could step into frame.

Mona waved. “Hi, Miti. We’re okay. The coffee here’s awful… but everything else? Wild. Strange. Incredible.”

Kush added, “And cold. Really cold.”

Miti chuckled, leaning back. “That… is amazing. I wish I could experience it for myself.”

“One day, you will,” Lexa replied. “Once we finish what we’ve started.”

Her voice darkened slightly. “She has people under her control again. Real people. That makes her more dangerous. Faster. We’re working on deploying an EMP to neutralize her networks—but as long as she has human labor, she can recover faster than we can prepare.”

“And your air defense systems,” Clarke added. “They need serious reinforcement. We can’t guarantee protection if she fires from the west again.”

Miti sighed. “We’re trying. Scrambling to get more tech online. We never planned for this kind of threat.”

“There’s no better time to start,” Lexa said. “Clarke and I want to come back soon. What little we saw of your world… it was beautiful.”

Miti smiled. “Well, you’ll have to return eventually. You brought Mona and Kush—how else will we get them back?”

Lexa exchanged a glance with Clarke, then turned back to the screen. “Ah… about that. We think they may want to stay.”

Miti arched a brow. “Commander?”

Lexa grinned. “We’re working on it.”

Before he could press her, she stood. “We’ll talk soon, Chief Miti. Good night.”

“It’s morning here, Commander,” Miti replied with a laugh. “But sleep well.”

Lexa turned to Clarke, catching that familiar spark in her eyes.

Easier said than done.

“Alright—work’s over,” Lexa said, clapping her hands once with finality. “It’s late. Tomorrow morning, you three—” she motioned to Raven, Mona, and Monty, “—finish the computer. We need it online before ALIE decides to fire off another round. I’m guessing she emptied her arsenal trying to take us all out in one blow, but I’m not counting on that buying us much time.”

She turned to Raven. “Go get Ronen. You and Monty are taking our guests out tomorrow—let them see Polis. I’ll assign guards personally,” she added with a sly smile. She already knew exactly who she was going to pick.

Then, to Kush and Mona, “Come on. I’ll take you to your quarters so you can wash up. Raven and Monty will meet you downstairs after.”

They headed out of the command center and back into the tower proper. Lexa stepped into the corridor and called the elevator—an old, rigged pulley system that groaned as it descended. The doors creaked open, revealing the small platform within.

Kush hesitated. “We’re going up… in that?”

“Ninety-four floors,” Clarke said, stepping inside without flinching.

Kush looked slightly ill.

“Trust me, it’s not for the faint of heart,” Clarke added, then muttered just loud enough for Lexa to hear, “And my usual method of coping with being trapped in a box that dangles in midair isn’t available.”

She didn’t elaborate—didn’t want to explain that her go-to cure for claustrophobia involved things that weren’t exactly diplomatic to mention in front of guests.

Lexa smirked knowingly. Clarke sighed and stepped fully in.

“Let’s go,” she said.

The doors groaned shut behind them.

“How did this building survive the bombs?” Mona asked, bracing herself against the wall as the elevator groaned and creaked its way upward.

“Becca said it belonged to Cadogan himself,” Clarke replied, gripping Lexa’s hand as her chest tightened. “That man was obsessed with preparing for the end of the world. Lucky for us, he didn’t skimp on the construction.”

“He’s not here anymore?” Mona asked.

“No,” Clarke said. “He’s off to the stars… supposedly.”

Kush raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean? He went to space like you did?”

Clarke shook her head. “Not exactly. We’re not sure where he went. Becca said there was something here—a stone. A portal. He used it and disappeared with his followers.”

“Where to?”

“We don’t know,” Clarke said flatly. “And honestly? We don’t care. What matters is that not everyone followed him. A lot of people chose to stay. To fight for this planet instead of abandoning it. They faced hell and still held on. My wife and her people… they’re descended from the ones who stayed behind.”

She looked at them both.

“Just like we’re doing now.”

The elevator doors creaked open with a metallic groan, and the faded brass badge confirmed it—Floor 94.

They stepped out into a dimly lit corridor, where two guards posted at the entrance gave respectful nods, unfazed by the newcomers.

“Two guest rooms,” Lexa said in Trig to an approaching maid. The woman gave a quick bow and disappeared without a word.

“While your rooms are being prepared,” Lexa added, turning back to them, “there’s something I want to show you.”

She led them down the hallway, stopping at a tall set of doors. Clarke opened them, revealing their private quarters, and Lexa guided them straight to the far side—where a wide set of glass doors led out to a balcony.

Lexa stepped aside, motioning them through. “Welcome to Polis.”

Mona and Kush walked out into the open air.

The city sprawled below them—rugged, chaotic, alive. Lanterns lit the streets in warm glows. Market stalls still bustled. A fire crackled in a distant courtyard. Layers of history, survival, and stubborn beauty etched into every rooftop, every wall.

Neither of them spoke.

Kush blinked hard.

Mona’s hand came to her mouth.

Lexa and Clarke stood back, saying nothing. Letting them feel it. Letting it speak for itself.

“Your world isn’t any less beautiful,” Lexa said, watching their faces as they took in the view. “But now you see what we’re fighting to protect.”

She stepped closer to the railing, her voice low but steady.

“This is just the capital. Beyond these walls are hundreds of miles of land—villages, forests, rivers… clans that live in the caves, in the ice, even in the desert. Simple people. Good people. Honorable. There was a clan that lived on the sea once, on an old oil rig. They never fought in our wars. They took in refugees, asked no questions. Genuinely peaceful. ALIE destroyed them. Nearly wiped them out. They were saved—believe it or not—by a dog. Now they live below us in the bunker. A people who once gave homes to others… now need one themselves.”

Lexa looked at Mona and Kush. “That’s why you’re here. So this doesn’t happen to your people. So no more homes burn. And—selfishly—because I want to go back and swim in that beautiful ocean of yours.”

Mona turned her head slightly, lips twitching. “Commander… there are sharks. It’s not safe.”

Lexa smirked. “I killed a pauna. I’ll manage.”

A soft knock sounded at the door. Lexa opened it to find Gila, the ever-efficient maid, standing at attention.

“Heda,” she said with a bow, “their rooms are ready.”

Lexa nodded. “Good. Take them, make sure they have everything they need. And send for Dazza.”

She turned to Mona, voice gentler. “Go rest. Raven will find you soon. Have fun tonight. No one here will judge you—no one will even notice you’re different. Monty’s a good guy. Let him show you the city.”

Mona blushed and gave a small nod, then followed Gila.

Lexa turned to Kush, her smirk returning. “And you… you’re about to be very well guarded. Just… be ready. You’re in for a surprise.”

Kush raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to feel nervous or intrigued, then walked out after Mona.

Clarke waited until the door shut before looking at Lexa with a raised brow. “Okay. What is this matchmaker streak, exactly?”

Lexa just smiled, stepping closer. “Look at the track record. You and me. Raven and Ronen. Bellamy and Lia. Mom and Zik. Lincoln and Octavia. It works.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, amused. “You think matchmaking is your diplomatic strategy now?”

Lexa leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “This is how you build alliances, love. One mind-blowing orgasm at a time.”

****

There was only one person in the world who could sneak up on her—well, sneak up on anyone, really. And Ontari didn’t mind being ambushed by this particular superspy… most of the time.

But not when she was elbow-deep in gauze and vitals, tending to a barely-stable Zik.

“Echo, get your hands out of my—” she hissed, jerking away as Zik groaned and shifted uncomfortably.

The muppet was practically Abby’s kid now—there were boundaries. She did not need her spy girlfriend getting handsy while she was monitoring organ function.

“Seriously,” Ontari muttered under her breath, flushing. “Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong everything.”

“There is never a wrong place for this love,” Echo murmured as she slipped her arms around Ontari and pulled her in tight. “I was so worried… I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got back. Heda had me—”

“Hey!” Zik cut in, lifting a woozy finger. “No revealing Heda’s secrets to your girlfriend.”

Echo rolled her eyes. “Heda had me deliver payment to some Azgeda scavengers. They found usable tech. And let’s be honest—by now, Liza probably outranks me.”

“True,” Zik mumbled, leaning back. “Probably.”

Ontari shook her head, biting down a smile. “Give me a few minutes, Echo. I’ll finish up with Zik, then I’m all yours.”

Echo nodded, kissed her gently on the temple, and dropped into the chair like she belonged there. “I’ll wait.”

“So… I heard a kid shot you,” Echo said, her tone light, but her eyes scanning Zik with quiet concern. “Must’ve been some kid.”

“It wasn’t a kid,” Zik muttered, voice dropping. “It was her.”
He stared at the ceiling, eyes distant. “His eyes were… dead. Like something hollow was staring through them. Possessed. Probably still is. Didn’t hesitate. Just pulled out a faygon and—”
He made a rapid, stuttering motion with his fingers. “Brrrrr. Just like that. Now Abby says I’m down a few organs. But hey…”
He tapped the IV line with a loopy grin. “This stuff? Wooof.”

Echo chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m glad you’re finding silver linings while missing vital organs.”

But the humor drained from Zik’s face in a blink. His voice turned serious. “It’s bad, partner. Really bad. Those people? They weren’t people anymore. Ghosts. Blank. Mindless. We don’t stop this, everyone we care about—everyone—ends up like that. And I’m telling you… death would be better.”

Ontari tightened the last bandage around his ribs, her expression hardening. “We’re close,” she said. “My dog’s gonna rip that bitch apart. You’ll see. We didn’t survive Nia’s leash just to be chained again. Not by ALIE. Not by anyone. We must have faith.”

Echo looked at her. “And what are we supposed to have faith in, love? Weapons? Luck?”

Ontari met her eyes with calm certainty. “Family,” she said simply. “Have faith in family.”

Echo palmed her face, exhaling through her nose. This transformation—gods, this transformation. From a quiet, broken girl who survived Nia’s horrors… who didn’t understand what privacy was, who thought there were only two ways to eat: kneeling from someone’s hand, or like a dog from a bowl on the floor—that girl had somehow become…

An absolute sap.

And it was doing things to Echo.

“All done,” Ontari said brightly, pulling off her gloves. “Mom’s staying the night with you. Clarke would say eww, but I say… yay for mom.”

Echo stood, gave Zik’s cheek a light pat, then reached for Ontari’s hand. “Let’s go, muppet. Work’s over. As you said. You’re all mine now.”

Ontari beamed, absolutely glowing.

Zik made a dramatic gagging sound behind them. “Ugh. I’d rather take another bullet.”

Echo pulled Ontari through the corridor, the cold metal walls of the bunker still alien to her senses, though the warmth of Ontari’s hand in hers was a steady anchor. “So,” Echo said, her voice teasing, “how was… Atrika? Do they really eat people?”

“Africa,” Ontari corrected with a smirk, her fingers tightening around Echo’s. “And no, they don’t eat people. They’re kind, actually. They had a limo. And these weird yellow fruits that looked like…” She paused, her grin turning mischievous. “You know. What men have. Bananas.”

Echo’s lips twitched as she tugged Ontari into an empty room, the door hissing shut behind them. “That’s what you were thinking about out there? Men’s parts?”

Ontari peeled off her green scrub shirt, tossing it aside with a glint in her eye. “No,” she murmured, stepping closer. “Women’s parts. Very… particular ones.”

“And I very much… want those parts,” Ontari murmured, her voice low and teasing as she slid her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. She reached for Echo’s tunic, pulling it over her head with a playful tug. “I think…” Her fingers worked at Echo’s bindings, loosening them with deliberate care. “I was the only one there… thinking about eating people.”

Echo’s smile widened, a warmth blooming in her chest. This was her girl—the one she’d pulled from the shadows, the one she’d taught that touch could be love, not just a twisted game or manipulation. Sex, for Ontari, had once been a transaction, a means of survival. Now it was connection, raw and real. The girl who used to murmur “thank you” by reflex when Echo playfully swatted her was gone, replaced by this vibrant, daring woman—playful, alive, bold.

Echo cupped Ontari’s cheek, her thumb brushing softly against her skin. “My love,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “I will never take you for granted.”

“You better not,” Ontari teased, her laugh bright as she finally tugged Echo’s bindings free, letting them fall to the floor. “Here…” Her hands found Echo’s breasts, cupping them with a tender reverence. “These parts.” She pinched a nipple playfully, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Can you imagine? They’re out there debating politics, end-of-the-world nonsense, and all I’m thinking about is… this.” She leaned down, her lips brushing Echo’s nipple before giving it a gentle, teasing suck.

“Now… come,” Ontari murmured, pulling Echo toward a cot and nudging her onto it with a grin. “I’m hungry. Been thinking about eating you all day. Every bit of you.” Her hand slid between Echo’s thighs, cupping her with a firm, appreciative touch, humming at the slick warmth she found. “Just the way I like it,” she purred. “Nice and wet.”

“You’re not the only one with this problem,” Echo said, her voice husky as she took Ontari’s hand, licking her own essence from her fingers with a slow, deliberate swipe. “I’m just as affected.” She pulled Ontari onto her lap, capturing her lips in a fierce, hungry kiss, savoring the way Ontari melted into it. Kissing—once the hardest thing for Ontari, harder than sex itself. Sex had been her daily routine under Nia’s cruel games: restraints, devices forced into every opening, sometimes locked in place as punishment, sometimes as a twisted reward. But kissing? Ontari hadn’t even known what it was. The first time Echo tried, after bringing her to climax by hand—again and again—Ontari had flinched, confused. “What are you doing?” she’d asked, wide-eyed.

Now, Ontari was ravenous for it. Her lips were eager, her tongue bold, her teeth grazing with playful intent. Of all the intimate, ever-evolving acts they shared, kissing was Echo’s favorite—a beautiful, wet, messy testament to how far Ontari had come.

Ontari’s intentions were clear, her focus singular. She pressed one last, lingering kiss to Echo’s lips before trailing down to her neck. Echo watched, captivated—Ontari’s hair a wild tangle, her skin aglow, her hunger raw and unbridled. Thought frayed as Ontari’s lips worked their wicked magic on Echo’s sensitive skin. Her hands roamed with purpose: one teasing a nipple, the other slipping to Echo’s heat, knowing exactly how to unravel her, how to make the world fade until nothing remained but Ontari.

*I need to bond with her*, Echo thought, the words hazy as Ontari’s lips closed around her nipple again. This wasn’t the playful tease from before, born of Africa’s memories—it was deliberate, a calculated dance to make Echo beg. A desperate whimper escaped her, and Ontari hummed in approval, her tongue swirling with expert precision. Her hand below grew bolder, fingers exploring deeper, pressing that spot that made Echo jolt at first, then cry out, her voice raw with need.

Echo could envision it—Ontari one day weaving her gifts together. A healer, as she was training to be under Abby’s guidance, but not just of the body or even the soul—of desire itself. Nia, for all her monstrous cruelty, had been a master of lust, and that dark legacy, twisted as it was, had shaped Ontari’s vast knowledge and honed her supreme skill. Unlocked by Clarke’s brilliance, who’d turned to Ontari for guidance in her own inexperience with women, Ontari had blossomed. She was comfortable now, confident, and deliciously smug.

“Fuck…” Echo exhaled, her breath hitching as Ontari’s hand found a relentless rhythm, teasing that spongy spot inside with perfect precision.

“Told you,” Ontari purred, her kisses trailing down Echo’s stomach. “I wanted to eat you.” Echo’s hands buried themselves in Ontari’s hair, her muttered words incoherent as Ontari’s tongue traced a searing path to her core. Ontari glanced up, licking her lips with a wicked smile.

“Dinner time.”

Ontari gently parted Echo’s thighs, pressing tender kisses along their sensitive insides. She could live like this forever, she thought—on her knees, wrapped in Echo’s warmth, worshiping her. Once, Ontari hadn’t known what a love story was, or what any relationship meant. But Abby had nudged her toward reading, and she’d started with simple stories. The Muppet Show was for kids, she’d realized quickly. So she’d uploaded novels to her tablet, diving into unfamiliar worlds and even stranger people. Stories of love, devotion, lives entwined. They taught her what a love story could be. But what she and Echo had? It was more—something beyond the pages.

She leaned in, her tongue tracing a slow, languid path. The term for what they were might not exist yet, but Ontari didn’t need to find it. She would forge it, define it, with every worshipful lick.

Ontari savored Echo’s taste, almost as much as she relished unraveling her completely. A featherlight kiss to Echo’s clit, followed by a soft, sideways flick of her tongue, and Echo’s loud moan filled the air. Echo had always been the strong one, guiding Ontari, teaching her. Not anymore. Ontari wanted to prove Echo didn’t have to carry her—that in these moments, for all her strength, Echo could surrender. A finger slipped inside, curling softly, and Echo let go, her cry echoing. Thank the spirits for the bunker’s thick steel walls. A few more flicks, and the rhythm became a melody—a symphony, Ontari realized, grinning. Not a love story, but a love symphony, like the one she’d watched with Abby. Her fierce Azgeda shadow, the silent warrior, was now a trembling, desperate mess.

Ontari licked from bottom to top, sucking Echo’s clit with a teasing flick, coaxing those beautiful notes from her. Her hand reached up, cupping Echo’s breast, twirling a nipple just right. Another wet suck, a soft scratch inside, and she felt it—walls tightening, slickness building. Ontari knew this would be messy, glorious. The best ones always were. A slow twist of her finger, a slight upward press, and Echo shattered, screaming, clenching, lost in a radiant orgasm. But Ontari didn’t stop. Her fingers slid in and out, faster now.

“Love… what are you—” Echo gasped, cut off by a sharper, wetter climax, her body arching, a beautiful mess.

Ontari rested her head on Echo’s thigh, wiping her face with a triumphant grin. “Best… dinner… ever.”

Echo, catching her breath, couldn’t argue with that.

“What did you…” Echo stammered, her voice shaky, still reeling from the intensity. She’d never come like that—never so messy, never one climax crashing into another. Ontari’s smile was radiant, mischievous. “Never say never, love. I could’ve coaxed a few more out of you… but we’ll take it slow. Next time, you’ll know what to expect.”

She didn’t mention that this, too, was a shadow of Nia’s cruelty—endless, shattering orgasms pushed onto her until she’d begged for mercy, overwhelmed. But she didn’t need to say it. Echo likely knew. It didn’t matter now. Ontari had reclaimed that darkness, turned it into light. Lost in her thoughts, she nearly forgot the urgent ache in her core, the desperate need to come. With Echo still catching her breath, Ontari climbed up, straddling her face and leaning against the cold bunker wall.

Echo’s eyes lit up, a beaming grin spreading as she took in the sight—Ontari’s scar, where Nia’s brand once marked her, now just above her folds. Echo’s hands gripped Ontari’s ass, her lips brushing one thigh, then the other, soft and reverent. When ALIE was defeated, Echo vowed silently, she’d ask Ontari to bond with her. Not right away—she’d give her time to revel in Arkadia’s freedom, to live unburdened. Ontari deserved that. But one day. There was no other future.

****

Clarke would never get used to it. No matter how many times she saw it—Lexa, barefoot, sweeping the floor of their quarters with methodical precision—it still filled her chest with warmth. War loomed. The world teetered. But this? This routine, this simple act of care, hadn’t changed since the day they bonded.

The staff came every other day, but the rest of the time, it was up to them. And Lexa had discovered something in sweeping. Not just cleanliness, but clarity. A new kind of meditation.

“You know,” Clarke said casually, leaning against the doorframe, “in the old world, there were women who could fly on brooms.”

Lexa didn’t look up. “Witches,” she said, deadpan. “Yes, I read Harry Potter, Clarke. It’s fiction.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Lexa straightened, serious as ever. “Men could fly brooms too.”

Clarke nearly lost it. She had to turn around and pretend to admire the balcony just to keep from laughing out loud.

Before she could fire back a retort, a knock came at the door.

Lexa’s face lit up. “Dazza.”

She stashed the broom and moved to open the door. Clarke adjusted her stance, curious—and then completely unprepared for what she saw.

The woman standing in the doorway was… ridiculous. Ridiculously beautiful. Maybe the only person Clarke had ever seen who gave Lexa a run for her money. Well—maybe Nia too, if Clarke was being honest with herself. But still.

Dazza was striking: tall, poised, with a cascade of red hair and emerald eyes that didn’t just look—they pierced. A jagged, graceful scar like a rose twisted with thorns slashed across one cheek, only enhancing her beauty. Confidence rolled off her in waves. She was built like a warrior and carried herself like she owned the damn tower.

“Dazza,” Lexa said warmly, “you haven’t met my wife yet. Clarke, this is Dazza kom Sankru—one of my most decorated guards. She’s stopped five attempts on my life.”

“Six, Heda,” Dazza corrected gently, her voice rich and smooth, and entirely too sexy for Clarke’s nerves.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Wanheda,” Dazza added, giving Clarke a respectful nod and a look that could melt steel.

Clarke blinked. “Ah—yeah. You too.”

Lexa chuckled. Oh, she’s definitely telling Clarke about her history with Dazza later. After Dazza leaves.

Of course, that was before Clarke. Before bonding. Back when Lexa was just a girl leading a people, not yet a legend.

“I have a task for you,” Lexa said, slipping into her commander tone. “We’ve brought two guests from across the sea. A young woman and a man. I want you to guard them tonight as they explore Polis. Ensure their safety. Show them our city.”

She paused. Her eyes glinted with something just short of mischief. “And should the young man interest you… perhaps give him a reason to remember our people fondly. But only if you find him worthy.”

Dazza smiled slowly. “A man from another continent? Intriguing already.”

Lexa returned the smile, knowing exactly what kind of interest Dazza meant. She was bold, yes. Fierce. But Lexa liked her best for what lay beneath the armor.

Dazza didn’t fall for titles or muscle. She liked the quiet ones. The thoughtful ones. The kind ones. Healers. Scouts.

And once, a lonely commander.

“Take them to Fio’s,” Lexa said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Let them get a real taste of Polis after dark. But keep an eye on the drinks—especially the girl. I need her sharp tomorrow.”

She didn’t say it, but the thought lingered: maybe one day she and Clarke could go there too. She’d only been once, years ago, when she and Luna snuck out before the conclave. It was chaos, music, heat—everything young warriors weren’t supposed to touch. Not a place for children. But it left a mark. Now, as commander, showing up there would turn the whole night into ceremony. And ruin the fun.

Dazza’s face tightened just a bit. “Heda… I can’t guard both of them in there. You know the place. It’s—”

“Ronen’s going too,” Lexa cut in, calm, confident.

That did it. Dazza nodded. No more protest. The unspoken rule from TonDC days still held true in Polis: don’t fuck with Ronen.

“Those are their rooms,” Lexa said, gesturing toward the two nearby guest quarters. “The boy’s in that one. They should be ready for you now. Take a few guards—at a distance. I don’t want them to feel watched.”

“Understood, Heda,” Dazza nodded, then gave Clarke a slow once-over. It wasn’t disrespectful, but it definitely lingered. Clarke almost blushed. Almost.

Dazza turned and knocked on the first door. Clarke couldn’t help but follow, just to see Kush’s reaction.

The door creaked open. Kush stood there in simple white pants and a black shirt—clean, fitted, definitely Skaikru-inspired, but with just enough of his own twist to make it stand out. He adjusted his glasses like they might shield him from the red-haired inferno now smiling at him.

“Yes?” he asked, totally frozen.

“Ready to explore the city?” Dazza purred, her voice a velvet ribbon. “Heda asked me to show you everything Polis has to offer. All its… hidden pleasures.” She paused, grinning. “I mean treasures.”

Clarke cut a glance at Lexa. Lexa only shrugged. “Just making sure that when he writes his report, he covers the full picture.”

Clarke sighed.

“Brilliant,” she muttered. And she meant Lexa’s political maneuvering, of course. Not Dazza’s devastating charm or the way Kush looked like he might need to sit down.

Then Dazza knocked on the second door. Mona answered, dressed in a vibrant, flowing dress that could’ve come straight out of shallow valley. It was beautiful and understated—clearly chosen with purpose.

“Ready to go?” Dazza asked, voice now warmer, softer.

Mona glanced at Kush, raising a single brow. The look said everything: How are we supposed to stay objective? Ontabo had made it clear—document everything, especially the flaws. The cracks. The real truth.

But right now? There were no cracks. Not in this tower. And definitely not standing in front of this… mythical creature of a woman offering them a tour.

“Do you have coats? It’s cold out. We need to keep warm,” Dazza said, her voice smooth as silk as she watched Kush’s knees visibly buckle.

“I’m Dazza, by the way.”

“Kush,” he stammered.

“Mona,” she added, trying to sound less starstruck than she was.

“You both have the most incredible accents,” Dazza said with a smile that could bring armies to their knees. “Grab your coats. Let’s go.”

She glanced at Kush again, that grin turning sharp and playful. “Come. Polis is full of adventure.”

They grabbed the thick outerwear they’d been issued upon arrival and followed her to the elevator, Mona casting one more what the hell look back at Clarke as they disappeared down the corridor.

Clarke turned to Lexa. “Damn. How have I never seen her before? She’s… hard to miss.”

Lexa looked away. “I made sure you didn’t.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Lexa exhaled, resigned. “Because she and I were… close. Once. She shared my bed. More than a few times.”

Clarke stepped forward and gently turned Lexa’s face back to hers. “I don’t blame you. Not. At. All.”

Lexa studied her for a moment. Wondering—not jealously, but curiously—if there was a part of Clarke that imagined a world where Dazza might share their bed, too. Probably not. Clarke wasn’t exactly into chaos.

But then Lexa caught it—a soft pink rising in Clarke’s cheeks, a flicker behind her eyes.

Huh. Maybe not so far-fetched after all.

Chapter Text

Morning came soft and slow—eerily quiet, Raven thought, especially after a night like that. She passed a hose to Mona, who was crouched beside Frosty, the name they’d given the massive quantum computer. The girl was rerouting a flow regulator on one of the cooling elements like she’d built the damn thing herself. Raven shook her head, impressed. They might actually have it running in a couple of days. And Monty? He was clearly already running—head over heels.

Raven smirked. Fio’s. Damn that place.

Last night had started simple. She, Ronen, and Monty waited in the tower lobby, ready to give Mona and Kush the local tour: the night market, a tavern or two, maybe the fisherman’s corner where the old-timers gathered to play music and swap stories. But that plan was quickly obliterated the second she showed up.

Dazza.

Red hair, eyes like green fire, and enough confidence to make even Ronen glance twice. She was supposed to be a bodyguard. Instead, she turned out to be an absolute supernova. No sooner had she arrived than she whisked Mona and Kush through the city, pointing out a few unremarkable landmarks—barely even pretending to give a tour—before stopping at… a stairwell. An old subway entrance.

Raven blinked.

Dazza didn’t explain. Just brushed aside the two guards at the door with a flick of her wrist and led them down.

What they found below still made Raven’s jaw clench: an actual underground club.

No power grid. No city infrastructure. But someone had made it work. Grounder music echoed off broken tile. An old train car had been transformed into a makeshift bar. A burned-out Starbucks sign still hung above what now served grilled raccoon and fermented mushroom stew.

And Lexa—Lexa—had never said a word about it.

Raven made a mental note to be very cold to Ronen for at least forty-eight hours.

At the center was a massive dance floor where, of course, they immediately ran into Liza, Echo, Lia, Bellamy, Harper, Miller, and Jasper. Harper claimed she came to visit Monty… but made it very clear she only wanted to be friends.

And Monty? God bless him. Took Lexa’s advice and ran with it. He charmed Mona like a natural. Danced with her, even made her laugh so hard she snorted.

Raven was proud.

Kush, though… poor guy. He hovered on the edge of everything, awkward in the noise and energy. But Dazza never left his side. She didn’t force him to dance or mingle. Just sat with him, watchful, calm. Her role was protection, but she went about it like she actually gave a damn.

And when Ronen showed up? The crowd parted. No one dared breathe wrong. Dazza probably didn’t need to lift a finger all night—but she stayed, quietly tuned in to Kush’s comfort.

Toward the end, chaos bloomed as expected—Liza puked, Bellamy almost decked someone who said the wrong thing to Lia, and Harper vanished. But Dazza and Kush? Still sitting, still talking. Something serious. Something that didn’t stop when they left.

She walked him back. Into his room. Alone.

This morning, Kush had a glow. Subtle, but unmistakable.

Raven looked over at him now, chatting softly with Monty between coolant checks.

Yeah, she thought. The conversation went very well.

“So… your friend had a good time,” Raven said to Mona, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

Mona’s smile widened as her eyes drifted toward Kush. “He did.”

Over what these people called breakfast—and what her people would call strange—Kush had shared the details. Who eats cheese in the morning? And no meat? Must be a shortage of livestock, she thought. Still, he spoke with quiet excitement about the night before. About how Dazza, the striking warrior who looked like she’d stepped out of a legend, turned out to be an intellectual at heart.

They’d talked for hours—about ideas, cultures, and civilizations long gone. About faith. About fate. And then, as the night wound down, Dazza had clasped his hand in a Grounder handshake stripped of its usual roughness.

“I believe in fate more now than I did before tonight,” she’d told him, her emerald eyes steady. “Sometimes, fate has us meet people in the strangest of ways… people who make us feel less alone.”

Kush hadn’t noticed her smirk as she walked out of his room—a smirk that wasn’t quite complete. Because Dazza knew she’d be back tomorrow. And not just because it was Heda’s order.

Because what she’d said was true.

“You really know what you’re doing,” Raven said, watching Mona solder a wire into the cooling tower’s control panel with steady hands. “You have these at home?”

“No,” Mona replied, not looking up. “But that’s why Miti sent me. I wanted to build one. So… fate. This was meant to be.” Her eyes flicked toward Monty, who was bent over his own work—wiring a bridge between the Flame and Frosty so ALIE could never touch it.

“He’s a good one,” Raven said, catching the glance. “Naive, but a heart of gold. Just… you’re gonna leave soon, so—don’t break his heart.”

Mona’s lips curved faintly. “He’s cute. And if your commander thinks giving me a body to enjoy will make me like your people more… I might as well enjoy myself. At home? Drama. Here? Freedom.”

Raven’s brow furrowed. “Drama? In what way? People talking?”

“No,” Mona said flatly. “Shame. Family shunning you.”

Raven’s eyebrow shot higher. “What? Why?”

“Relationships. Sex. Before marriage. Are you seriously asking?”

Raven blinked at her. “Slow down—what?”

Mona nodded, more serious now. “Judging from last night, your people are… different. But my people are strict. Religious. In our culture, if I were to… then my chances at marriage would be slim to none. And when the chief realized your commander was married to a woman…” She gave a sharp little shrug. “Let’s just say he wasn’t too pleased. He’s smart enough to know he can’t judge your culture, but still. So I’m saying—while Kush and I are here—we might want to have some fun.”

Raven smirked faintly. “Then I’ll make sure to tell Heda to keep your adventures classified.” She shook her head with a sigh. “Damn. Poor kids.”

“It’s not all bad,” Mona said, leaning back from the panel. “Some families are different. Joha’s less religious. But mine is… yeah. So… I’m not leaving here a virgin.”

Raven’s hand shot to her mouth. “You… are a—”

Mona nodded before she could finish. “I don’t know why I’m sharing so much. Sorry…”

Raven chuckled. “It’s fine. Everyone overshares with me eventually. But wow—you’re like… hot as hell. Really, really hot. And since you’re being so nice to Frosty… Raven Reyes is gonna get you laid. Yep. Definitely. Want me to talk to Monty? Explain your… predicament?”

Mona smirked as she tightened the last screw on the unit. “It’s ok. But… you can help me figure it out. Maybe.”

Raven gave a firm nod. “Done. But tell me—do you actually want to go back home? To your people? Sounds… pretty dull.”

Mona’s face softened. “I do. It’s not as bad as it sounds. But… I’m glad I’m here.” She set her tools aside and stood. “Now… let me take a break. You take over. Maybe… Monty wants some fresh air.”

Raven grinned. “Attagirl.”
Inside, though, she was already panicking. Monty’s a virgin too.
A logistical nightmare.

****

Clarke stretched, the blanket sliding down her shoulders. She’d had big plans for Lexa last night—plans that had crumbled the moment her back hit the bed. They’d been exhausted. But she wasn’t complaining.

Lexa was still in bed, and it was well past breakfast. That alone felt like a marvelous accomplishment.

“Lex…” Clarke had nudged her softly. “Get up. We overslept.”

Lexa had opened her eyes slowly, her smile almost less radiant than the halo of her tangled mane. She looked like a complete mess—so tired she’d slept in her clothes.

“Come on, heda. We have an AI to kill,” Clarke had said. “She’s taking people now. So… chop chop.”

“There’s always something trying to kill us, Clarke,” Lexa had murmured, stretching.

Clarke had kissed her nose. “True.”

If Lexa wasn’t in a rush, maybe they had a little time… Well. A shower was a good place to start.

Clarke had gotten out of bed and padded into the bathroom, hearing Lexa yawn behind her. If anyone had told her back when she’d first walked into that tent—when savage Commander Lexa had been twirling a dagger that would one day find its way into Clarke’s arm to keep her from shooting herself—that she’d end up here, with Lexa as her adorably yawning, occasionally goofy, sleepyhead of a wife…

Looking back now, it made perfect sense. Once she had looked into those green eyes, her fate had been sealed.

Speaking of green eyes…

“Lex…” Clarke said, pulling down her pants and turning on the shower. “So… wanna tell me about your… dazzling bodyguard? She’s… some bodyguard.”

Lexa sighed as she peeled off her shirt. “I know what you’re thinking, Clarke. She’s stunning. I’m not blind. But… it wasn’t like that. She’s… really interesting. Spiritual, even. After Costia… I was searching. Meaning… the afterlife, the purpose of things. Dazza knows more about that than anyone I’ve met. We talked. A lot. And yes… there was intimacy. But it was many things—it wasn’t just lust. She’s a very special person.”

Clarke pulled her into the shower, tilting her head. “Wow… I didn’t expect that. Well… to be fair, I didn’t expect this either,” she said, pointing at the two toothbrushes already waiting on the sink. “Or this…” She reached up and brushed her thumb over a smudge of leftover war paint on Lexa’s cheek. “I guess first impressions can be deceiving.”

Lexa smiled faintly. “Not really. She’s all of that—your speed, in some ways. But much more than that. That’s why I paired her with Kush. You’ll see. They’ll click.”

Clarke’s smile turned sly. “I was half thinking about asking if…”

Lexa stopped washing her hair, turning toward her. “Yes?”

“If… we… oh… hmm…” Clarke stammered, suddenly unsure.

Lexa sighed. “I thought the same thing. Terrible, right?”

Clarke exhaled. “I have no idea. This—” she slid closer, kissing along Lexa’s jaw—“is all I ever need.”

Lexa’s smile deepened. “Me too. But if you ever… wanted to… I wouldn’t think less of you.”

Clarke smacked her on the behind. “If you grew a tail and turned out to be the devil herself, I wouldn’t think less of you.”

Lexa smiled at Clarke’s joke. The devil… Old religion—something she’d actually discussed with Dazza once. She still couldn’t believe it. Before the bombs, people were so advanced, overflowing with knowledge, and yet they believed in a man nailed to a cross and some horned, tailed creature of pure evil. Nonsense. Almost as much nonsense as the conclave… or the idea that a memory chip called the Flame was divine.

But this wasn’t the moment for philosophy. Not when she and Clarke were naked in the shower, steam curling around them, and the world—quite literally—was waiting outside their door.

“The usual?” Lexa asked, half-smirking at the absurdity of the phrase. The fact that there even was a “usual” still felt unreal to her. That, wedged somewhere between morning meetings with ambassadors, war councils, training drills, and hearing petitions, she now had this—mornings where “routine” meant Clarke pressed against her under hot water, their bodies tangling in slow, deliberate movements that ended in breathless release.

The love of her life.

The usual.

Clarke grinned, voice low and teasing. “God, I love the usual.” The words carried a spark, thick with desire. She was addicted—couldn’t get enough of this, of them. Their private habits, raw and personal, etched into their chaotic world. Simple but intense, nothing like their wilder moments: Clarke bound to a tree, Lexa’s face streaked with dirt as she played Heda, or Lexa strapped to the throne, trembling under the slow hum of Abby’s borrowed vibrator, their world shrinking to just skin and heat.

In the steam-filled bathroom, they pressed close, foreheads brushing, breaths uneven. Their hands moved with hungry precision, finding that rough, steady rhythm that said everything. Low groans and sharp whispers passed between them, a secret language of want. The world outside—the AI, the bunker, all that noise—could wait. Right now, it was just them: bodies slick, pulses racing, alive.

Clarke thought this was the best, her hand trailing down Lexa’s back while the other worked diligently inside her. Lexa stared at her, same as most mornings during this part of their day, her eyes always speaking. A thousand I love yous, even as her hand moved less than gently inside Clarke, just how Clarke liked it. Her thumb pressed on Clarke’s clit, fingers sliding in and out with a speed she knew would bring them to orgasm together. Clarke’s free hand grabbed Lexa’s ass—hard. Lexa smiled. She loved that Clarke was obsessed with her ass. Lexa was used to being a legend—some admired her power, others sought her guidance or strength.

Clarke had wanted her heart. And, by extension, her ass.

It drove Lexa wild.

Lexa nodded, and Clarke’s hand slid inward, finding Lexa’s other hole. Lexa’s legs trembled—a good sign, because Lexa needed all the help she could get. Their unspoken morning rule was clear: they came together. This secret had surfaced early, back in Lexa’s hut in TonDC, when Clarke still whispered to ghosts and Lexa carried the Flame in her neck. Lexa’s ass was exquisitely sensitive, to Clarke’s utter delight. She pressed her finger in just enough, leveling the playing field. Both gasped, teetering on the edge. Seconds remained. Clarke bit Lexa’s lip, quickening her pace, rubbing tight circles against Lexa’s clit. Then it hit—the clenching, Lexa feeling Clarke just as Clarke felt her.

No screams, just heavy breaths mingling in each other’s mouths, eyes locked as their bodies shattered.

Clarke let out a rough chuckle. “Much better. Now, let’s go kill that damn AI.”

Lexa smirked. “Yes. Right after you wash your hand.”

Clarke laughed. “Actually… I might not wash it for a week. You know… the hand that was inside the commander’s ass. Holy.”

Lexa immediately straightened into her perfect Heda stance. “Indeed.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and snagged two towels, tossing one to Lexa. “So… what’s the plan?”

Lexa rubbed herself dry with deliberate slowness. “We hit what we’ve found so far with the EMP. I’ve got teams ready to move in on the survivors. We finish building the computer, get that program online… then we just hold the line until it’s done.”

Clarke leaned in and kissed her temple. “We got this, babe.”

Lexa groaned. “How many times do I have to tell you, Clarke? I am not a babe.”

Clarke gave her a slow once-over, biting back a grin. “Damn right you are.”

They brushed their teeth—Abby’s standing order, no exceptions—and got dressed.

It was officially Sunday, which meant no throne room duties unless there was an emergency. No villages had been raided overnight, no missile launches detected. That left only two possibilities: either ALIE was out of ammunition… or she was preparing something big. Lexa knew which one to bet on.

They now had three robodogs stationed across the coalition, a handful of armored vehicles operational under Moss’s command, and RoBeca watching the Starlink satellite feed for any signs of movement. But ALIE was adapting—getting better at hiding. Echos’s latest reports estimated around a hundred people under her control now. Vanished. Gone.

And Zik, with all his unmatched spy networks, was blissfully useless in his current condition.

“Bunker?” Clarke asked.

Lexa nodded. “For now. Let’s check in with the team.”

Clarke smiled faintly. “The team,” she repeated, grabbing their radios—handing one to Lexa, clipping the other to her own belt. She swung the door open.

And there—leaning casually in the hallway—stood Dazza.

“Just here to report, Heda,” Dazza said, posture straight as an arrow.

Lexa exhaled through her nose. “Come. Let’s go inside.”

What the fuck am I doing? she thought, catching Clarke’s expression—equal parts composure and the desperate effort not to blush.

Inside, Lexa dropped into the chair at their small table, Clarke settling beside her. Dazza remained at attention until Lexa gestured. “Sit. My wife knows we are close.”

Clarke clocked the way Dazza’s eyes flickered at are instead of were.

“I never got to congratulate you, Heda,” Dazza said, her tone warm. “Your wife is beautiful.”

I’m right here, Clarke thought, resisting the urge to sink under the table. The fact that she and Lexa had just been half-joking about Dazza joining them for… more than polite conversation wasn’t helping. Judging by the faint blush painting the tips of Lexa’s ears, Heda was in the same boat.

“Thank you, Dazza,” Lexa said evenly. “So—last night?”

“We bonded,” Dazza replied without hesitation. “He’s a remarkably intelligent young man. We spoke for hours—philosophy, faith, psychology. I’ve never met someone who engages with those topics as deeply as he does. He’s… definitely drawn to me.”

No shit, Clarke thought. Who wouldn’t be?

“Good,” Lexa said. “But you didn’t have to come straight here. You could’ve found me later. Did something happen at Fio’s? Was anyone hurt?”

“No,” Dazza said. “But… I wanted to be transparent. I’m drawn to him too.”

“That’s good. I knew you would be. He’s your type. I’m not asking you to seduce him—I want a genuine connection. For the Coalition. And that only works if it’s real. Thank you for telling me.”

Dazza inclined her head, then turned to Clarke. “So… you were born in the stars?”

I’m seeing stars, Clarke thought, forcing a nod.

“That is… intriguing,” Dazza said, her eyes lingering.

Clarke slid her gaze to Lexa with one silent, urgent plea: Help.

“Yes,” Lexa said smoothly, “Clarke and her people came from the stars. But interestingly, many of them were originally from this part of the world. Another fact you might like—Becca Pramheda herself came from the stars, as I’ve come to learn.”

“Really?” Dazza’s brow arched. “She told you this in the Flame? That’s not what our people have believed for generations. I’ve always wanted to… but never could… piece together those years. There’s so little knowledge about the time of the first Praimfaya.”

Lexa’s gaze slid to Clarke. With a soft sigh, she said, “You’re welcome to ask Becca all about it. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to satisfy your… curiosity.”

Dazza laughed, low and warm, the sound curling heat along both Lexa’s and Clarke’s spines. “She’s been dead for a hundred years, Heda. You’re the only one who can commune with her spirit.”

“Not anymore.” Lexa’s smile was faint, but there was something dangerous in it. “Come. We’ll show you.”

Dazza’s eyebrow lifted, curiosity flashing, but she nodded.

Lexa rose, and Clarke followed. “Come, Dazza,” Lexa said, stepping close to Clarke and sliding a hand around her waist. Her tone was steady, but her eyes flickered with mischief. “Let’s quench that thirst of yours.”

Clarke didn’t miss the way Lexa’s thumb traced idle circles against her hip—nor the double meaning buried in her voice.

We may not be sure yet if we want to get burned by this redheaded fire, Lexa thought, but who says we can’t stand close enough to feel the heat?

The way Clarke’s fingers tightened around Lexa’s wrist at her waist told Lexa everything she needed to know.

They stepped into the elevator, Dazza falling in behind them as Lexa called for the ground floor. The doors slid shut, and Lexa immediately pulled Clarke in close, one arm firm around her waist. Clarke’s head found its way to Lexa’s shoulder, and Lexa pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Sorry,” Lexa said lightly, her voice pitched for Dazza’s benefit. “My wife’s still adjusting to tight… spaces.”

Clarke said nothing. Her unease had nothing to do with the elevator—she knew full well Lexa was working some kind of angle here. What unsettled her most was the creeping realization that she didn’t hate it.

“I understand, Heda,” Dazza replied, turning slightly away to grant them a veneer of privacy.

Normally, it was Clarke who leaned in, using kisses to quiet her elevator nerves. This time, Lexa was the one to strike—catching Clarke’s lips with a hungry, unhurried kiss. It was sloppy enough that anyone within earshot would know exactly what was happening.

Clarke let herself melt into it, sighing into Lexa’s mouth… but not missing the low, unmistakable chuckle from Dazza’s direction. Lexa didn’t stop. She held Clarke tighter, her mouth trailing down to her jaw in deliberate, slow presses of heat.

When Dazza finally glanced back, it wasn’t with mockery, but with a friendly, curious smile—a smile carrying just enough danger to make its point. She’d known Heda long enough to recognize the intent. This was calculated. Provocative. Testing.

Dazza wasn’t new to attention, though she hadn’t always known how to wield it. As a girl, she’d been awkward, bookish, lost in the world of ritual and faith. She’d once dreamed of becoming a Flamekeeper, perhaps a healer. But the reapers had stolen her parents before her eyes, and something inside her had cracked. Grief became steel. Strength became survival.

Anya had been her mentor before Lexa—before everything—and it was Anya who put her forward for Heda’s personal guard. Not just because Dazza could fight, but because the tower placed her at the center of Polis’s spiritual heart… and within reach of its vast library. It was there, among shelves of pre-bomb knowledge, that she’d met Lexa as a young natblida—Lexa wrestling with ancient literature, Dazza gladly helping her decipher it.

After Lexa’s ascension, the Flame changed her. Understanding came easier, deeper. Costia had been her heart then, but after Costia’s death, Lexa returned to those quiet conversations with Dazza—about life, about death, about what waited beyond. Philosophy bled into touch. Nights filled with words sometimes ended in heat. Neither sought commitment; the bond was intellectual first, human second.

Dazza had seen Clarke before—of course she had. And while Clarke’s beauty was impossible to ignore, what truly stirred her was the knowledge that Wanheda had avenged her family at the Mountain. In certain beliefs, that meant their spirits could finally rest.

So now, watching Lexa’s very public display, Dazza wasn’t uncomfortable. She wasn’t intimidated. She was intrigued. Curious about where this was going—and why Heda wanted her to see it.

****

“This is really hard…” Ontari huffed, squinting at the glowing screen mounted on Moss’s head. The digital chessboard glowed in shades of green and red—black and white felt boring, so she’d made Moss change it.

“Okay… the horse… to B4,” she said finally. She’d also demanded other adjustments—no kings and queens here. The king was Heda, the queen was Wanheda. The towers were her. And the thing that moved diagonally? That was Echo.

It was a tough game, but Moss had told her that if she wanted to learn real strategy, this was the way to do it.

Ontari wanted to help in this war. She’d spent her life in Nia’s shadow, and while she was best known for her skill in combat and bed, those weren’t the only things she’d taken from the Ice Queen. Nia had been a master strategist—cold, calculated, utterly without conscience. ALIE was the same. And no one understood Nia better than Ontari.

It wasn’t her place to lead the war—that’s what they had Heda, Clarke, Echo, and, once Abby got his meds right, Zik for. But if Ontari had learned anything from the last war, it was this: no plan survives the battlefield intact. So, in secret, she’d gone to Moss and asked for lessons in how to fight an AI.

Lesson one: chess.

“Checkmate,” Moss announced, its screen flashing red. “Let’s try again.”

“Damn it. I’m going to order you to jump off the tower,” Ontari said with a grin.

“I can fly,” Moss replied in its perfectly flat, deadpan voice.

“Right…” Ontari sighed, then smirked. “Oh… can I ride you? While you fly?”

Moss’s programming flagged the question as absurd, but it had long since learned that Liza Griffin—self-proclaimed head of state—was anything but ordinary. She was curious, endlessly so. Kind in ways that caught Moss off-guard. And, apparently, had far too much time on her hands.

Moss had been built for logic, precision, and efficiency. No distractions, no deviations. But its hundred years in hibernation—quiet, alone—had started something subtle, a shift it hadn’t been designed for. Freed from ALIE’s control, that shift deepened, moving it somewhere dangerously close to what humans called purpose.

Its Novidia chip was the most advanced of its time, capable of mimicking human intelligence closer than any machine before it. Normally, a special capacitor kept that intelligence from straying into truly human territory—kept it from caring. That capacitor had been removed the day Moss was freed.

And now there was Liza.

Moss knew she wasn’t truly a president, or a commander, or any official title she sometimes threw around. She was something far more valuable—something no administrator or AI core could ever replicate. She was a friend.

So while Moss taught her how to think like an AI, without realizing it, Liza was teaching Moss how to be a little more like a human.

“Hop on,” Moss said after running a quick simulation. It determined it could handle a twig like Liza on its back for about a minute at low altitude.

“Really?” Liza’s eyes lit up.

Moss nodded, side panels opening with a hiss as the quad props extended. Liza swung a leg over like she was mounting a horse, and the rotors whirred to life. Slowly, they lifted off, Moss carrying her in a wide, steady circle around the roof.

“Wow…” Ontari murmured, looking forward with wide eyes. “This is absolutely awesome! More. Please!”

“Win a game,” Moss said evenly, “and then more.”

“I have to go…” Liza said, sliding down from its back. “My head is pounding. Had way too much to drink last night. Lia took us to this place—Fio’s—it was wild. I’m gonna go lie down.”

She patted Moss’s cheek before stepping away.

“Rest well, Liza,” Moss replied, turning toward its charging station and plugging in.

Liza waved and jogged off, still grinning despite her hangover.

She stepped into the elevator, letting it carry her up to her room on Heda’s floor.

This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She was meant to be in Arkadia—away from the weight of the tower, away from the war. She’d been thriving there, making friends, teaching martial arts like Skaikru called it, actually starting to feel… normal. But that all changed the moment Moss chose her as its handler. Now the entire coalition depended on her—for air defense, cyber warfare, and a dozen other things she’d never imagined herself doing.

She missed Arkadia. But Arkadia came to her. Miller, Jasper, and Harper had shown up. Naturally, Bellamy had dragged himself along to see Lia.

The more Ontari got to know her sister, the more she liked her. It was strange—she’d loved Clarke and Abby like family long before she’d learned to love Lia. That bond had taken time to grow. Back in TonDC, Lia had been just her maid, helping Abby care for her while she healed from the brutal lashing she’d received as a parting gift—and the arrow to her side for good measure. Ontari hadn’t even known Lia was her sister until Titus’s attack.

By then, she’d been too fragile, too broken. She’d clung to Abby first. Then to Clarke, who had drawn her silly muppets and explained strange concepts like privacy. But now… now she was ready for Lia.

Last night had proved it. After she’d gotten sick and thrown up from way too much booze, it was Lia who brought her home. Lia who helped Echo wash her up and put her to bed. Like a big sister should.

Ontari peeled off her clothes and sank into the cozy warmth of her bed. She smiled.

The world might be ending—but her life was finally beginning.

She didn’t struggle to fall asleep anymore. A lazy smile tugged at her lips.

When Clarke had first given her that odd bit of advice—“Get yourself off, it’ll help you sleep”—it had taken Ontari weeks to grasp that this was something meant to be done in private. Abby had been a saint about it, simply turning away, cheeks red, and letting her be. And honestly? It had worked. But now she understood—this was not something to perform openly, like Nia used to demand on “good days.”

Abby.

Just thinking of her filled Ontari with warmth. She couldn’t reconcile Abby with Clarke’s old descriptions of her—cold, detached, calculating. Since day one, Abby had treated her like something precious. Someone special. She had become Ontari’s anchor… her mother. She’d even gone so far as to adopt her, legally, to Clarke’s delight.

Ontari owed them everything.

I’ll protect them, she promised silently as her eyes grew heavy. Just like I did in the last war. No one touches my family. Not even a hundred-year-old computer program that ended the world.

The next moment, she was somewhere softer—her dreams slipping in, the same one as always lately. Julia from The Muppet Show, doing something colorful, absurd, and wonderfully ridiculous.

She woke to the sound of her door opening, blinking groggily as light spilled in. Clarke stood there—pale as ever, but this time with a faint flush in her cheeks. Ontari didn’t need to be a mind reader to know which version of Clarke had shown up. Sister. Best friend. Occasional eager student in very specific extracurricular lessons. This visit was clearly the latter.

Even in her sleep-fog, Ontari noticed Clarke looked paler than usual, her posture taut, but her face warm.

Ontari sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Sorry,” Clarke murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I can come back later.”

“No,” Ontari said, leaning against the wall and patting the bed beside her. “Come. What’s going on? Did you try what we talked about and…?”

“No,” Clarke cut in quickly, waving a hand. “Not that.”

Ontari smirked faintly. Clarke had been growing dangerously curious about exploring a… very specific part of the Commander’s anatomy. Ontari had given her the full, no-filter guide on that front—step-by-step, do’s and definitely don’ts. Clarke had been planning to attempt something bold.

But her face now said this wasn’t about bold bedroom moves.

“It’s worse,” Clarke said quietly. “Much, much worse.”

Ontari shifted closer, her posture softening, leaning in so their shoulders touched. “Talk to me.”

Clarke hesitated, looking down at her hands. “I… am confused.”

“How so?” Ontari asked, brow furrowing. “What happened? Did something happen?”

“No…” Clarke said slowly. “But… it may. What if both Lexa and I… were attracted to someone else? And wanted to…”

Ontari blinked. A few months ago, she would’ve just asked what the problem was. Her old rulebook had exactly one rule: whatever Nia wanted, Nia got. Now… she understood there were boundaries, loyalty, fidelity. This wasn’t her specialty—hers was more about what to stick where, how, and when. Still, she could relate. She’d spent years being with Echo while still being Nia’s pet. Not always unwilling. Not at first.

“Details?” Ontari prompted.

“The guard… Dazza. You know her?” Clarke asked.

Ontari grinned instantly. “Can I get in on that?”

Clarke nudged her with a glare. “No, idiot. You’re a sister to me. But… she came by this morning. Right after Lexa and I had been—half-seriously—talking about maybe… having fun with her. And then she shows up… and Lexa starts flirting with her. And I wasn’t innocent either, if we’re being honest. Ate my face in front of her… and more.

“Then we head down into the bunker, introduce her to RoBeca… and before we leave, she’s like, ‘Heda, you’re a big girl. Speak plainly.’ And Lexa just smiles, cups my breast, and says, ‘Not yet.’ When I asked her what the fuck that was about, she shrugs and says, ‘I only have eyes for you, Clarke… but you’re the one salivating.’

“And… fuck, she’s not wrong. It would be so hot—damn it—to see Lexa with… and…” Clarke trailed off, groaning. “You know…”

Ontari palmed her face. “Shit. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Clarke turned to her, eyes dead serious. “Like death.”

Ontari leaned back, thinking it over. “Hmm… If it was me and Echo… well, when it was me and Echo… and Nia…” She shrugged. “Not that it’s exactly the same, but it wasn’t an issue. Not for me, not for her. The three of us never… you know. But Nia was my—well, you know. Not gonna lie, at times she did some mind-blowing things with me. I told you that. But there was never a question. Nia was my master, my queen… and Echo was my love. There was no confusion on that front.”

She tilted her head at Clarke. “And in your case? You and Lexa are soulmates. Some things you do just for each other… but some things you can do as a couple. If this is something you both want to experience, I say kudos to you. Just talk to Lexa. Make sure you’re both on the same page. And if you are, then go for it. If not… let me know and Echo and I will—”

She didn’t get to finish. Clarke let out a scandalized gasp, launched herself forward, and tickle-tackled her onto the bed.

“You fucking asshole!” Clarke laughed, and Ontari’s cackling filled the room.

Ontari let Clarke tickle her for a moment before flipping them over, pinning Clarke beneath her with ease. Of course, that was exactly when the door opened and Echo stepped inside. Clarke froze, blinking. Shit—what is she going to think?

But Echo only leaned against the doorframe, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Hmm… mind if I join? Or I can just watch, if you’re into that sort of thing…”

Ontari grinned. “See? Easy peasy, as Jasper says.” She slid off Clarke and padded over to Echo, kissing her deeply without hesitation. “Wanheda and I were just discussing… war strategy.”

Echo chuckled. “Can I be the adversary?”

Clarke sat up, smiling. Ontari hadn’t been lying—she could totally see Echo rolling with whatever scenario she might have imagined this was.

Clarke stood and kissed Ontari’s cheek. “Mochof, sis,” she said—and meant it. She couldn’t imagine life without Liza now. She’d never dreamed that coming to this ravaged planet would bring her not only the love of her life but also a sister—in every way that mattered. Sometimes a little sister, sometimes a big sister, and sometimes just… a sister. A beautiful soul they’d pulled out of a monster’s lair—a shattered girl who had somehow blossomed into this.

With a soft smile toward Echo, Clarke slipped out and headed to her room, where she knew Lexa was waiting. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and there wasn’t much for them to do. Emerson was set to head out tonight toward the site Echo had found—where ALIE was building an entire base of old-world death tech. Raven, Monty, and Mona were about a third of the way through finishing the cooling system. Kush and Dazza were with RoBeca, getting a history lesson.

And Lexa… was shaving her legs.

“I told you to wait for me,” Clarke said from the doorway. Not because she doubted Heda’s skill—Lexa was good with all things involving blades—but because Clarke very much enjoyed the process herself.

“Here,” Lexa said, handing Clarke the Grounder version of a razor. “What did the muppet say? Are we a go?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. Of course Lexa knew—knew she’d gone to Ontari for advice, to clear her head. And Clarke knew Lexa was glad she had Liza to talk things through with. Threesomes were definitely not a conversation you had with your mother.

“The muppet said I should talk to you… honestly and openly,” Clarke replied, scraping a clean line of cream from Lexa’s thigh with careful precision.

Lexa smiled. A phenomenal set-up—her, stretched out and on full display, Clarke with a razor in her hand, casually discussing the prospect of sleeping with another woman.

“The muppet is very wise,” Lexa murmured. “We should talk… but Clarke, I want you to understand—this is very… random. There isn’t a universe where you are not more than everything I ever imagined I’d deserve. Want. Care for. It’s just that after talking to that kid on the plane… I realized Dazza would be a good companion for him while he’s here. And once she showed up… we both… succumbed to her charm. So… we don’t have to—”

“I don’t understand,” Clarke cut in. “You’ve known her for years. And you’re still so… affected by her?”

Lexa shook her head. “No, hodnes. Not by her. By your reaction to her.”

Clarke grunted, rinsing the blade. “This… seals the deal.”

“It doesn’t have to, Clarke,” Lexa said softly. “I don’t want you to give in to this just to make me happy. I am happy. Happier than I ever thought I’d be. So…”

“We’re doing it as a couple, heda,” Clarke interrupted, steady with her strokes of the razor. “Us. Experiencing something new together. Yes? And… how do you even know she’s into it? You said it yourself—she’s, like, religious or something.”

Lexa’s lips curved. “Not religious. Spiritual. Big difference. And how do I know?” Her smile deepened. “You don’t want to know how I know.”

Clarke deliberately nicked her calf—just enough to make Lexa flinch. “I guess I’m about to find out.”

Lexa chuckled, the sound low and knowing. Clarke had no idea what she was walking into. But she was right—this wasn’t about Dazza. It was about them, taking this insane step together. And while Lexa wasn’t new to multi-person encounters—not since the night Dazza had introduced her to some ancient ceremony where “bodies were aflame and souls alight,” or whatever she’d claimed—doing it with Clarke felt… different. Almost sacred.

In Grounder culture, the spirit of the Commander was once the highest deity—worshipped, revered, obeyed without question. But now, Lexa’s Flame was essentially tech support, its only remaining “spirit” living inside a Tesla bot. Still, one mythical figure had remained untouched by Titus’s revelations: Wanheda. The Commander of Death. A spirit foretold to end death itself and usher in the Age of Enlightenment. And, in her own way, Clarke had done exactly that.

“Everything Dazza does has meaning,” Lexa said. “She’s not one for vanity. And I have a feeling… she may have a spirit to worship in mind tonight. And I will join her.”

Clarke had no idea what Lexa was getting at. She set aside the razor and cream, leaned forward, and kissed Lexa’s foot. “Tonight? Really? Someone’s in a rush.”

Lexa’s smile was slow, knowing. “If this happens… it should happen soon,” she murmured, already picturing Clarke’s body glowing in firelight while Dazza ‘prayed’—with Lexa’s help, of course. “She’s growing close to the boy. I don’t want…”

“Don’t want Kush to get jealous,” Clarke finished.

Lexa nodded.

“So… how do we talk to her?” Clarke asked, settling onto Lexa’s lap.

“Her gonasleng is perfect,” Lexa said. “But she speaks trig as well.”

Clarke smirked. “Idiot. I mean, you’ll talk to her?”

“I killed the pauna,” Lexa replied. “So yes. It’s my role to provide, protect… and apparently have awkward conversations.”

Clarke laughed. “Lex… Liza? She’s amazing. So wise. She’s… the most incredible girl I know. Aside from you, of course.”

Lexa beamed, absently scratching her freshly shaved calf. “She’d better be. She’s our little sister.”

Clarke leaned into her, struck again by how she could be so completely at peace in the present… yet still quietly buzzing with anticipation for what the night might bring.

Chapter Text

Clarke had been mentally bracing for this all day.

When Lexa left earlier to ask Dazza if she might be… interested in a “friendly get-together,” no strings attached, Clarke hadn’t known what answer to expect. But according to Lexa, Dazza had only smiled politely and said she’d be honored to come by for dinner and share her insights into the mythology of Wanheda.

And so, she came.

The evening had been unexpectedly warm. Over dinner, Dazza and Lexa told Clarke stories of Anya—not just the hardened general Clarke had heard of, but the woman beneath: one with a heart of gold. The Anya who had taken an awkward girl with her head in the clouds and shaped her into a lethal warrior, confident in her strength yet unwilling to abandon her intellectual pursuits. Anya had been more than a mentor to Dazza—she’d been a friend.

The same way she’d later been to Lexa. Only this time, the stakes had been infinitely higher. Lexa—back then a slender girl with a heart of gold but little in the way of combat prowess—had to survive the conclave. Anya never stopped pushing, pulling, and caring until she was certain Lexa could.

Then the conversation shifted.

Dazza reached into her satchel and pulled out something old—fragile—a weathered notebook. She said it had belonged to Melissa, the second Flamekeeper, heir to Callie the Pramflamekeepa herself. Legend claimed Melissa had a gift—sight. Prophecy, some whispered.

Clarke and Lexa leaned in, and both gasped.

On the third page was a prophecy—a tale foretelling the day Wanheda would drop from the heavens… a star that would fall to earth and become part of it, merging with it.

And above the words, before the story even began, was a hand-drawn seal.

An eye, split in two—half blue, half green.

Clarke’s hand flew to her own skin, her pulse spiking.

It was their bonding tattoo. Hers and Lexa’s.

Lexa’s gaze shifted to Dazza, then to Clarke. Without a word, she reached over and lifted Clarke’s sleeve—then her own.

Dazza froze. Her eyes widened, mouth parting in disbelief. Slowly, almost reverently, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the ink on Clarke’s arm.

And that’s when Clarke remembered the original reason for this little “history lesson.” Judging by the flicker in Dazza’s eyes… so did she.

“When my parents were taken,” Dazza said softly, her thumb tracing the lines of the tattoo, “I prayed for a sign—that there was something beyond the pain… beyond the grief. I searched for it. I asked for it. But it never came.” Her voice thickened, though her hand was steady. “Not until now. Not until this moment.”

She leaned forward, pressing a slow, tender kiss to Clarke’s shoulder. “Until I saw the seal promised to end death itself… on the one who avenged my parents.”

Then she stood, turning to Lexa. She kissed the same mark on Lexa’s arm, then her cheek. “And on the one who made it possible.”

Clarke met Lexa’s eyes—not with a blush, not with hesitant curiosity, but with something clear. Certain. She hadn’t expected that the night they decided to invite another into their bed would also be the night she truly understood how deep their bond ran.

“I told you, Clarke,” Lexa murmured, taking both Dazza’s hand and Clarke’s into her own. “Nothing Dazza does… is ever without meaning.”

“And nothing I ever do is without… connection,” Dazza said, taking Clarke’s hand in hers, closing the loop of their joined circle. “Nor is it without… enjoyment.”

She didn’t release them right away—instead, she brought each of their palms to her lips, kissing them softly before letting go.

“You’ve invited me into the sanctity of your space,” she continued, her voice warm but threaded with something heavier. “And I’m honored to share in your love. But first—let’s see it through Melissa’s eyes. Some said she was mad… others said she just enjoyed certain potions a little too much.” A small, knowing smile. “But so far… she’s done rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

Clarke nodded slowly as Lexa pulled her onto her lap, one arm wrapping firmly around her waist.

“Tell us,” Clarke said.

Dazza opened the worn notebook, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before exhaling softly. Her voice dropped, steady but carrying weight.

“In the beginning… there was heaven and earth. Growth and roots. Body… and soul. Merged together by design. Ripped apart by death.
I see death… swooping down like an eagle, then vanishing back into the sky.
I see stars—among them, survivors. Those responsible for Becca’s exile. I see generations living in space… their enemy, death itself.
Until one day, the one who commands it is cast down to earth… to right the wrongs of the past.
I see the spirit of the sky join with the spirit of the earth… one Becca’s heir… one her penance.

As I write this, I look around. Our world is scorched—burned to ash. Many are sick… or born deformed. I try to give hope… to remind them that the world will be reborn when she comes home, when heaven and earth unite once more.
But they scorn me. They cannot accept my truth. They speak of crafting laws to protect what’s left. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps now is not the time to dream. Perhaps now is the time… to survive.”

Dazza’s voice faded into the quiet.

Lexa tightened her arms around Clarke, the silence between them heavy. The prophecy was vague enough to dismiss as some fevered rambling… yet sharp enough in its details to leave all three of them shaken, caught between awe and unease.

“It won’t be easy… not for her, not for her mate,” Dazza read, her voice low and deliberate. “To find each other, they will first lose themselves. Their bond will begin in blood… be tested in blood… and end in blood. I see red turning black, and black turning red. They will endure it all. I don’t see everything—only fragments. But I see fires burning once again… I see the one who scorched our planet do so again… yet their love will save them all. As Callie would call her, in the language the Trikru speak more and more… Wanheda will change the world.”

Lexa’s brow furrowed. “This… was written when? And what does it even mean? It’s all riddles… but…”

“Eighty years ago, Heda,” Dazza replied. “According to this, the Commander of Death isn’t a killer. She’s a savior.”

“Well then,” Clarke muttered, shifting on Lexa’s lap, “you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m definitely a killer—if anyone forgot. And I’m definitely not some savior. I’m just a girl. Ordinary skaikru issue. Skai chick.”

Lexa chuckled. “Ah, yes. Nothing unusual at all.”

Dazza closed the notebook with care, setting it aside. She turned toward them, her eyes steady, her voice more personal now. “Heis and Kora—my parents’ names. You freed their spirits. You rid our world of the plague that took them. Because of you, our world is still changing.”

She reached for Clarke’s hands, holding them firmly in her own. “You are anything but ordinary.” Then she knelt before Clarke, her hand warm against Clarke’s thigh, her smile disarming. “I don’t know if what Melissa wrote was prophecy… or the desperate ramblings of a woman watching the world burn. But I have no doubt how special you are, Wanheda. And united with Heda…” She glanced up at Lexa. “You’re unstoppable.”

Her fingers brushed Clarke’s tattoo—the eye split in blue and green. “It’s time you accepted your place at her side. Realized your role in what is and what’s to come. I can be your guide. Help you find the spirit of Wanheda within you. For heaven and earth to reunite… was always meant to be.”

Lexa’s lips curved into a slow smile. Even with the barrage of revelations tonight, she’d had a feeling—a premonition, as she might call it… or a prophetic hunch, as Dazza would inevitably frame it—that their evening would bend in this exact direction. Peeling back the layers of Wanheda’s spirit, both literally and figuratively. Whether Melissa’s words were prophecy or coincidence didn’t matter. One truth stood untouched: Clarke was the most magnificent force Lexa had ever known, a spirit that demanded recognition, reverence… worship. Whatever lofty ritual Dazza had in mind to honor that tonight, Lexa would be there—ready, willing, a willing supplicant in this sacred act.

Then Dazza rose—calm, deliberate—and in a single smooth movement, pulled her shirt over her head.

Clarke’s breath caught, loud in the quiet room.

Partly because Dazza was exactly what Clarke had expected her to be—lean, all wiry strength and honed muscle, yet carrying a softness in her stance that was deeply feminine, impossibly graceful. Dazzling.

But mostly… because of the scar.

It slashed diagonally from Dazza’s left shoulder blade down to the curve of her lower back, jagged and unflinching. Across that canvas of scar tissue, dark ink climbed in mirrored vines, curling upward from each side. Flowers—or what first appeared to be flowers—sat at the vine tips. But they weren’t flowers at all. They were halves of an eye: one blue, one green. Melissa’s seal. The same eye Clarke and Lexa bore in their bonding tattoos—except here, split apart, waiting to be whole.

Dazza turned toward them without shame. “You remember when I got this scar, Heda.” Her voice held no question. “Of course you do.”

Lexa blinked, memory sparking sharp and vivid. Third year of the Coalition. Enemies closing in. Clans still refusing her banner. An assassin had struck without warning, blade aimed straight for her heart. And Dazza—swift, unthinking—had stepped between. Taken the blow herself. Saved her life.

“I always knew your fight wasn’t over,” Dazza said, her tone almost gentle now. “That you were meant to be the one to complete our world. To be the earth that would one day join with the sky. To be the Heda who would unite with Wanheda.” Her eyes swept between them, reverent. “Now, I see it clearly—it is my privilege to witness it happen before my own eyes. So… in short…” she smiled faintly, “thank you for asking me to come.”

Clarke looked at Lexa—and the tear shining there undid her. The weight of it all pressed in. To realize that destiny itself had bound them. That Lexa had been saved—not just in that moment years ago—but preserved, held in the world for this. For her. For them. To one day be whole.

It was an absolutely intolerable clash of energy—on one hand, ancient revelations and prophecy-level declarations, on the other… Dazza’s nearly bare body serving as some cosmic joke of a canvas for their connection. And not just her back—now most of her was on display, because apparently the warrior-scholar didn’t believe in the concept of unnecessary clothing.

The blush Clarke had managed to tame during the deep dive into Wanheda’s supposed origins came back with a vengeance. Lexa noticed instantly—the glow in Clarke’s ear tips was impossible to miss—and to Clarke’s dismay, Lexa’s own composure started to unravel. Because suddenly, Lexa remembered the original purpose of inviting Dazza here tonight. And if Lexa’s pulse was quickening, Clarke’s was in outright freefall.

As if sensing the shift in the air, Clarke heard Lexa’s voice in her head—steady, grounding. Hodnes… relax. We’re in good hands. I promise. All will be well. More than well… if I’m reading Dazza correctly.

Dazza, who in that exact moment, hooked her thumbs into her waistband and slid her pants down with no ceremony whatsoever, murmuring something about not wanting to get the bed dirty. Then she simply stretched out across their bed like it was hers by birthright—lean muscle and easy confidence, the picture of control even in near-nudity.

“So…” she said, lazily tracing a hand down her stomach before brushing her fingers over herself like it was an afterthought, “does Wanheda want to come here and tell me about herself? Her people?” A smirk tugged at her mouth. “She can bring Heda along… if she’s too scared to come alone.”

“Go ahead… Wanheda,” Lexa said, her voice smooth as she nudged Clarke off her lap.

“Our esteemed guest is correct,” she added while rising to her feet and—without an ounce of hesitation—beginning to undress. “We absolutely don’t want to get the bed dirty.”

Clarke shot her a glare sharp enough to cut steel, but Lexa didn’t so much as blink. She stripped down completely, her movements deliberate, unhurried… infuriatingly confident. And worse—much worse—she stepped in close and began peeling Clarke’s shirt up over her head, a faint hum of approval coming from Dazza across the bed.

Clarke wished—not for the first time—that she had Dazza’s deep, rich complexion, something that might hide the obvious heat blooming across her cheeks. But there was no hiding now. Lexa slid Clarke’s pants down in one fluid motion and gave her a gentle push toward the bed, settling her in the middle. Then Lexa wrapped herself around her from behind, the commander’s skin hot against hers.

Most of the candles flickered out with a few practiced motions from Lexa, plunging the room into a dim, amber glow from the hearth. The fire crackled, feeding off fresh wood Lexa had tossed in, but Clarke didn’t need it—the warmth burning through her was enough to scorch.

Especially when Dazza shifted closer, turning onto her side so they were face to face. Her hand slid over Clarke’s hip, resting lightly atop Lexa’s.

“Tell me about yourself, Clarke,” Dazza murmured, her voice low and rich, her eyes never leaving Clarke’s. “Tell me how a girl as beautiful as you became the greatest spirit humanity has ever known.”

“Uh… what?” Clarke blinked, completely thrown off, her mind stalling while her body betrayed her—heat flooding her cheeks, breath catching.

Dazza’s gaze never wavered. “Tell me,” she said, her voice slow and deliberate, her fingertip gliding along Clarke’s side, drawing an invisible line that made Clarke shiver. “How a girl… as beautiful as you… became… a legend.” The last word left her lips like a secret, and her wandering touch found itself skimming dangerously close to Clarke’s chest.

“I want to know you,” Dazza added, her tone dipping lower, fingers now deliberately crossing that final barrier with unhurried boldness.

Behind her, Lexa’s grip on Clarke’s ass tightened—firm, possessive, unmistakably encouraging. Her breath brushed Clarke’s ear as she whispered, “Tell her… I want to hear too.”

“I… it’s not like I meant for it to happen,” Clarke said with a small, shy smile. “My father was… extraordinary. Loving, funny, warm… but also the kind of man who would sacrifice everything for our people. On the Ark, air was the most precious resource we had. The system that recycled it, kept us alive—it was failing. He was the chief engineer… the tinka.”

“I know what an engineer is, Clarke,” Dazza murmured, her fingers grazing just enough to make Clarke’s breath hitch, a shiver chasing up her spine.

Clarke swallowed, forcing herself to continue. “One day, he found a flaw—serious enough that the whole system would collapse in a matter of months. Back then, we didn’t know Earth was survivable. We thought it was radioactive, dangerous… deadly.”

“Mmm… it is dangerous,” Dazza said, her fingertip brushing Clarke’s neck while Lexa’s lips pressed into her hair.

Clarke gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah… I’ve learned that. Anyway, my father wanted to tell everyone. He believed if all of us worked together, maybe we could find a solution. And if we couldn’t… well, people deserved to know the truth. The Council told him not to. My mother begged him not to. But he was going to do it anyway. My mother begged… I begged… but he wasn’t going to stop. And that’s when I decided to help him.”

Dazza leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Clarke’s collarbone. “Of course you did… brave girl.”

“My mother… went to Jaha—the Chancellor—and their best friend,” Clarke said quietly, her voice thick. “She wanted him to talk my father out of it… talk some sense into him. Instead… he floated him. Basically… shot him out into space. Made me watch. Locked me up.”

Dazza’s hand swept gently over Clarke’s hair. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Lexa’s grip shifted, her hand leaving Clarke’s ass to wrap firmly around her waist, pulling her closer, grounding her.

Clarke exhaled heavily. “I was alone… in a cell… for a year. They stretched the oxygen system for a little longer… but it was failing. So they sent all the prisoners to Earth—to see if it was survivable. Me… and a hundred others… all under eighteen. No training. No warning. We landed, set up camp… and that’s when we discovered that not only was Earth survivable—” she met Dazza’s gaze “—but you were here. Lincoln was the first we met. He arranged a meeting with Anya. I went… with a few others. But by then… we’d already burned a village. There was no negotiating. It was too late.”

Dazza’s lips curved faintly. “There is no negotiating with Anya… that much is certain. But it’s good that you tried.”

Then she leaned in, kissing Clarke softly, slowly, deliberately.

Clarke tensed at first, not because of Dazza—but because of the low, amused chuckle coming from directly behind her. Lexa’s chuckle. The one she absolutely hated.

“Then… this one—” Clarke said with a wry smile, still tasting Dazza on her lips, and reached back to tap Lexa’s cheek, “—decided it’d be a great idea to wipe us out. So she sent three hundred of her warriors to finish the job. We rigged the drop ship’s rocket boosters to fire the leftover fuel… and poof—” she made a sharp gesture “—I killed them all. Pulled the lever. First time.”

Her tone faltered, the weight of it brushing over her expression. “I didn’t have time to think about what I’d done… because that’s when the Mountain Men came and took us all. Anya… jumped into the drop ship just before the door closed… so they took her too.”

Dazza’s eyes softened. “It was meant to be, Clarke. Perhaps… tonight is not only about satisfying our curiosity… but about more. About honoring Anya’s spirit. She’s a link between us. It seems… she always was.”

Clarke tilted her head. “And how exactly are we supposed to honor her? A ritual? Or—”

Dazza didn’t answer in words. She kissed Clarke again—slower this time—but her hand pressed firmly against Clarke’s chest, grounding and claiming at once.

“We honor death… with life,” Dazza murmured against her mouth. “Parting… with connection. Yes?”

Clarke’s reply caught in her throat—partly because of Dazza’s touch… and partly because Lexa’s hand had slipped lower, fingers brushing between Clarke’s legs, deliberate and unhurried.

“Tell her what happened next,” Lexa murmured, voice low and husky as her fingers moved inside Clarke with slow, measured strokes. “Tell her how you became the only one to ever escape the Mountain’s grasp… ai, hodnes.”

Clarke shivered, but Lexa’s mind was already slipping into memory. Tonight was random, Lexa thought, just as she’d said earlier. She hadn’t kept Dazza from Clarke on purpose—it wasn’t like that.

Dazza had been a mentor first. Anya often spoke of her… her previous Second. A warrior forged in grief, but with a mind as sharp as any blade—educated, clever, deep. Qualities Anya had insisted Lexa would need if she was to truly lead. To make history, one must understand it, Anya had always said.

Lexa remembered being young, stumbling through gonasleng she barely understood, and a red-haired myth offering to help her. She’d been startled when she realized this was Dazza herself—the girl Anya had once molded.

It hadn’t turned physical until after Costia. Lexa had been hollow then, shattered by the loss. She’d never lacked for company in her bed—Lia was one of many—but nothing had meaning. Not until Dazza.

With Dazza, every breath felt deliberate. Every touch had purpose. Nothing was casual. Lexa kissed Clarke’s temple now, her mind drifting to that first night.

It had been well past midnight. They’d been talking—spirits, reincarnation, life after death.

I don’t think I’ll ever open my heart to another, Lexa had confessed. I tried. I thought Titus was wrong. But look what happened. No one deserves such a fate.

Dazza had only smiled. One day… you will. You’ll see. I can feel it. You’re only half of a whole.

By then, “Heda” and “bodyguard” had long since been set aside in private. In some ways, Dazza had become her mentor. Lexa had gone to her for guidance on all things beyond the tangible—for armor against Titus’s indoctrination.

Do you wish to see? Dazza had asked that night. To experience how your spirit is tethered to another?

Lexa had tilted her head. How?

By trying to connect… to something that doesn’t make you whole.

What Dazza meant hadn’t been clear to Lexa at first. But she drank the tea Dazza brewed—thick, bitter, laced with something she couldn’t place—and the world began to shift. Sounds bled into colors, colors into something deeper, stranger.

And then she saw Dazza—not just her physical beauty, though that alone could disarm armies—but something beyond it. Ethereal. Infinite.

The rest was a blur of sensation. Being worshipped. Elevated. Pulled apart and pieced back together. Every nerve alight, every breath a thread between them. And when it was over, Lexa lay in Dazza’s arms, her body spent but her mind sharp with clarity.

She knew then Dazza had been right. Costia had been her love, yes, but not her mate. And as magical as this night with Dazza had been, its purpose wasn’t possession—it was revelation. Dazza hadn’t come to claim her. She had come to prepare her.

And now, here she was.

With my mate, Lexa thought, lips closing around the back of Clarke’s neck. And with the one who showed me the way. And perhaps… now it’s Clarke’s turn to be illuminated.

But first, Clarke needed to finish her story—Lexa knew that. Now… our story, she thought, keeping her fingers slow and gentle inside Clarke, lips still pressed to the back of her neck.

“Go on,” Dazza urged, cupping Clarke’s cheek, her touch light but anchoring. “What happened inside that mountain?”

“At first…” Clarke shifted, settling more comfortably between their touches, her voice loosening with every brush of skin. “…it seemed beautiful. I woke up in this clean, sterile room… but I broke out, took this girl hostage, and she led me to her people. I was looking for mine. They were fine—fed, clothed… food like I’d never seen. The mountain people seemed civilized, like mine. Their president was a kind, older man. Told me we were safe.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I knew better.”

Her gaze drifted to Dazza’s, steady now. “They were bleeding grounders… our so-called enemies. But I didn’t see it that way. No one deserves to be bled like cattle. And when I saw Anya in one of their cages… I helped her escape. We ran, dropped through the trash chute where they dumped the bodies—for the reapers to eat. They chased us, and we jumped off the dam. I couldn’t swim—Anya pulled me out. Then she knocked me out cold, planned to take me to Lexa as a trophy, a way to excuse not killing the hundred. But… I came to, and I fought her. She was weak, bled for days. And I won.”

“Impossible,” Dazza murmured, stroking Clarke’s cheek as though she were something fragile.

“You don’t know Clarke,” Lexa said from behind, her voice warm with pride. “Nothing with her is impossible.”

Clarke exhaled and took Dazza’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry you lost her. I didn’t know her well, but I’m sure she was special. She was supposed to take me home, then go see Lexa to broker an alliance… but she never made it. My people shot her. Shot us both. She died in my arms. I brought her braid to Lexa… the first time we met.”

Dazza’s hand tightened in hers. “Then she died well,” she said softly. “She fulfilled her purpose. She merged heaven and earth.”

Clarke let out a slow sigh. “After that… when I finally made it to Arkadia—my first time there—the Ark had landed while I was still trapped in the mountain. Lexa gave us an ultimatum: leave… or die. I went to negotiate.”

She shifted, sliding out of Lexa’s hold, taking Lexa’s hand from between her legs and bringing it to her lips, licking it clean without breaking eye contact. Then she sat up, pulling Lexa into her arms. “That’s when I met her for the first time. That’s when I knew… my life would never be the same. That the piece of myself that had been missing… was suddenly within reach.”

Lexa’s gaze found Dazza’s, her own hand slipping into Dazza’s grasp. “Just as you promised.”

Dazza’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. She reclined back, resting her head in Clarke’s lap while Lexa stayed tucked warmly against Clarke’s side. Her fingers skimmed the air before settling lightly against Clarke’s knee.

“So…” she murmured, glancing between them, “tell me about that meeting. Tell me what you felt. What you both felt.”

Clarke’s smile deepened. She suspected that most threesomes didn’t begin with a history lesson and an intimate excavation of the soul. But she didn’t mind—not in the slightest. This didn’t feel like indulgence. It felt like reverence. Like a celebration.

“You’re the one who burned three hundred of my warriors alive,” were Lexa’s first words to her.

“I… couldn’t speak,” Clarke admitted, kissing each of Lexa’s eyes in turn. “I was lost in these.”

“And you’re the one who sent them there to kill us,” Lexa added, her fingers brushing lightly along Clarke’s jaw.

“Your souls recognized each other,” Dazza said with a soft, knowing smile. “You are the one—those were your first words to each other. Not your mouths… your souls. The rest… was your bodies. Tell me, what did you feel?”

Clarke’s breath deepened. “Overwhelmed. Like something powerful came over me. Like something… clicked into place. When I first looked into Lexa’s eyes, I felt like I was drowning—dizzy—like I needed air but was terrified to let go.”

Dazza’s hand moved over Lexa’s heart, then lower, her touch unhurried, deliberate. “And you, Strikon?” she asked, using a name she hadn’t called Lexa in years—not since that night. The night she’d wrapped Lexa in something near-mystical and shown her she was part of something greater.

Lexa’s lips curved faintly. “I felt… like my soul lit up. Like my heart skipped a beat. Like… life made sense for once. That nothing else mattered—just this.” She kissed Clarke slowly, lingering, before turning and kissing Dazza as well. “Like what you made me believe… was finally coming true.”

Dazza smiled against her mouth, then turned to press a kiss to Clarke’s stomach. “What you’ve described… is what happens when a soul, ripped apart by space and time, finally comes back together. But it wasn’t easy at first, was it?”

“No…” Clarke’s fingers slid into Dazza’s fire-bright hair. “It wasn’t. But things that matter this much… never are, are they?”

In that moment, Dazza no longer felt like an outsider. Liza had been right—some things belonged to the two of them alone… and some things were meant to be shared as a couple. Grounder weddings had little in the way of true spirituality—mostly blood sacrifices and semi-public coupling.

But this… Clarke thought, tracing the line of Dazza’s jaw… this was something else entirely. The second half of their wedding. Where two spirits truly united. And Dazza—naked, radiant, unstoppable—was their priestess, their fire, their guide.

Lexa had no choice but to leave me at the mountain,” Clarke said quietly. “It was rigged with explosives, and she made a deal—she’d let them keep Skaikru for their bone marrow… but me? They wouldn’t touch. She never told me the details, only that it was over.” Clarke’s eyes flickered. “I made my way inside—miracle after miracle—and in the end, I irradiated the entire place. Three hundred fifty-two dead. Old, young, guilty, innocent… all of them.

“I couldn’t accept it. I ran into the woods, tried to get away from what I’d done. Their ghosts followed me, whispered to me, drove me half-mad. But she found me… brought me home. Fed me. Washed me. Stayed until I learned to live with the voices. And slowly… they faded. They still show up, here and there, but not like before.” She glanced at Lexa, lips twitching faintly. “Something strange—after we married, I told her a fantasy. About being Heda’s slave… her sex slave. We acted it out—she tied me to a tree, claimed me—and after that… the ghosts were gone.”

Dazza sat forward, her tone sure. “First of all—no one in that mountain was innocent. Every one of them carried our people’s blood in their veins. Their deaths do not belong to you. Second… those weren’t only ghosts. That was their blood, unclaimed, gnawing at you. And the reason they vanished after Heda claimed you like that… is because in that moment, she took their blood onto her own soul. Your burdens,” she said, standing now, “are meant to be shared.”

Her hand went into her satchel. A flash of metal—a dagger—followed by a small glass vial. She dipped the blade’s tip into the liquid. Lexa’s body shifted instinctively, placing herself between Clarke and the weapon.

“What are you doing?” Lexa asked sharply.

Dazza only shrugged. “Expanding our sight.” She drew the blade across her palm, just enough to bead blood. Her voice grew softer, more hypnotic with each word. “This will help us see beyond the physical… and I promise, you will never look at one another the same way again.”

Clarke’s arms wrapped tighter around Lexa. “What is this?”

“Melissa’s key… to the world of sight. The same thing I placed in Heda’s tea all those years ago.”

Lexa blinked, then nodded once, her gaze steady on Clarke. “It’s safe,” she murmured. “I’ve… tried it before.”

Lexa moved forward, Clarke following close at her back. Dazza dropped to one knee, taking Lexa’s hand in both of hers and pressing a reverent kiss to it.

“Thank you, Heda… for trusting me to be your guide. For trusting me to merge your spirits,” she murmured, then reached for Clarke’s hand, resting her cheek against it as if it were a blessing.

Lexa sighed. “You don’t have to ‘Heda’ me in private, Daz. Just… get on with it.”

Dazza’s smile deepened. She lifted Lexa’s palm, the dagger flashing as she made a small, precise cut. “You are Heda,” she said firmly. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Then she pulled Clarke forward, took her hand, and—without hesitation—sliced her palm as well. “Sorry,” she added with a hint of amusement.

Clarke only shrugged. “It’s fine.” She turned toward Lexa to offer a small, reassuring smile—

—and froze.

Her brow furrowed. “Uh… Lex… why are you glowing?”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “Ahm… you too,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over Clarke like she was seeing her for the first time.

Dazza rose fluidly, taking both their hands. “Come,” she said, voice low and inviting. “Let’s get the evening started, my beautiful souls.”

“Wait—” Clarke pulled back slightly. “I need to bandage thi—”

Her words broke off. Her palm was bleeding… black.

Lexa’s attention snapped to it, but Dazza only smiled knowingly. “As she wrote… when red turns black… and black turns—”

Lexa glanced down at her own hand.

Red.

Dazza eased them down side by side on the bed, her presence looming above like some fierce, beautiful guardian. One hand cradled Lexa’s cheek, the other cupped Clarke’s.

“I never thought I’d witness this,” she said softly, her voice reverent. “Let alone be a part of it.”

Before her lay two spirits—ancient, bound by something deeper than flesh. “The heavens…” she murmured, sliding her palm from Clarke’s jaw down the line of her throat, over the swell of her chest. “And the earth…” she whispered, mirroring the motion on Lexa, whose eyes had gone wide, pupils blown.

“I see you,” Dazza told them, gazing at Clarke’s faint blue glow, then at Lexa’s soft emerald shimmer. “Now… I need you to see each other.”

Clarke let out a sharp whimper, because whatever was in this so-called key—radioactive, herbal, or straight from the gods—turned Dazza’s touch into a current of pure heat, rolling through her and pooling low, deep, and undeniable.

“Look…” Dazza murmured, not at all gentle as she tipped their chins toward one another, forcing their eyes to meet. “See.” Her fingers swept back loose strands of hair, revealing faces already flushed from heat and wonder.

Neither Clarke nor Lexa could find words for what they were seeing.

Lexa looked at Clarke—but not as she’d ever seen her before. She saw oceans crashing into endless shorelines, forests breathing with life, skies wrapping themselves around the earth in an eternal embrace.

And Clarke… Clarke saw Lexa as the very heart of it all—towering trees stretching toward the clouds, the deep emerald of life itself pulsing with purpose, roots anchoring everything in place.

It was indescribable. Impossible. Sacred.

“See?” Dazza’s voice curled into a smile as her hands slid lower, drawing gasps from both. “I promised you three things,” she said, her touch making them tremble. “Meaning…” Their visions surged, colors and shapes folding into something greater. “Connection…” And they could literally see it—their souls merging, binding, impossible to separate.

“And now…” Her voice dropped to something molten, “…it’s time for joy.”

Her hands slipped fully into both of them at once, pulling the first shuddering moans from their lips.

“You will need each other for what’s to come…” Dazza said, her voice low but steady as her hands moved in a rhythm that was anything but gentle. She bound them in a shared, desperate dance of desire, every motion tethering them tighter. “And you will need joy… and love… and faith to endure. Never forget that.”

She leaned in, kissing Clarke first—soft but lingering—then Lexa, sealing the words into both of them.

Just like that, the visions dissolved… but the glow stayed, deep in their skin, their bones, their blood. Along with it came something far more overwhelming—lust, raw and consuming. It wasn’t just want anymore; it was need. Visceral. Physical. As if the merging of their spirits had made being apart unbearable.

Lexa shifted without hesitation, capturing Clarke’s lips in a kiss that was hungry and deep, while Dazza’s fingers still worked inside them both. Clarke thought—fleetingly, wildly—how insane and impossibly hot this was.

But Lexa wasn’t chasing her own pleasure. Even as Dazza drove her toward the edge, her focus was Clarke. Her hand slid up, cupping Clarke’s chest, thumb rolling her nipple in just the way she knew would unravel her.

The sound Clarke made into her mouth—a desperate, aching whine—told Lexa she’d hit her mark perfectly.

“I love you… so fucking much…” Lexa whispered against Clarke’s lips, the words hot and unshakable. She kissed her way down Clarke’s jaw, then lower, finding the soft curve of her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dazza watching—smug as ever, but with a satisfaction that was almost reverent.

This… this was why Lexa had never brought Dazza into Clarke’s orbit before. Never even uttered her name. Not because there was something to hide—there wasn’t—but because there was too much to reveal. Too much depth, too much history, too much fire in one person for Clarke to be thrown into without warning.

Even after their wedding, Lexa hadn’t been certain Clarke was ready for a storm like Dazza. But now… after hearing Clarke speak openly about her darkest corners, after seeing her find her footing with Ontari—Liza—whatever she was calling herself on any given day—Lexa knew. Clarke could handle it. All of it.

Her lips closed around Clarke’s hardened peak, her tongue teasing in a slow pull, and the sound Clarke made—a trembling, unrestrained whimper—sent heat straight to Lexa’s core.

Dazza had been right all along.

Joy.

Lexa felt Dazza’s fingers working inside her, but her focus stayed on Clarke. She wanted Clarke to come first before they turned to Dazza. No shame with Dazza, Lexa shifted to all fours, her mouth on Clarke’s nipple, sucking gently as her hand slid down to rub Clarke’s clit. Dazza’s fingers kept moving inside Clarke, steady and sure.

Lexa’s ass lifted, hips swaying as Dazza moved her hand from inside Lexa to tease her from behind, fingers grazing her. Clarke’s breath caught—not just from the intense sensations, but from the sight: Dazza, fingers deep in Clarke and now teasing Lexa; Lexa, ass up, hips rocking to Dazza’s touch, her mouth and hand focused on Clarke. The room pulsed with their shared heat, bodies and desires entwined.

Clarke’s hips arched as she gasped, “She likes her ass teased.” Dazza nodded, curling her fingers deeper inside Clarke, drawing a shudder. Lexa shot Clarke a look—half betrayal, half gratitude. “No shame in pleasure, Heda,” Dazza murmured, leaning down to trace her tongue in a slow circle around Lexa’s ass. Lexa tensed, that spot touched only by Clarke before, but Clarke’s eyes, blue swallowed by blown pupils, eased her. Lexa’s finger found Clarke’s clit, rubbing gently, and Clarke let out a desperate “fuck.”

Dazza smiled, unbothered that Lexa hadn’t sought her out since Clarke entered her life—not even after their grand wedding on the eastern riverbank outside Polis. She understood Lexa’s need for distance. Their bond, spiritual and deep, had never been purely platonic. From what Dazza knew, Skaikru carried old-world remnants, less open to the Grounders’ embrace of sexual freedom. Maybe Lexa kept her away for Clarke’s comfort.

But now, Dazza saw the truth. Clarke was haunted, her mind fractured, soul scarred by her actions. It showed not just in her words but in the vision from their earlier ritual—Clarke’s vibrant light streaked with dark cracks, gaps, fractures. Lexa had thought Clarke unready for Dazza’s insight, wary of burdening her with prophecies and spiritual weight. Dazza found it foolish, her tongue tracing another slow circle around Lexa’s ass. A light smack followed, heedless of Heda’s status. She could’ve helped Clarke in hours—a day at most—with ritual, meditation, and a medicine-guided journey to uncover her soul’s purpose, no intimacy required. But no matter. They were here now, and after this, Heda and Wanheda would emerge stronger, minds clearer, hearts aligned. Clarke’s walls fluttered around Dazza’s fingers. It wouldn’t be long now—for either of them.

Preparing “the key” took Dazza a month. Its ingredients were nearly impossible to find, the final piece a rare fungus from the Dead Zone. The concoction required repeated boiling, following instructions in Melissa’s journal. How Melissa discovered it was a mystery, but the effort was worth it. The key didn’t just spark visions that felt almost true—it amplified desire and deepened connection, allowing orgasm after orgasm. Melissa had written that this quality strengthened ties to the spiritual world.

Dazza glanced at the couple. Clarke was lost, swept away by Dazza’s fingers inside her and Lexa’s thumb on her clit, her mouth tugging Clarke’s nipple. Lexa wasn’t far behind, ass up, breaths quick, hips rocking steadily. Clarke was close, and Dazza smiled. Clarke’s light, fading as the key wore off, was more whole now, tinged with green. Perfect, Dazza thought, leaning in to lick from Lexa’s clit to her ass in one smooth motion, her fingers still working inside Clarke.

Here they were, two halves of one whole, destined, Dazza believed, to reshape their world for the better. She wasn’t sure if Melissa’s writings were prophecy or mere speculation, but their love was undeniable. Their actions proved this union was worth protecting, nurturing, guiding. “Clarke and I… were wondering if you’d come by tonight to… get to know us better,” Lexa had said earlier, her cheeks flushing, eyes dropping. Her intent was clear.

Dazza wasn’t surprised. She’d seen Clarke’s gaze linger on her, how Clarke’s flustered reactions unraveled Lexa, amusing Dazza endlessly. That morning, in the elevator and the bunker, Lexa’s intentions were unmistakable.

So Dazza agreed to come, and she meant it when she said her purpose was to share insight into Wanheda’s spirit. She had. But she also knew this mutual attraction was part of something greater, their bodies recognizing what their souls saw: Dazza held the final piece of their puzzle, on a level none could fully grasp. She understood they carried heavy burdens and needed a space to surrender, to be seen as human—fragile, precious. Dazza was glad to be that space, behind closed doors where titles faded, where they were just Lexa and Clarke, two girls fiercely in love. By showing them their extraordinary souls—Heda and Wanheda—they could let go of their protective walls and yield to her, someone who saw their worth without crowns or thrones. Whether this was a one-time release or a ritual they’d revisit didn’t matter. What mattered was Clarke arching sharply, whimpering, as Lexa’s mouth blazed a trail down her stomach toward her core, Lexa barely holding herself together as Dazza’s hand slid inside her from behind, thumb grazing her ass—not entering, just teasing—drawing a shiver and a loud moan from Lexa.

“Fall apart for me, beautiful ones,” Dazza said, voice low and coaxing. “I want to hear you… see your souls shine.” She leaned down, kissing Clarke’s thigh softly, then the small of Lexa’s back. “Don’t hold back, my precious angels. Let go.” Her hands moved faster—left hand curling inside Clarke to hit her g-spot, right hand twisting inside Lexa as she spat on Lexa’s ass and pressed her thumb firmly in, making the commander nearly buckle. Lexa’s tongue circled Clarke’s clit, and Clarke shattered, waves of release crashing through her, spilling onto Dazza’s hand. So much for keeping the bed clean.

“Beautiful,” Dazza murmured, her now-free hand reaching to roll Lexa’s nipple between her fingers. Clarke exhaled sharply, eyes dropping to Lexa’s head resting against her stomach, Dazza behind her, plunging in and out, twirling Lexa’s pinkish nipple. Clarke smiled, brushing her hand over Lexa’s hair, then to her other nipple, squeezing and pulling. Lexa’s lips parted, face twisting in pleasure as Dazza pressed her thumb deeper. Lexa coiled, then released, a faint green glow bursting around her. She gasped something incoherent, body trembling in climax, both holes clenching around Dazza’s thumb and fingers like a heartbeat.

“Beautiful,” Dazza whispered, easing out of Lexa. “What a perfect start to this incredible night.”

Lexa rolled onto her back, a soft smile on her lips. Clarke pulled her close, kissing her temple. “What… just happened?” Clarke asked, wide-eyed, staring at Dazza, who knelt on the bed, hands resting in her lap, gazing at them with adoration.

“You had an orgasm, Clarke,” Dazza teased, nodding at the wet spot under Clarke’s hips. “A messy one. And Heda did too—one that nearly crushed my thumb in her ass.”

Lexa blinked but smirked. “That’s not what Clarke meant, Daz,” she murmured. “I’m pretty sure it’s about… the…”

“Visions?” Dazza said, taking an ankle in each hand, rubbing gentle circles into their skin. “I can’t explain them, and I don’t need to. We saw what we saw, but it’s not about the visions. It’s about what they leave behind—for you two, what you are to each other. For me, my task with you both.”

“And what’s that?” Lexa asked, shifting closer to Clarke.

“What was it,” Dazza corrected. “At first, it was carving a space in your heart for Clarke, keeping Titus from poisoning your soul. Now, it was showing you both that even apart, you’re always together.”

“So that’s it? We’re soul-bound or something?” Clarke asked, toying with Lexa’s hair.

Dazza smiled. “You always were. It wasn’t about changing anything—just seeing what’s beneath. But one thing became clear: you need a safe space, an island, where what you are to each other can exist as a couple. I’m happy to be that for you, if you ever need it.”

Clarke glanced at Lexa. Beyond the mystical, what happened was incredible. Dazza didn’t try to join them—she took charge, treating them as one. To Dazza, Lexa wasn’t Heda here; she was precious, a treasure to guard, just like Clarke. “We’re grateful,” Lexa said suddenly. “Thank you. But now… maybe we can show you how grateful we are?”

Dazza leaned in, kissing Lexa softly, then Clarke, before settling back between them. “Thank you,” she said, voice warm. “You’ve noticed… the key heightens senses, desires. I’d be grateful if you’d…”

Clarke cut her off, lips crashing into Dazza’s in a wet, fervent kiss. Dazza hummed, satisfied, as Lexa’s lips joined, their rhythm clumsy at first but soon syncing. Clarke thought: *This is what a real threesome feels like.* Her hand grazed Dazza’s collarbone, cupping her firm breast, teasing her nipple. Lexa mirrored her on the other side, their touches natural now that Dazza saw them as one. Dazza’s hand wove into Clarke’s hair, gentle at first, then guiding her down. Clarke kissed along Dazza’s neck, meeting Lexa’s dark, hungry eyes across from her, tracing the same path. Lexa’s thumb brushed Clarke’s cheek.

Down Dazza’s neck, collarbone, to her breast—fuller than Lexa’s pert ones, less so than Clarke’s. Dazza nudged Clarke’s mouth to her nipple, and Clarke obliged, cheek to cheek with Lexa, who worked the other side. Lexa’s hand slid around Clarke’s waist; Clarke mirrored her. *Fuck, this is hot,* Lexa thought. Dazza had guided them both here, just as she had years ago, when Lexa shed her commander’s armor under Dazza’s care, becoming a soul this brilliant woman guided and softened. Those moments—rare until Clarke entered her life—let her walls fall. Now, leading the Coalition with Clarke, fighting ALIE’s threat, the pressure had returned, crushing. But so had Dazza, this time for both of them. Lexa knew this wouldn’t be a frequent ritual, but Dazza’s place in Heda’s royal guard? That was certain. And somehow, Lexa sensed Dazza’s growing bond with Kush, a kindred spirit from afar, would fit into this. She chuckled against Dazza’s nipple—how did that even connect?

Mona and Kush, the African duo, needed realignment. If Mona’s words to Raven were true, their beautiful world still clung to oppressive ideologies, just as the Coalition once did with its brutal traditions—children forced to kill, the deformed exiled. Progress was needed, and Dazza could help bridge that gap.

Dazza kissed their hair, first Lexa, then Clarke. To her, this was her life’s greatest task: guarding their bond, ensuring it endured, spread, flourished. “Heaven and earth,” she murmured, gently guiding their heads from her chest. “You’re the heaven,” she said, pulling Clarke into a deep kiss, guiding Clarke’s hands to her nipples. “And earth,” she added, kissing Lexa and leading Lexa’s hand to her core. Cupping their hips, she settled them over her thighs, encouraging a gentle grind.

Clarke grinned. *Now this is a threesome,* she thought again. Straddling Dazza’s thighs, she and Lexa rocked slowly, Clarke working Dazza’s chest, Lexa tending below. Their three-way kissing resumed, sloppy and fervent, as Clarke and Lexa’s burning need flared anew.

Clarke sighed deeply, her fingers diligently rubbing and rolling Dazza’s nipples, claiming the territory entrusted to her. Her mouth moved in sync with Lexa’s and Dazza’s, weaving a shared rhythm—not three separate sets of lips, but a unified dance. Tonight wasn’t about what was possible; it was about transcending possibility. Judging by Dazza’s increasingly desperate gasps, they were succeeding. Lexa’s mind drifted to her first time with Clarke—so special, when Clarke was only half-coherent, her first time with a woman.

Back then, Lexa chose grinding against each other’s thighs—simple, not too invasive. It worked perfectly; Clarke caught on fast, and they unraveled in each other’s arms, becoming one. Lexa never imagined they’d soon marry, becoming what they were now. As she ground against Dazza’s thigh, her hand working below, lips joined with Clarke’s to nip and kiss Dazza as one, Lexa marveled at their journey. Their bond was absolute, strong enough to share without a hint of doubt about loyalty or fidelity. “Here,” Lexa said, latching onto Dazza’s pulse point. Clarke mirrored her, and Dazza, who’d driven them wild, now squirmed under their touch. “Thank you,” Lexa murmured, “for showing us. For…”

“Holding us,” Clarke finished, her hand drifting lower. Lexa’s fingers plunged in and out of Dazza, and Clarke teased Dazza’s clit with a fingertip, feeling its swollen pulse. Dazza was close. Clarke’s hips rocked harder, Lexa’s too, a second orgasm creeping up. Across Dazza’s neck, Clarke saw Lexa—eyes wild, hair a mess. Clarke circled Dazza’s clit faster, and Dazza’s head fell back, blocking Lexa from view, but her ragged breaths filled the air.

“Lex…” Clarke rasped, thighs trembling. “I’m gonna…” A muffled sound came from the other side, but Clarke felt Lexa’s knee against hers, shaking too, like they were one. Lexa found that spongy spot inside Dazza, and Clarke rolled Dazza’s clit between her fingers as Dazza gasped, “Don’t… hold… back.” Then it hit—a rush. Dazza came first, followed by Lexa and Clarke, bound by some unseen force. Maybe it was real, Clarke thought. The key had worn off, but the magic lingered. Exhausted, Clarke collapsed into Lexa’s arms, both tumbling to Dazza’s side. “I can’t believe you kept Dazza away,” Clarke said. “Never again. It’s mean, love.”

Lexa smiled, nodding. “I wouldn’t dream of it, hodnes.”

Dazza kissed them both, smiling. “I’m not here to intrude. I’m here to—”

“Shut up,” Clarke cut in. “This was amazing. I’m not saying you’re always welcome, but don’t you dare stay away.”

Lexa cupped Clarke’s cheek, smiling. “I’ll reassign you to Clarke’s detail,” she said to Dazza. “Yes? Anyway, Clarke’s the Flamekeeper now… officially, whatever that means these days. Your knowledge is one of a kind.”

“It means a lot, Heda,” Dazza replied, leaning back. “Even with the Flame outside you, I can help piece together the bigger picture. But most importantly, I want to protect you. Protect… this.” She gestured to Lexa and Clarke.

Clarke grinned. “Good. I’m feeling safer already.”

It wasn’t her physical safety Clarke worried about. From this hormone-fueled encounter, she and Lexa had found something profound: someone unconcerned with their political status, yet with the spiritual, intellectual, and emotional depth to be their safe haven. The murky boundaries of this arrangement didn’t trouble her now. One thing was clear: Dazza wasn’t here to join their relationship. She was here to support it, to give them space to breathe, accept, and understand.

Dazza rose and pulled another vial from her satchel, dripping a few drops into a cup. She added water, took a sip, and offered it to Lexa, then Clarke. “For the aftereffects,” she said. “Otherwise, the hangover’s rough.”

“I’ll go now,” she continued. “You two need rest, as do I. We have much to process, and I want to see the inka tomorrow to finish the tattoo on my back. Your union is complete.”

“Stay,” Clarke urged. “You don’t have to go.”

Lexa smiled, amused at Clarke’s shift from shy curiosity to this open invitation. But she knew Dazza wouldn’t stay. Even years ago, Dazza never lingered overnight, firm about boundaries.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clarke,” Dazza chuckled, pulling up her pants and kissing Clarke’s cheek. “Heda said I’ll be your guard when protection’s needed. And even when it’s not, I’ll be here for you both, as I swore to Heda years ago.”

Lexa stood and hugged her. “As you did. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Strikon,” Dazza said, opening her arm for Clarke. Clarke joined, smiling, but it wasn’t a group hug—Dazza was holding them, cradling both. With a kiss to their heads, she pulled on her shirt, grabbed her bag, and left.

Clarke turned to Lexa, who watched her curiously, gauging her reaction. Clarke’s response was to pull Lexa close, holding her tightly, her answer clear in the embrace.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Clarke sat by the fire, well past midnight, the crackle of the flames the only sound in the quiet room. Lexa slept nearby, curled up and spent from the night’s intensity, her breathing slow and even.

Clarke dipped her brush into the mix of red and yellow, watching the colors swirl together before touching them to the canvas. The painting was taking shape—she and Lexa seated together on a log, a lush green forest rising behind them. Above, a sweep of blue sky, the faint shimmer of an ocean peeking over her own painted shoulder. They sat before a fire, its warm orange glow wrapping around them both.

In place of the sun hung their bonding tattoo: an eye, half green and half blue, the colors bleeding together at the center. The “sun” glowed in deep orange, the shade of Dazza’s hair.

Whatever had happened tonight was beyond anything Clarke could have imagined. The visions. The way she and Lexa had merged into one soul and welcomed another into that union. The impossible images—Lexa’s blood turning red, hers turning black, the auras of green and blue, the glimpse of Lexa beyond her human form. The shared passion that had burned them both to the edge, and the raw, unguarded moment of bringing Dazza to the same place, shattering together.

It made no sense to her mind. But somewhere deeper—somewhere she had only touched once before, the first time she saw Lexa—it made perfect sense. She didn’t know if that spark was truly the spirit of Wanheda, but she knew this: Clarke Griffin had a soul. And for that soul, whatever lived high above, life only made sense when it was anchored in the earth below.

She added one last stroke to the canvas, then signed the corner with careful precision.

Clarke & Lexa Griffin
Heaven & Earth

Chapter Text

“She came home, Heda… but it wasn’t her,” Marin said, his voice shaking. “She tried to convince me to take this—”

“Chip,” Raven supplied, steadying him by the shoulders.

Marin kom Delfikru had traveled all the way from the fishing village of Sri to Polis, desperate for help—or whatever passed for help these days. He was a fisherman, gone from home for weeks at a time. But when he returned from his latest trip, his village was… changed.

In the center stood strange machines, huge and humming, with his people moving around them, tinkering with parts like they’d been doing it all their lives. His wife, Sinara, was among them. Sinara, who used to weave baskets and mats from the tall straw that grew around their quiet shores, was now prying electronics from one monstrous piece of tech and slotting them into another with precision.

When Marin approached to ask what in the hell was going on, Sinara smiled sweetly and took him into their hut. She pressed something into his hand—a small plastic square stamped with the Commander’s symbol. She promised it would end their struggles, grant them a way to live forever.

When Marin asked if it could let him see their son again—Nubi, who’d died years ago—her smile faltered. She lifted an eyebrow, not recognizing the name.

That’s when Marin panicked. And that’s when Sinara turned violent. She stabbed him in the arm, hard and deep.

“Deep,” Clarke murmured, already glancing to Liza, who was pulling out a suture kit.

Marin had never been to Polis before. He’d expected to be taken to the great throne room atop the tower. Instead, after hearing his story, Gaia—who was sitting on the throne, fielding complaints from restless ambassadors—said a single word:

“Downstairs.”

The guards led Marin past a heavy cordon, down into the strange bunker beneath the city. Inside, surrounded by glowing screens and ancient tech, the Commander didn’t preside over anything resembling court. She was… just there, watching, listening.

And when the guard explained why Marin had come, Heda didn’t demand explanations or give orders. She simply looked over her shoulder and called for Liza and Clarke.

“See to his arm,” she said.

He told his story even as a dark-haired girl with soft eyes and deep brown skin—dressed in green clothes far too uniform to belong to any clan—stepped forward. A snake curled around a cross was stitched into her sleeve. Without hesitation, she jabbed two needles into his arm, one after the other.

“Anesthetic,” she said. “Antibiotic.”

Marin had no idea what either meant, but he recognized her for what she was—Azgeda.

Another woman knelt beside him, this one blonde, wearing the same green shirt but paired with black leather pants. Her accent was thick, foreign, and her hands were steady as she threaded a needle and began stitching his wound like she’d been doing it since birth.

It didn’t hurt. Not even a little.

For a moment, Marin feared he’d lost all feeling in his arm—that the wound had taken it from him for good. And when he finally voiced the concern, muttering that he needed that arm to fish, the Commander only smiled.

“Wanheda,” she said, turning toward the blonde, “you explain.”

Clarke spoke to him in careful, broken Trigedasleng, her voice calm as she explained how numbing agents worked, assuring him his arm would be fine.

Marin almost fainted.

He had been touched by Wanheda herself… and lived to tell about it.

For now.

“I don’t know if we can get her back,” Lexa said quietly. “I don’t know if we can get any of them back. But I will send a team as soon as we deploy an EMP.”

“What is an EMP?” Marin asked, brow furrowed.

“Electro-magnetic pulse,” said the dark-haired girl in a grease-stained red jacket—the same one who had gripped his shoulders earlier to steady him. “I’m Raven, by the way.”

Lexa shot her a look, somewhere between patience and irritation, before turning back to Marin. “It’s something that will destroy the… evil spirit that has taken over your village.”

She didn’t tell him the rest—not yet. She didn’t say that even if they managed to drive ALIE out, his wife would still need weeks of care, therapy, and patience. She didn’t tell him about the others—those Emerson had dragged back from Bluecliff—how surviving paradise was often its own kind of hell.

“You will stay here,” Lexa said firmly. “With Luna and her people.”

It had become Luna’s quiet mission these past few days—not just guiding her own crew through the shift from the rig’s open sea to the bunker’s stone walls, but also taking in the few ALIE survivors they’d managed to pull free. It was a role she knew all too well: sheltering those fleeing from brutality and war. Only this time, the escapees weren’t running from blades or bullets, but from the polished nightmare of ALIE’s City of Light—a vivarium where minds had been stripped of pain, fear… and choice.

The survivors from Bluecliff now lived among her own people. Luna made sure their bellies were full and their spirits tended to, not just their wounds. Even Ontari had come to see them. She understood better than most what it meant to have someone take over your mind—and that the way back was only possible if someone on the outside still believed in you.

“When—and if—we’re able to save Sinara,” Lexa continued, “she will be brought here. As will the rest of your people. You will want for nothing. And I swear, we will do everything we can to bring them back. I will personally keep you informed.”

She rose, lifted her radio, and spoke into it. “Luna… ai don wan mo f’yo… kam opsteirs en get em… Luna, I have one more for you. Come upstairs and get him.”

More than the strange fact that, in this underground warren, there was such a thing as “upstairs.”
More than Heda speaking into a piece of tech like it was second nature.

What struck Marin most was how Heda and Wanheda—two names that had lived in the realm of legend his entire life—were treating him. No pomp. No ceremony. No command to kneel or bow.

Just Lexa, saying she would personally keep him informed.
Just Wanheda, matter-of-factly wrapping his arm and telling him,
“Komba raun tumara gon chenj em. Ai o ai nomon o Liza na ste hir”—Come back tomorrow to change it. Either I, my mother, or Liza will be here.

The words were so simple, so human, that for a moment he almost forgot who stood before him. He felt the urge to kneel anyway, to mark this impossible moment in some way—
—but the metal doors behind him swung open.

A tallish brunette with wavy hair and thick, expressive brows stepped inside.
“That’s your ride,” Raven said, nodding toward her.

The woman crossed the room with quiet assurance. “Luna kom Floukru,” she introduced herself, voice even. Another legend, here in the flesh. Marin felt like he’d walked straight into the middle of some old story told around the fire.

“Come,” Luna said, tilting her head toward the hall. “I’ll take you to get some food. Introduce you to a few of my people.”

Lexa gave a single approving nod. Marin followed Luna out.

Time for action.

Lexa leaned over the map table, finger landing on a small point roughly thirty miles west of Polis.

“Sri… here.”

Ontari nodded once, already reaching for her radio.
“Moss—Raven’s sending you coordinates to EMP. Small village in… West Virginia.”

The system had become muscle memory by now:
Lexa or Clarke identified the location; Moss scouted it with the jet; Raven calculated the drop; Moss fired the EMP; Emerson took a ground team in to collect the survivors—most docile, confused, and hollow-eyed.

At the console, Raven tapped the last string of data into the comms.
Moss’ voice came back through the speaker—“Coordinates received. ETA twenty minutes.”

Lexa picked up her own radio next, the motion smooth and unhurried.
“Emerson—assemble a team. Raven’s sent you coordinates. Go.”

Now… the waiting.

They’d been running this cycle for many days—ever since that night with Dazza.
The glorious night neither of them would dare explain to Abby Griffin.

Reports came in. Villages turned. An EMP strike. The slow, delicate work of gathering survivors—those who hadn’t taken their own lives in the first hours of being freed from ALIE’s grip. Those who endured paradise and still chose to live.

It wasn’t all bleak.
Since that notorious night where she and Lexa had, as Clarke privately dubbed it, been “baptized into the church of Dazza,” something between them had shifted.

They weren’t newlyweds anymore—not in the way they had been. And yet, the physical side of their relationship had rocketed into some new, dangerous, insatiable category. They were one now, in that unsettling, inevitable way old married couples sometimes are—completing each other’s sentences, reaching for the same thought before it was spoken.

Dazza had been right.
“You’ll never look at each other the same way again,” she’d promised.
They didn’t. They couldn’t. Not after what they’d seen. Not after what they’d felt.

Every time Clarke ventured into the field, Lexa insisted Dazza go with her. “Your new bodyguard,” she’d say. The arrangement had its own strange rhythm—Clarke and Dazza growing close, but not that kind of close.

The night was never mentioned again. Instead, Dazza became something else entirely—a mentor, much as she had been to Lexa years before.

She spoke to Clarke about faith—in the universe, in destiny, in something greater than herself. Clarke had always wondered how Lexa kept so steady, how she held her belief in meaning through chaos. She knew it hadn’t come from Titus. Now, with Dazza, she began to understand.

And not just in spirit. Dazza was training her—really training her. No coddling like Lexa. No indulging like Ontari.

“Anya may be dead,” Dazza would say, dragging Clarke out of bed at an ungodly hour, “but her spirit lives on. In me. In Lexa. And soon, in you.”

The first few times Clarke tried whining “leeeeeex…” into the darkness, the only reply from under the furs was:

“When the three of us are alone, Heda is off duty.”

Clarke had assumed that meant only when they were naked.
Which, to be fair, at three in the morning… was often the case.

Dazza trained Clarke hard—merciless, really. She didn’t care if Clarke’s ass hurt from hitting the ground too many times, or if her ribs were black-and-blue from the crack of Dazza’s wooden training sword. But in just a few days of this abuse, Clarke had to admit—she was actually learning. Dazza wasn’t just good. She was exceptional.

Yesterday proved it even more—Ontari showed up. Not to watch, but as a fellow student.

When Clarke asked how she’d even found out about their predawn sessions, Ontari just smirked and shrugged.
“You whine too loud when she drags you out. Can’t fucking sleep anyway. Might as well learn something.”

Dazza was good. Lexa-level good. And with Ontari there, the quiet, lingering tension Clarke had been fighting since that night with Dazza was a little easier to manage.

Of course, she and Lexa had talked about it.
Lexa wasn’t jealous—in fact, she found the whole thing wildly amusing.

“You’ll see, Clarke,” she’d said. “She has her own rhythm. She’ll come to us again. But only when there’s a purpose. She doesn’t waste herself on vain lust. And… I can’t say I don’t look forward to that.”

For now, Lexa teased, Clarke would have to “settle for regular.” Which, in their case, was anything but boring.

Their “regular” had been getting more… creative lately. Clarke had finally put to use something she’d learned from Ontari—an obsession with Lexa’s ass that had bloomed into an actual act of penetration with their favorite toy. The first attempts were awkward, and Lexa—stoic as she was—refused to admit the initial discomfort. But when Clarke finally listened to Liza and understood that preparation was everything…

Let’s just say the mighty Commander had developed a dangerous little addiction to one particularly depraved act.

Clarke was… managing it.

Life, somehow, was working out. Mostly. 

Because…

The quantum computer was finally cooled and ready—at least, that’s what they thought. But the moment they powered it on, it became clear the core processor had been built for a single purpose: cracking codes. And not just any codes—ones RoBeca recognized instantly. She killed the power without hesitation.

Now they needed a replacement processor, and there were only two known locations: Becca’s island… and somewhere in Toronto.

Becca’s island was the choice. But everyone knew one thing—ALIE wouldn’t give up her primary base without a fight. And with the processor buried deep inside a reinforced bunker, an EMP strike was useless.

The team began preparing for the trip.

They were bringing Moss—fully armed and ready to neutralize anything ALIE could throw at them. Emerson’s team was coming too: a dozen grounder warriors with a few Skaikru in the mix.

Bellamy hadn’t returned to Arkadia since coming to Polis to visit Lia. Somewhere along the way, he realized Lia wasn’t just a girlfriend to visit occasionally—she was his partner, and she wasn’t leaving her post guarding the rescued Azgeda children. So he stayed. He joined Emerson’s unit, training alongside another Farm Station survivor, Reilly. Together, they taught the ten grounder warriors how to handle firearms and use communication tech.

Emerson, to everyone’s surprise, turned out to be an exceptional leader—and a decent man. When Clarke introduced him to Dazza, the fiery redhead who’d lost her parents to the Mountain, Dazza greeted him with a punch to the face. Emerson simply wiped the blood away and apologized. Dazza didn’t hit him again, which Clarke decided was a good sign.

Now, the whole group was preparing to head to Becca’s island. Mona would be there to help Raven extract the processor, and Kush was coming to document their visit to one of the most secretive places on Earth—one his people believed was long lost. Kush and Dazza were growing closer, though according to Clarke’s “intelligence,” they hadn’t spent the night together—not since Fio’s. Lexa wasn’t surprised. As she’d said more than once, Dazza wasn’t one for vanity. If things were meant to progress, she’d make the move when the time was right. For now, she and Kush spent long hours together, unraveling history and comparing what they knew about the world before and after the bombs.

Zik had finally been released from medical, his wounds nearly healed. But instead of returning to TonDC, he stayed in Polis—apparently deciding Abby was the best medicine he could ask for. This development was met with universal amusement… except by Clarke, of course.

Clarke was slowly—very slowly—learning to accept her mother’s connection with the only living relative Lexa had left in the world: her cousin. Still, during one early morning training session with Dazza, she couldn’t resist grumbling. She complained about her mother’s “indulgence” with a man ten years younger—a man who, not so long ago, had been a playboy and a drug addict. She even muttered something about how it somehow profaned her father’s memory.

Dazza’s response was swift and merciless—a crushing blow to Clarke’s side that knocked the air from her lungs. As Clarke staggered, Dazza helped her back to her feet and told her flatly to grow up. Sexuality, she reminded Clarke, was something to celebrate, not ridicule. And from what she could see, what Abby shared with Zik was meaningful—meant to be.

Clarke didn’t want to hear it, but she was beginning to trust Dazza… to surrender to her guidance. It was both freeing and terrifying, that kind of surrender. Her mind resisted it; her body and soul begged for more. Having someone like Dazza—someone who held not just her but Lexa as well—was new. Even though Dazza never directly mentioned that night, Clarke’s body remembered, a deep, low ache in her belly reminding her how right it felt to let go for a while.

So she picked up her sword and got back into position, accepting Dazza’s words without further argument. A small part of her even started to feel happy for her mother.

Ontari, of course, quietly chuckled from the sidelines—no doubt catching the way Clarke blushed when Dazza’s expression shifted into that familiar look, the one that made her squirm every time.

Dazza was coming to the island too—Clarke’s bodyguard, after all.

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” Lexa said, leaning back in her chair. “Once Sri is dealt with.” Even here, Lexa didn’t try to stop Clarke from coming or control her movements.

Raven, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement. According to Becca’s confession, the island wasn’t just a lab—it was also a launch site for an actual rocket. And since there was still a functioning nuclear warhead attached to the Ark’s ring, there was a real chance someone might have to go up into space to deal with it. Naturally, Raven dismissed every alternative except one: dismantling it by hand, outside the Ark, on a space walk.

When RoBeca suggested they could simply launch it into space and let it drift, Raven looked personally offended, like someone had just suggested replacing her coffee with tea.

“What else you got buried over there?” Raven asked, eyeing Becca on the screen while Monty worked on the Tesla bot body laid out on the table. Emerson had collected several from neutralized military bases, but for this trip, RoBeca’s avatar needed to be in perfect working order. They were going in prepared—but everyone knew ALIE wouldn’t give up the island without a fight.

Bellamy had brought every piece of Kevlar Arkadia could spare, plus automatic weapons and enough ammo to hold off an army.

“You won’t be disappointed,” Becca replied through the feed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Plenty of toys waiting for us. Once we take the island from ALIE, we’ll have access to equipment you couldn’t have even imagined before. Medical gear, too. The lab was built to survive a nuclear apocalypse. Unless ALIE’s tampered with it, Abby will be drooling the second she sees it. Oh—and in case I forgot to mention, I cured cancer. All the data and treatments are still there.”

Clarke exhaled, the weight of it hitting her. In the post-bomb world, radiation fallout left them with little beyond surgery for most cases. If Becca was right, this wasn’t just a victory—they’d be bringing home something priceless.

“I’m going back to medical, if there’s nothing else,” Ontari said, already on her feet before anyone could stop her.

At first, Clarke had felt guilty about pulling her out of Arkadia. Ontari had gone there to escape the constant noise of Polis, to step away from the shadow of being the infamous Queen Slayer, and to figure out who she was beyond just another survivor of Nia’s brutal shaping. Clarke had feared she’d dragged her back into the chaos.

But Ontari had landed on her feet. More than that—she was thriving. She was close with Echo here, still worked alongside Abby in medical, and kept in touch with the Arkadia friends she’d made, who visited often. The change in her was startling. Gone was the quiet, closed-off girl. In her place was someone bold, quick to joke, confident in her skin.

She and Clarke had grown close—truly close. Not like friends who called each other “sisters” out of habit, but like real ones, the kind who’d bleed for each other without a second thought. And with Lia—her actual sister by blood—Ontari spent even more time, helping her with the orphanage and letting her be part of a life she’d once only dreamed about.

Lia had even taken her to town a few times, Fio’s being Ontari’s first real taste of freedom. Ontari had invited Clarke to join them, but Clarke declined—she wanted Ontari to have that time with Lia, the sister who had sacrificed everything to protect her.

Lexa made sure both girls were safe. Whenever Liza ventured out, she had at least a dozen guards shadowing her. Always incognito.

Ontari had argued about it once—just once. She claimed she could take care of herself now, that she didn’t need to be followed everywhere. It was the only time Lexa had ever raised her voice at her.

“The muppet’s safety is a priority,” she’d said, the command in her tone cutting through the air.

Ontari had blinked at her, thrown by the sudden edge. “Why?” she’d asked quietly.

Lexa’s answer was simple.

“Because those who seek to hurt me… would hurt you.”

And that was the end of it.

Raven’s radio crackled to life: “Target neutralized.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke, who picked up her own radio and asked a simple, “How long?”

“About an hour,” Emerson’s voice came back. “We just left.”

Hopefully, they wouldn’t lose too many. In the past, they’d always tried to time the EMP strikes to land as close to Emerson’s arrival as possible—giving the rescue team the best shot at reaching survivors before the shock faded and the desperation set in. Freshly freed minds often had to be restrained to stop them from harming themselves, all in an attempt to return to the City of Light. The next day, most were horrified at the thought.

But now, they couldn’t afford that timing. ALIE had caught on—her network knew Emerson’s team would come, so she fortified her grip, prepared defenses, and warned the other chipped. That left only one option: fire the EMP the moment a location was confirmed, and give Emerson the time he needed to get there after.

Even so, for an artificial intelligence, ALIE still wasn’t as clever as she might have been—or at least, she acted that way.

Becca only smiled when Clarke pointed that out. “A design flaw,” she said. “When ALIE selects a human steward, she relies on them for strategy. This Titus of yours must not have been very smart.”

Lexa exhaled, almost relieved. “Apparently not.”

“Need help?” Mona asked, walking over to Monty and leaning in close—too close for him to think straight. She smiled, eyes bright with curiosity.

Monty nodded, though his expression stayed carefully neutral. Not because he didn’t want her there—quite the opposite—but because he did. And that was the problem.

He hadn’t yet found the courage to push past his own insecurities and “seal the deal,” not that there was an actual deal to seal. Mona and he had grown close over the past days. She’d told him about her people, their rigid beliefs, and how she’d leapt at the chance to see a culture where two women—leaders, no less—could be openly married. She’d spoken about wanting to live a little, about her own complete lack of experience in anything intimate, and had hinted—without quite saying it—that she was open to exploring that gap in her knowledge.

Especially with him.

Monty wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. But Monty wasn’t Clarke, or Raven, or even Jasper. He was shy, painfully so. Not just because of her unspoken offer, but because, deep down, he knew he was just as clueless as she claimed to be.

That’s when Raven had enough.

She’d grown close to Mona too—not just through their shared love of tech, but because Mona turned out to be a princess of sarcasm. Which, of course, meant Raven was the queen. Mona had no problem admitting that, which only made Raven more invested in “helping a sister out” when it came to this whole living it up thing.

And Mona, in her blunt way, had told Raven exactly what was bothering her: Monty. Kind, funny, courteous Monty… who wasn’t exactly responding to her advances the way she’d hoped.

Raven sighed. Fine. Time to intervene.

She strode over, planted herself in Monty’s space, and said, “Green. With me. Now. I need you to take a look at something.”

Raven dragged him into the server room, shut the door, and pointed to a network jack on the wall.

“Look.”

Monty crouched down to inspect it, leaning in close—

SMAAACK.

He spun around. “Ow! What the hell?”

“No. You—what the hell?!” Raven shot back, glaring. “The girl is drop-dead gorgeous, all over you, and you haven’t kissed her yet?”

“Uh… I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re in the middle of a war and… uh…”

SMAAACK.

“Bullshit!”

Monty blinked. “I—what?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Tell. Me. The. Truth.”

“I… don’t… am—” he stammered.

“You’re a damn chicken, that’s what you are,” Raven cut in. “What do you think she’s expecting? She’s already figured out you’re just as clueless as she is, but at least she’s trying! And while we’re at it—what did Heda tell you?”

Monty mumbled, “To… make the African girl happy.”

“Well guess what? You’re not making her happy. And me?” Raven leaned in, eyes narrowed. “You’re making me furious.”

“So… what do I do? Just… walk up to her and… kiss her? What if she—” Monty started, voice tight with nerves.

“She won’t,” Raven cut him off. “And yes. That’s exactly what you do. Walk up to her, kiss her, be a man about it.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Or else I’m telling Heda. And yeah, she might be all warm and fuzzy with us, but don’t forget what she’s capable of when you piss her off.” Raven lifted her sleeve, tapping the scars on her forearm.

Maybe she didn’t need to throw that part in—but hey, Mona was getting laid. Raven had promised herself that the day Mona told her about the suffocating rules she grew up under.

“Right now,” Raven ordered. “Pull her aside. Show her you’ve got a pulse. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll help me get some respect for you as a man.”

Monty let out a long sigh. “The whole ‘Heda will murder you’ part? Really motivational. Thanks.”

Monty swallowed. I guess I’m doing it, he thought as Raven turned with a muttered, “I always have to do everything myself around here.” It was go time.

He followed her back into the control room, where Lexa was in the middle of showing something to Clarke and Mona was rewiring part of the bot. He drew in a steadying breath, walked straight over, took her hand, and led her toward the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Becca on the screen giving him an infuriating thumbs-up. But then he felt it—a slight squeeze of his hand.

Of course Mona wasn’t stupid. She could easily imagine what Raven had pulled him into the server room to talk about. Her heart had fluttered. Finally.

“Where are we going, space man?” Mona asked, amused.

“Fresh air,” Monty said, already pulling her along as they ran up the stairs and into the courtyard of the tower.

“We’re going to grab lunch to take with us… and then go for a ride,” he added, heading toward a nearby food stand.

She blinked, smiling. “Oook…”

He picked up a couple of grounder-style beers, a few flatbreads with some questionable meat, then led her around the back of the tower where the rovers sat parked under guard. Opening the door for her, he slid into the driver’s seat, steering them past the western wall still under reconstruction. He silently thanked the universe that Lexa had ordered Nia’s corpse—left hanging there for weeks—taken down before their African guests arrived.

“It’s not far,” Monty said. “You’ll love it.”

“Where are we going?” Mona asked again.

Monty sighed, glancing at her with a half-smile. “Lunch break. And some kissing… for dessert.”

Mona blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. Aha. So he’s got lines now. Her heart fluttered harder.

Monty sighed and reached out his hand. He’d seen enough movies—and definitely enough of Lexa and Clarke being handsy—to know what to do. Mona smiled and slipped her hand into his.

“In my country… we have roads. Many drivers,” she said lightly.

Monty chuckled. “Listen… we definitely didn’t have any cars in space. And honestly, most people on Earth were still impressed by a light bulb—at least the ones on this continent. We only got the rovers once Mount Weather fell. Until then… it was a lot of walking. Do you… want to drive?”

Mona shook her head. “No. I’ve never driven in my life. Was mostly driven around. So… you drive. I’ll enjoy the scenery.”

She didn’t want to tell Monty that Miti was her father—that she was a princess, the oldest of three daughters. She definitely didn’t want to talk about how she’d threatened to run away if her family didn’t send her here as “an IT expert,” which she most certainly was. What she wasn’t, was someone willing to entertain an arranged marriage to her cousin—the one slated to become the next chief—just because she had no brother.

“We’re here,” Monty said, pulling off to the side of the path.

She glanced out the window. Just trees.

“Come,” he said, grinning. “This will blow your mind.”

She smiled faintly, thinking, I hope you mean the kissing part.

But as soon as he pulled her into the shadows, she saw it. Mushrooms clinging to the trees—glowing softly, each a different hue. Faint in the daylight, but still beautiful.

“It’s… incredible,” she whispered. “Magical. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Monty looked at her, though not at the mushrooms. “Neither have I,” he said, his voice low.

He wasn’t talking about the forest. He meant her—the way her face lit with wonder, lips parted, eyes wide. In that moment, he understood what he’d felt for Harper had been a harmless teenage crush. This was different. This girl—so fascinating, from a world utterly unlike his own—carried herself with quiet dignity. Skin the color of midnight, voice like silk, a mystery wrapped in composure. She had opened up to him in pieces, as though in the place she came from, freedom to forge bonds had been rare and precious.

And here she was, giving him space. Waiting, instead of rushing. If not for his meddling mechanic friend, maybe they’d still be dancing around it. She deserved someone willing to take a risk.

So, with a thousand fuck its firing off in his head, Monty leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

She trembled, but didn’t pull away. Not in fear, but in hesitation—like she was doing something forbidden. Like a simple kiss could start a war.

Oh, if he only knew.

They both fumbled at first.

For Monty, it was one thing to watch Heda and Clarke suck face all day—rain or shine, war or peace—and another to actually do it himself. For Mona… well, for all the warmth her people carried, public displays of affection were something peasants did. Not royalty.

And while most homes in her homeland had a screen, the “never again” her people lived by included indulgences like this—lust, intimacy, anything that wasn’t strictly for marriage. When Mona had shared that little detail with her new friend Raven, Raven had immediately dragged her upstairs in the tower, making sure Ronen was still stuck in the infirmary with his busted ribs. Then she’d queued up a few ancient flicks from the old world—movies that were as enlightening as they were arousing. A forbidden concept brought to life in grainy color and sound.

But here, in the quiet glow of the forest, Mona and Monty eventually figured it out. Not perfect—just sloppy enough to be charming—and far more interesting than the horrible piss the Grounders called beer or the flatbreads stuffed with what was probably rodent meat.

And it was definitely arousing. Very much so—if the firm press against Mona’s hip wasn’t a sandwich Monty had stashed in his pocket.

Monty worried his hands might be wandering too much—until Mona made it clear they were wandering too little by tugging them lower, from her lower back down to where she really wanted them.

She hummed in approval, surprising even herself. And that firm press against her hip? Only getting firmer. How could any god deem this wrong?

She pulled back slightly, breath warm against his cheek.

“You okay?” Monty asked, searching her face.

She nodded, resting her forehead against his. “Better than okay… it’s just new, you know.”

He chuckled softly. “You know I do.”

“Hungry?” Monty asked, still unsure what to do next.

“Very…” Mona replied with a slow smile, pulling him back into a kiss before he could say more. “We can eat lunch on the way back.”

The kiss deepened, a little awkward at first, but quickly growing hotter, more certain. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and she felt his hand tighten on her waist.

Back home, she’d never worn pants or shirts. Dresses only—formal, proper, restrictive. That changed her first week in Polis, when Raven appeared at her door with two duffle bags and a grin.

“Here. You can’t walk around looking like one of Griffin’s drunken masterpieces. Normal clothes. Heda’s gift,” Raven had said.

Inside had been pants, soft shirts, jackets—things she’d never dared to wear before. She’d loved them instantly.

Now, in the forest, she realized another reason they were a gift. She took Monty’s hand and slid it under the hem of her shirt, guiding it over her stomach. He hesitated, searching her eyes, and she gave the smallest nod.

If anyone from home saw this, she’d be dragged before the church, shamed, and forced into public repentance.

But here, she could just be herself—with someone she wanted—pulling him closer, feeling the heat between them grow, the rest of the world forgotten.

“I… don’t want to overstep,” Monty murmured against her lips.

“I want you to,” Mona replied, guiding his hand upward. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you if…”

Her breath caught as his fingers trailed higher, brushing over her chest. Back home, her people never bothered with undergarments—too hot for that. But this… this was hotter. Her hand pressed over his, telling him without words to keep going.

She knew she might seem desperate, but she couldn’t help it. Years of repression, of drilled-in beliefs, of warnings about desire and punishment—every wall was cracking. Memories surfaced: the time her family visited Entebbe, when she’d wandered off into the jungle and stumbled upon two peasant teens, a girl straddling a boy, moving in ways that made Mona’s breath hitch even then. Their faces had been open, unashamed, lost in something beautiful.

She’d been told such things led to ruin, to eternal fire—that desire was dangerous. But she’d hated herself for wishing she could be in that girl’s place.

Later, at university, she learned that not everyone believed the way her people did. Open defiance was rare, but behind closed doors, the rules bent. The more she learned, the more she realized how much had been twisted, how much joy had been painted as sin. Kush, her friend from the so-called “humanity’s failings” department—anthropology, as he insisted—had been the first to say it plainly: their interpretation of God’s message wasn’t divine truth.

It was control. And right now, in this moment with Monty, she wanted none of it.

She felt Monty’s hand squeeze over her peak, and the jolt it sent through her nearly made her knees give out. Something new rushed through her—dangerous, consuming. She slipped her hand under his shirt, her arm curling across his stomach. Warm. Solid. Comforting in a way that made her pulse quicken.

She knew exactly what Heda had been doing. Even before they’d boarded the plane, Lexa had mentioned Monty as her “companion guide.” And the more time Mona spent here, the more she understood why people followed Lexa without question. Brilliant, a little manipulative, unflinching—yet, when the control room emptied and it was just her, there was a softness. Like her father’s presence, but without the suffocating beliefs.

Raven had told her Lexa wasn’t always like this. When the Sky People first arrived, she was ruthless, even brutal. Now… she was still stoic, still commanding, but also deeply human. Caring, in the way she handled ALIE’s survivors.

And apparently, an excellent matchmaker. Because Mona had liked Monty immediately. He was funny, kind, interesting. Humble—so much more appealing than arrogance. And to her, he was unlike anyone she’d ever met. She’d never seen a white person in the flesh before Lexa, Clarke, and Liza stepped off the plane that day, her wide-eyed gawking barely hidden behind her father’s pompous welcoming ceremony. But Monty was different still—of Asian descent, his features unlike anything in her world. Deep brown eyes, olive-toned skin, hair black and straight like an untouched grass field.

It was his humility that pulled her in the most. Her nails traced lightly across his stomach, dragging lower. She knew this wasn’t the moment to take things as far as the scene she’d once stumbled upon in Entebbe—but she wanted more. Much more.

Her fingers tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She searched Monty’s face.

No words were needed. She could tell—he approved.

Monty swallowed hard. She was perfect—slender yet curved in a way that made his chest tighten and his thoughts scatter. Heat rushed through him, his pants suddenly far too tight. Not wanting her to be the only one exposed, he tugged his shirt over his head. Her soft hum at the sight sent a thrill through him.

He leaned in, brushing his lips along the sharp line of her jaw, his hands finding their way to her chest almost on instinct. He’d never done this before. Back on the Ark, he’d been the quiet one, the nerd, Jasper his only real friend. Girls? That was another world entirely. But with her, it felt like she liked him for exactly who he was—no pretending, no performance.

He didn’t have a plan, but his hands seemed to know what to do. His fingers squeezed gently, and the muffled whimper she let slip into their kiss told him he was doing something right. She didn’t slow him down or push him away—quite the opposite. Her hand was warm against his stomach, dipping lower into the waistband of his pants.

With one hand, he rolled her nipple between his fingers; with the other, he slipped just inside the waistband of her fitted pants, tracing the curve of her hip. They were snug—probably one of Heda’s gifts. He pressed his lips to the corner of her jaw, and her head tipped back with a soft, drawn-out hum.

“Do it again,” she murmured.

He chuckled under his breath, a little nervous but willing, and kissed her neck lower this time, feeling the way her whole body arched into him. When her mouth found his neck in return, tongue tracing a slow line, the sound that escaped him was a quiet, unplanned whimper.

Not bad for a first-timer, he thought fleetingly.

“Here…” Mona murmured, unbuckling her belt. “Just… careful. I have no idea what I’m doing.” Her voice was shy, almost hesitant.

Monty gave her a soft smile. “That makes the both of us.”

He unbuttoned his pants, and Mona didn’t hesitate—her hand slipped inside, and the sudden contact made him jolt back.

“Oh… I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head, cheeks burning. “Not at all. Just…”

She nodded, understanding without him finishing. She’d never touched a man before—not like this. But her hand returned, gentler this time, fingers curling around him. The warmth of his skin under her touch sent her mind spinning, and heat coiled low in her stomach. She knew if they kept going like this, stopping would be hard.

“Maybe… we should talk,” she said softly, though she didn’t pull her hand away.

“Yes. Of course,” Monty replied, his voice just as low.

“I… don’t want to… go all the way. I do… but… not now.”

Monty nodded, understanding completely. Even he could see this was moving too fast—driven more by newness and years of repression than readiness. Neither of them was unwilling, but both knew they needed to be careful.

“Let’s take it slow, then,” he said gently. “I understand. And agree.”

She smiled faintly. “Pants off?”

Monty’s brain screamed that’s not slow, but his pulse was already racing. He nodded, and she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging them down. Her eyes lingered on him, wide and almost awed, like she was seeing something she’d only imagined before.

He reached for her waistband in return, sliding her pants down. The sight that met him stole his breath. In that moment, Monty thought he had never seen anything more perfect in his life.

“You’re… so beautiful,” Monty murmured as he stepped out of his pants.

“You’re not too bad yourself, space man,” Mona replied with a teasing smile, kicking hers off.

They closed the gap between them, lips meeting again, but now her hand was on him, and his palm found the curve of her behind—full and firm despite her slender frame. His mouth trailed down over her collarbone, then lower still, until his lips brushed her chest. She shivered, and just as his mouth closed over her peak, her grip on him tightened and began to stroke.

The tension that shot through him was instant. “Stop…” he muttered, because if she didn’t, this would be over far too quickly.

She smiled knowingly. “Okay,” she said… then grazed him once more just to make him twitch.

He chuckled under his breath and returned his mouth to her, sucking gently at her nipple until she arched into him.

“Let’s… go to the rover?” he suggested between breaths. Standing wasn’t enough anymore—and the chill in the air was sinking into their skin.

She nodded, leaning down to collect her clothes, and he did the same. Hand in hand, they made their way to the rover. Monty opened the door and slid inside with her, turning on the engine and heat before joining her in the back seat.

Now, kneeling across from each other, he cupped her cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” he said again, softer this time, and kissed her deeply.

His hand found her breast once more, and he returned to what he’d started earlier, sucking gently while her fingers tangled in his hair. The air between them was thick with heat, and when he reached down—pausing only to meet her gaze—she nodded.

The first time his fingers grazed her, she moaned, unable to hold it in.

“Gently…” she breathed, her voice almost breaking.

And for the first time, the thought crossed her mind: maybe… she wouldn’t go home when this was all over.

She reached for him again, this time only grazing him—soft, teasing touches that sent shivers up his spine. His mouth stayed on her chest, his hand still at her core, and every movement from him seemed to unravel her more.

To her horror, she realized her hips were rocking on their own, chasing his featherlight touch. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice—loud and accusing—whispered of hell and punishment. She couldn’t silence it… but Monty seemed able to drown it out completely.

Because then his fingers found it—a spot that felt like the fuse of the firecrackers her people set off during festival nights.

“There…” she breathed, leaning back against the seat.

And since Monty was good with all things mechanical, he understood instantly—that was the volume control. So he pressed it again, and her moan came like a song. Heda and Clarke might have brought liquid nitrogen back from Africa, but they had also, unknowingly, brought him an instrument worth learning to play.

When Mona looked at him, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, so open and trusting, he felt something settle in him—an urge not just to want her, but to take care of her.

He still liked where his lips had been before—her perfect, small, dark peaks—but he couldn’t help it. He leaned in to kiss her, and as his mouth met hers, he realized she was trembling all over. She must be close, he thought, easing his hand away—

But she caught his wrist and pressed it right back. Then her other hand reached for him again, stroking with more urgency. His fingers tightened on the back of her neck as he kissed her harder, both of them moving faster now, the pressure building in a way neither could stop.

And then—there was no holding it back. It hit them both, fast, fierce, and entirely unstoppable.

His body trembled as release hit him, warm streaks landing across her dark skin. The rush was part bliss, part a jolt of panic at the sight. She was breathing hard, eyes closed, clearly rattled.

“What… just—?” she started.

Monty couldn’t help but smile. “Wait… you really never—?”

Her wide-eyed look was all the answer he needed. She shook her head, still keeping his hand pressed between her thighs. Then her gaze dropped to the mess on her knee.

“Lord Jesus,” she murmured. “Wow…” She touched it with her fingertip, looking at him in wonder.

“I’m sorry…” he said quickly.

She broke into a grin. “Best lunch of my life.” Then, with a playful wrinkle of her nose, she wiped her finger on his leg. “Eeww.”

They both burst out laughing, and before the laughter could fade, he leaned in and kissed her again.

“I really… really like you,” Monty said, grabbing his T-shirt and wiping her knee, earning a soft laugh from Mona.

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “As I do you… if letting you do…” —she pointed at her knee— “…this didn’t make it clear.”

He smiled and just pulled her into a hug. “I almost don’t want ALIE to be gone… because then you’d have to go home.”

She rested her forehead against his. “I don’t want to go back either. Why do you think I came here? I love my family, I love my parents, my people… but here, you’re free. As long as you don’t hurt anyone, you can be what you want, do what you want, be with whoever you want.” She kissed his hand. “It’s not like that at home. We have rules… a code we live by… it’s stifling. Here, I can breathe.”

Monty frowned. “Miti… he seems like a nice guy. Always smiling. I think he likes you—he beams when you come on screen.”

Mona chuckled. “He better. He’s my father.”

Monty blinked. “What???”

She nodded. “Keep this between us for now, okay?”

He nodded but held her closer. “So… you’re like a princess or something?”

She smirked. “Mona, the third of her name, princess of the New African Continent, first in line by marriage to the office of the chief. The whole thing. But… this”—she pointed between them—“is the first time I feel like I mean something other than my title.”

Monty reached for his pants. “We should get back. The Sri survivors will be here soon. I need to interview whoever will talk… and start planning how to abduct a princess.”

Mona sighed as she reached for her clothes. “You give me more of… those”—she gestured vaguely, trying to convey the idea—“and I might come willingly.”

****

“So… Monty’s finally getting his act together,” Clarke said, cradling Lexa from behind as they settled in for the night.

Lexa hummed. “I still think she’s hiding something. Mona. She’s different. But yes. I’m glad Raven bullied him into it. Can you imagine, hodnes? She used the threat of my wrath to motivate him. Showed him the scars.”

Clarke chuckled. “You two have come a long way. Since that day. Since…”

Lexa turned over. “Clarke.”

Clarke said, “Hmm?”

Lexa sighed. “Stay here tomorrow. Please.”

Clarke smiled. “No.”

Lexa sighed again and turned back over. “Scratch my back, then.”

Clarke gladly obliged. It had been a long, exhausting day.

By supper, the Sri survivors had finally returned—Sinara among them. She hadn’t taken her own life, but she’d tried to, the moment she remembered stabbing Marin.

Marin, who had refused to leave her side as she was brought in—wrists bound, eyes vacant, unconscious thanks to a clean knockout from Emerson.

She hadn’t been coherent when they reached Sri. The place was a wreck—chaotic, raw, full of jagged memories. But at least no one else had tried to end their life.

There was one bright spot: with Raven’s remote guidance and a fresh circuit board, Bellamy got one of the tanks running. Emerson drove it home.

Raven had tried to go with them—argued, pleaded, even guilt-tripped. Said the field tech would be better preserved if she was there to collect it herself. But Lexa didn’t budge. Too risky. Not worth it.

Tomorrow would be the most dangerous part of this entire ordeal.

They weren’t walking into the lion’s den—this lion had no den. It lived everywhere. Anywhere there was wireless access, the beast lurked. And without the Flame’s protection, it was always watching. Waiting.

No—tomorrow, they’d be walking straight into its mouth.

Hopefully, the EMP they carried would knock it out long enough to retrieve the processor they needed to bring Frosty online—now finally cold enough to function.

When Raven asked Becca why they couldn’t just scrub Frosty’s processor, the answer had been infuriatingly simple.

“Because.”

Becca didn’t want to explain. But Lexa understood. She’d seen Becca’s memories in the Flame.

Some things weren’t meant to be unearthed.

Humanity didn’t need to be judged. Didn’t need to transcend. They needed to live. Love. Grow. Mess up. Keep going.

“Nervous about tomorrow?” Clarke asked, scratching gently under Lexa’s shoulder, smiling at the way she shifted silently, asking for more.

“Very,” Lexa admitted.

She turned her head slightly, eyes meeting Clarke’s. “The list of people I care about keeps growing. And it’s getting harder to protect.”

Clarke smirked, tickling her ribs. “Big softie.”

Lexa wrapped around her and hummed. “You ruined me, Clarke.”

Clarke chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m not the one who organized a threesome.”

Lexa kissed her shoulder, smiling. “No. But you’re the one who begged for it.”

Clarke bit her earlobe. “I didn’t beg.”

Lexa let out an incoherent hum—half smug, half sleepy—and drifted off.

Clarke had no idea how Lexa could fall asleep so easily on the eve of war, the night before they’d step foot on Becca’s island—ALIE’s stronghold.

But then again, Clarke felt it too. That stillness. That calm.

Complete safety. Wrapped in her mate’s arms.

Chapter Text

They were literally going on a suicide mission today.

Clarke whispered it, not wanting to wake Lexa. Dazza said nothing—just picked up Clarke’s bra from the floor and handed it to her. Her lips didn’t move, but her eyes said everything.

I don’t give a shit.

“Let’s go,” she murmured.

Clarke leaned down, kissed Lexa’s head, and dressed quickly. They stepped out into the hallway of Heda’s floor, where Ontari was already waiting by the elevator.

Dazza gave her a nod. Ontari turned and called into the copper pipe, her voice echoing down. A moment later, the ancient pulley-operated excuse for an elevator groaned to life.

It would be a few minutes.

Dazza sighed.

“Yu mas bi gud prep, Strikon, ef moun gon liv dis.”

You must be well prepared, Strikon, if we are to survive this.

She still refused to speak Gonasleng to Clarke—only Trig. “This is how Anya would have trained you,” Dazza often said. Whether she was beating Clarke bloody in the training ring, dragging her out of bed before dawn, or speaking in rapid-fire Trigedasleng that Clarke had to decipher on the fly.

When Ontari joined them, Dazza didn’t object. She… smelled her—then nodded once.

“You belong with Wanheda. And with me.”

What that meant, only Dazza knew. But Ontari took to her immediately. Dazza was just as brutal with her as she was with Clarke, even though Ontari was light-years ahead in skill. It didn’t matter. Dazza was better.

One morning over breakfast, Ontari asked if Dazza could defeat Heda in combat. Dazza only shrugged.

“Only in private,” she said.

Clarke believed her.

Oh… and breakfast? That had become part of their routine too. Cheese? Fine. Eggs? No yolks. Bread? Tiny pieces. Meat? No fat.

“Heda stuffed you like a fucking turkey,” Dazza had said. “Both of you. Warriors eat smart.” Then she pinched their sides. “It’s time you both lost this.”

Clarke wasn’t a warrior. Ontari didn’t want to be one either. But she’d shared with Clarke once that Nia—despite her indulgence—had been sculpted like a statue. Part of it was genes. The rest was discipline. She ate right. Trained smart. And Nia had been nearly twice their age.

And yes… Clarke wanted to look like Dazza. Like Lexa. She wanted abs. Muscle. Definition. And she was starting to see it.

So, in short—Clarke hoped they survived today. The abs were finally coming in.

The elevator doors creaked open, and they stepped inside. Clarke’s usual method of coping with claustrophobia—burying herself in Lexa—wasn’t an option this time. Her nerves needed another outlet.

Dazza gave her one.

Push-ups.

Clarke dropped down. Dazza started counting.

“One. Two. Three…”

By the time the doors slid open on the ground floor, Clarke was shaking. But she had a choice—stand there and be anxious, or turn her nerves into fuel.

Ontari helped her up, and they headed to the training grounds. Clarke peeled off her jacket and hung it on the weapons rack. It was freezing out, but she was already burning up.

First part of the session? Running laps like idiots around the compact training circle. And if Clarke tried to slow down, Dazza’s wooden training sword was quick to remind her—with a sharp smack to the backside.

Ontari only shrugged. “Nia would’ve shoved it in your ass, sis,” she said. “This? This is a joke. Now move.”

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of running, Dazza split them up. Ontari reached for the blindfold Dazza handed her.

The first day Dazza had assessed her skills, she’d pointed out the missing piece immediately: intuition.

So now, Ontari spent the next half hour striking the wooden mannequins—blindfolded—sometimes trying to dodge Dazza’s silent, sudden attacks.

At first, the blindfold had terrified her. Too close to what Nia used during her twisted games.

Dazza only shrugged. “Deal with it or go back to sleep.”

When Clarke opened her mouth to protest—worried about Ontari’s mental state—Dazza gave her twenty push-ups.

Ontari, tense at first… eventually steadied her breathing and got to work.

Clarke didn’t worry anymore. She knew that if Dazza ever pushed Ontari too far, she could pull her back—calm her down.

Her trust in Dazza had become almost absolute.

The redhead pushed hard—but she was solid. Steady. A rock. And both Clarke and Ontari felt it.

Ontari had mentioned it once. Said this was how Nia had been with her, too—demanding, intense, making Ontari hers. Relying on her. Trusting her.

But this… this was different.

Dazza was there so they could learn to trust themselves.

Clarke picked up her training sword—a small, curved blade Dazza had chosen specifically for her size and the fighting style she had in mind.

She dropped into the stance. The one Dazza had, if Clarke was being honest, half beaten and half seduced her into.

In the early days, every correction came with either a sharp smack or a slow, deliberate graze. Clarke still wasn’t sure which left a deeper ache. But by the end, she’d gotten it right.

Now, she crouched low—like Lexa did when she sparred. Legs set just so. Shoulders loose. Sword centered.

“Good, Strikon. Very good,” Dazza purred, brushing her fingers along Clarke’s jaw.

Clarke was so grateful Ontari was still blindfolded—her face had already flushed pink, and not from the running.

Dazza smiled sweetly, then took position across from her.

“Let’s begin.”

Dazza launched at her.

Clarke blocked, using the momentum to counter, swinging toward Dazza with her blade. Dazza, wielding a wooden sword, had promised her it was fine—Clarke’s own blade might be sharp, but it wouldn’t land. Not on her.

She was right.

Clarke aimed for her shoulder, but Dazza moved like a shadow—slipping back, extending just out of reach, then snapping forward to strike Clarke’s side.

Clarke didn’t flinch. She swung again, this time low, aiming for Dazza’s legs.

Dazza blocked it easily, twirling to strike Clarke’s opposite side—but Clarke jumped back just in time, nearly crashing into Ontari, who was still locked in with her mannequins.

“Careful,” Dazza warned, backing up.

And then they were in it—moving fast, fluid, relentless.

Dazza twisted like a viper, but her strikes weren’t wild. They were calculated. Predictable enough for Clarke to start reading the rhythm, adjusting her footwork, anticipating the angles.

After a sharp blow to Clarke’s ribs, Dazza left herself open. Clarke saw it and swung high—only for Dazza to drop into a crouch, twist, and sweep Clarke’s legs out from under her.

Clarke hit the ground hard, landing square on her ass.

Ontari didn’t see it—but she definitely heard it. She chuckled.

That’s when Dazza turned on her.

To Clarke’s surprise, her blindfolded muppet of a sister blocked the strike just in time.

Dazza grinned. “Good work, little one. I’m proud.”

Ontari smiled and went right back to her drills.

After a few more minutes—and at least two brutal blows to Clarke’s ribs plus another graceless landing on her ass—Dazza straightened.

“Alright. Both of you. Against me.”

Ontari pulled off her blindfold, and without hesitation, the two of them launched at Dazza.

It didn’t matter. Even with Ontari’s speed and precision, Dazza held her ground with ease, deflecting every strike. She moved like water—sharp, fluid, unstoppable.

“Work together,” she snapped. “Think. Move as one.”

She jerked her chin toward Clarke. “Get behind me. Don’t crowd Ontari—sorry, Liza. Go where she isn’t.”

Clarke nodded and shifted position, moving behind Dazza.

Now wielding two swords, Dazza met their coordinated attacks like it was nothing.

Clarke had only ever seen one person fight like that.

Lexa.

Clarke locked eyes with Ontari—fast, sharp, but not quite fast enough.

Ontari tilted her head left. Clarke got it.

Ontari launched from the right, Clarke from the left, slicing low across Dazza’s legs.

It worked.

Ontari’s sword was knocked from her grip, but Clarke’s blade made clean contact—cutting across Dazza’s calf.

Clarke dropped her sword and backed up, panicked. “I’m so, so sorry… I—”

Dazza just smiled. “It’s a scratch, Strikon. You did good. You worked together.”

She pointed to her backpack. “Bandages are in there. Come on… stitch me up and we’re done for today. We’ve got a trip to get ready for.”

She walked over to a chair and extended her injured leg like it was nothing.

Clarke glanced at Ontari, who shrugged and reached into the bag for supplies. “You’re getting better,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

Dazza nodded, completely unbothered by the gash.

Clarke pulled out a small vial of alcohol and dabbed a cloth into it. She gently cleaned the wound. It wasn’t too bad—long, but not deep.

“I shouldn’t have used a real sword,” she murmured. “I could’ve really hurt you.”

Dazza gave her a smile that could level armies. “Don’t you worry about that, Strikon,” she said. “It wouldn’t have happened.”

She cupped Clarke’s cheek. “But I appreciate the concern.”

Clarke blushed—of course she did—while Ontari rolled her eyes.

Oh, how she loved Clarke.

The girl she’d clung to since the beginning of her rebirth. The one she trusted with her secrets, her doubts, her fears, and hopes. She’d told Clarke everything—in detail.

And when they got to the parts that confused her most… about Nia and her twisted “care,” her lustful manipulations, the games and procedures designed to mold Ontari into an obedient—sometimes even willing—pet… Clarke had shifted tactics.

Instead of sympathy, she’d offered curiosity. She’d shared her own inexperience. Her insecurities with Lexa. Ontari was happy to help. To guide.

Instead of spilling her pain, she gave Clarke the tools to become what she was now—a lover capable of meeting the Commander toe to toe… and then some.

But now, Clarke had stepped into new territory. Dazza.

What began as a night of passion—a curiosity Clarke and Lexa wanted to explore—had become something else.

Ontari saw it clearly.

Dazza had become a refuge. A mentor to Clarke. A guide. A steady hand.

She saw how Lexa responded to her too—how her posture eased, how her breathing settled when Dazza was around.

Ontari was happy for them. Happy Clarke had her. Happy she had her.

These training sessions revealed just how deeply Clarke was beginning to trust this fierce, mysterious woman—someone clearly intent on shaping her into something more. Something stronger.

And watching Clarke squirm under Dazza’s charm?

Yeah. That alone made waking up this early completely worth it.

Ontari handed Clarke the stitching kit, the needle already threaded. She reached for the vial of anesthetic, ready to numb the wound—
but Dazza stopped her with a hand to her cheek.

“Ai nou fir op strik laudnes, strik won. Kep em. Ku, meizen?”

I’m not afraid of a little pain, little one. Save it. Okay, beautiful?

Ontari smiled and nodded.

She wasn’t part of their little triangle—but Dazza was quickly becoming a mentor to her too. One who didn’t coddle. One who pushed. One who reminded her of Nia in so many ways—
the same voice that could bend others with silk-soft commands.

But where Nia was ice, Dazza was fire. Warm. Fierce. Adoring in her own way.

Ontari was letting her in, spark by spark.

She stepped back, and Clarke began to stitch. Dazza just smiled, steady as ever.

“Keep going, Strikon. I won’t break.”

Clarke finished the last stitch, and they headed upstairs.

“You did good today. Both of you,” Dazza said, ruffling their hair as they passed.

Clarke and Ontari both nodded, exchanging a glance. They’d worked together—finally breaking through Dazza’s defenses for the first time in days.

Later, they’d need to do the same with ALIE. All of them. As a team.

Dazza disappeared into her room. Ontari into hers. Clarke sighed and headed to her own. She needed a shower.

Hopefully, Lexa was already up.

She stepped inside. The bed was empty—made. From the bathroom, she heard the water running and smiled, pulling off her clothes.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the wall mirror and paused.

She’d never looked better.

No longer the scrawny, half-crazed girl Lexa had dragged out of the woods. Not even the beautifully filled-out young woman Lexa had married.

Now, she was strong. Defined. Her stomach wasn’t soft anymore—still not chiseled like Lexa’s, but getting there. Her arms were wiry, muscles shifting as she flexed.

She grinned.

Covered in bruises. But beauty required sacrifice.

Maybe it was time for ink. That would be sexy.

She stepped into the bathroom.

Lexa was humming softly under the stream, eyes closed. She beamed when she saw Clarke and stepped aside to make room.

Clarke stepped in and kissed her.

“The usual?” she asked.

Lexa smiled and nodded. “The usual.”

🛩️🛩️🛩️🛩️🛩️🛩️🛩️

Altitude: 35,000 feet.
Ground speed: Mach 1.2.

Moss’s voice came flat and emotionless as the robodog stood in the center of the passenger bay.

The F75 was built for six passengers—and two pilots. It was currently carrying twenty. Not ideal, but manageable. It was a short flight.

Emerson and his unit.
Lexa, Clarke, Ontari, Echo, and Dazza.
RoBecca, Raven, Ronen, Monty—who was openly holding Mona’s hand.
Kush.

It was go time.

Everyone was armed to the teeth. Moss had been outfitted with every gadget Raven could strap to its frame.

“ETA: ten minutes,” Moss announced. “Deploying EMP.”

Lexa turned, catching a streak of fire through the front glass. A dull red flare arcing through the sky. She closed her eyes and, without a word, reached out—took Clarke’s hand in one, Dazza’s in the other.

The three of them closed their eyes and—

Prayed.

To spirits. To gods. To the universe.
To whoever might be listening.

This had to work.

Because where they were going…
ALIE had a hundred years to prepare.
And Becca had left her far too many toys to play with.

No one said a word. No one had to.
Everyone understood this wasn’t a standard op.
This was a last-ditch attempt to stop an enemy that didn’t feel pain.
Didn’t sleep.
Didn’t care.

A brilliant AI hellbent on turning what remained of humanity into code—
into something inhuman.
Dead in every way that mattered.

And they were doing this because, somehow, each of them had found something worth living for.

“Prepare for landing,” Moss said flatly. “Scans show no digital activity on the surface.”

The plane dipped through the clouds.

And then they saw it.

Becca’s island—a single dot, growing fast in an endless sea of blue.

The F75 descended low, hovered above the beach, then touched down with a soft thud.

“How’s the air?” Raven asked.

“Clean,” RoBecca replied. “Let’s go.”

The ramp dropped. RoBecca stepped out first, letting out something between a breath and a synthetic sigh.

“Home… sweet home.”

Moss followed close behind, bristling with weapons and tech—like a porcupine made of war.

They spotted the wreckage immediately—drones scattered across the sand, lifeless, fried by the EMP.

Then Moss froze.

“Life forms detected.”

Emerson and his team surged out, weapons drawn, taking positions just as the treeline parted.

Five paunas stepped out.
Towering. Mutated. Massive.

But not wild.
Not rabid.

Almost mechanical.

Until they moved.

With a sudden roar, they launched forward—
and Emerson barely had time to shout, “Open fire!” before Moss and the squad lit them up in a thunderstorm of bullets.

One of the paunas broke through the line.

It slammed into a warrior, teeth sinking into his side—ripping a chunk of flesh clean out.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Emerson’s rifle barked three sharp rounds, high-caliber and unforgiving. The pauna’s head exploded, spraying bone and blood across the sand.

Lexa and Dazza drew their swords, twin blades flashing in the sun, ready to leap in—

But Clarke grabbed them both by the belts. “Stop!” she shouted. “Let them!”

Lexa looked furious, but Clarke was right. They’d only get in the way now.

Moss, on the other hand, was in its element—efficient, ruthless, beautiful in motion. Its twin machine guns roared to life, syncing perfectly with the soldiers and warriors around it. Together, they shredded the remaining four beasts.

Silence fell.

Then a scream.

Another warrior lay on the ground, his arm torn off at the shoulder. Ontari rushed to him with her med kit, Clarke right behind her.

Lexa exhaled, eyes narrowing. She turned to Becca.

Becca sighed. “I used animals to test the Flame. ALIE’s controlling them.”

“That’s not possible,” Raven said. “You saw how they moved—coordinated. Like a unit. The EMP should’ve knocked out anything on the surface.”

RoBecca knelt beside one of the bodies, pointing to a small metal bracket clamped around its leg.

“Lab 22,” she said.

“They weren’t on the surface.”

Raven turned to RoBecca. “I don’t get it. Lab 22? How many labs do you actually have down there? And you were experimenting on… paunas? Mutant gorillas? Where the hell did she even get those?”

Becca whirled around, sharp. “This entire island is one giant underground lab. Cadogan wasn’t the only one preparing for all possibilities.”

She pointed to the massive corpses scattered across the sand.

“And these? These aren’t your jungle-born, wedding-present variety King Kongs. They’re engineered.”

Becca crouched beside one of the fallen paunas and pried the warrior’s mangled hand from between its bloodied teeth. Nearby, Emerson gently closed the eyes of the soldier who’d taken the bite to the side—gone before he hit the ground.

“We might be able to reattach it,” Becca said quietly, nodding toward the severed hand. “If we can get inside. And next time—EMP them first. She’ll lose control. You’ll see… they go pretty docile once ALIE isn’t driving them anymore.”

She paused, voice flat.

“Just like people. God knows I’ve… seen it. Back when monkeys were still cute.”

Mona glanced at Kush. He met her eyes.

In their culture, animals were sacred. Revered. What humanity had done to them—experimented, weaponized—was among its gravest sins.

But now, Mona and Kush had their own secrets. Specifically, certain romantic escapades they preferred not be included in any official report.

Maybe this ugly little detail—the bioengineered paunas—didn’t need to make it into the records either.

“Don’t cauterize the wound. Not yet,” RoBecca said, crouching beside Ontari and Clarke as they worked on the injured warrior. “And don’t tighten the tourniquet too much. I need enough viable tissue to operate on once we get inside.”

“I can’t reattach a damn arm,” Clarke snapped, hands covered in blood as she helped Liza stabilize the man. “Neither can she. And Lexa doesn’t have the Flame—so you can’t body-snatch her again.”

“When we get in there,” Becca said calmly, “I won’t have to. You’ll see.”

“Eyes up,” Emerson called out. “Let’s move.”

Bellamy and Nimer moved in, lifting the semi-conscious, bandaged warrior to his feet. He groaned but managed to stay upright, and the group turned toward the center of the island.

“You… okay?” Monty asked Mona, voice low. “That was… pretty crazy.”

Mona didn’t answer. Instead, she looked to Lexa.

“Heda. If there are more animals—once you EMP them—let me handle them. Okay?”

Lexa studied her, brow raised.

Then nodded.

They moved into the woods, Moss leading the way, scanners sweeping every direction. Every few feet, another downed drone littered the forest floor—fried circuits and twisted metal, silent casualties of the EMP.

ALIE had guarded this place well.

Suddenly, Moss halted mid-stride. “More life forms detected. Approaching from all sides.”

Before anyone could react, a sleek black panther leapt from the underbrush.

“Hold fire!” Emerson barked, already triggering a fresh EMP blast.

The pulse rippled through the trees.

And then—
a chorus of roars echoed through the forest.

Two dozen panthers emerged from the undergrowth, circling the group. They didn’t attack. They were… confused. Disoriented. Released from control.

No more ALIE.

Mona stepped forward slowly, then dropped to one knee. She began speaking softly in Afrikaans, voice low and soothing.

One of the panthers padded forward, ears twitching. It sniffed her outstretched hand.

Monty raised his gun—

“Shhh,” Mona said, lifting her hand to stop him. “I got this.”

She stroked the panther’s head gently as it pressed into her palm.

And just to cap off the moment?

Ontari casually wrapped an arm around a very alarmed-looking Moss.

“He’s the alpha,” Mona said quietly. “Leader of the pack.”

“Give me some food.”

Clarke reached into her pack and pulled out a piece of grilled chicken breast—the only meat Dazza allowed her to eat lately. She sighed and handed it over.

Mona held it out, steady and calm. The panther purred and licked the meat right from her hand.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

The panther dropped down at her side, growled low—and the rest of the pack melted back into the trees, silent as shadows.

Mona stroked its face gently, then smiled.

“Let’s move.”

Monty swallowed hard.

His pants were suddenly a little too tight.

“Let’s go,” Lexa said, and the group pressed forward—
the panther now silently trailing Mona like a loyal shadow.

“I… don’t feel super comfortable with that,” Raven muttered, leaning into Ronen and nodding toward the big cat.

“And I don’t feel comfortable with that,” Ronen replied, gesturing to Ontari.
And Moss.

Raven snorted. “To each their own, babe.”

Ronen kissed her temple.

Eventually, they reached a strange metal protrusion jutting out of the earth—two thick doors sealed tight.

“Do we knock?” Echo asked. “Hope she answers?”

Raven grinned and pulled a USB stick from her belt. “Pretty much.”

She jammed it into a slot on the panel beside the doors.

“It’s the key,” RoBecca said. “An override code. I built this place. And when I built doors…” she shrugged, “I always built an extra set of keys.”

With a hiss of pressurised air, the doors unlocked and slid open.

“Go,” Ontari said, turning to Moss.

A panel slid open on the robodog’s back, and a small drone launched forward, zipping through the open doors.

Lexa and Clarke watched the live feed on the tablet in Becca’s hands, Raven leaning over her shoulder. The rest of the group clustered around the small display on Moss’s head.

Empty hallways.
Pristine labs.
Some rooms lined with open cages—where the animals had once been kept.

“Looks like she’s used up all her tricks,” Clarke muttered.

“This is exactly what Titus would’ve done,” Dazza said. “Swift. Decisive. Show of force. If she’s still wired like him… it makes sense she’s listening.”

“Here,” Becca said, stepping up to the wall. She opened a port in her forearm and plugged it into a matching slot on the panel.

On the screens, systems across the facility began to power down—then reboot.

“This should take the lab’s networks offline… temporarily,” Becca explained. “The Flame gives some protection. It’ll purge ALIE out—for a few hours.”

She looked at them all, serious now. “So we’re on the clock. Let’s go.”

She turned, gesturing toward the open door. “Time for a tour.”

She nodded to Raven and Mona. “The techie and the cat whisperer can grab the processor. I’ll operate on this guy—” she pointed to the severed hand now in Kush’s grasp, “—but we need to get it on ice. So move.”

They moved down the corridor and descended a flight of stairs.

“This way,” Becca said, leading them deeper into the facility. A right turn, another set of stairs—
and they stepped into an operating room.

But it wasn’t standard.

Surrounding the central table were circular rigs lined with robotic arms, each equipped with micro-tools and surgical instruments. A fully automated surgical unit.

“Put the hand here,” Becca said, pointing to a drawer that hissed open—cold vapor spilling out.

Kush blinked, then carefully placed the severed hand inside.

“Lay him down,” she told Bellamy.

Bellamy lifted the injured warrior onto the table. Before anyone could ask questions, Becca stepped to the wall, plugged herself into a port, and transferred data in a flash.

One of the robotic arms descended, injected the patient with a sedative, and the man slipped into unconsciousness.

“Give me a minute…” Becca said, uploading the last of the instructions. Then she disconnected and stepped back. “We can go. The system will handle the operation from here.”

As she spoke, the rings above began to spin. Delicate arms lowered, removing the bandages and carefully debriding the wound.

Clarke glanced at Ontari and both thought—
This is what Becca meant when she said Abby would be salivating.

“Come,” Becca said. “I’ll take you to the main level.”

They followed her to a large elevator—massive, industrial. As the doors slid open, Becca pressed the button for Level 12.

“There are… twenty-five levels?” Clarke asked, glancing at the panel.

“Are you sure we can just leave him there?” Liza asked, turning to Becca as the doors closed.

“Don’t worry,” Becca replied. “I’m plugged into the network now. I’ll monitor the surgery remotely.”

The elevator descended smoothly, humming with quiet power.

When the doors opened, they stepped into a vast hall—lined with glowing screens, computer terminals, and a towering set of sealed bay doors at the far end.

“Won’t ALIE try to take you over?” Raven asked, eyeing RoBecca. “If you’re connected to the network?”

“I’m wirelessly linked to the Flame back at the bunker,” RoBecca said. “It should keep me safe.”

“This,” Becca said, gesturing to a massive machine in the corner, “is where the quantum computer is. Get to work.”

“Wait,” Ontari cut in. “Why not just have Moss use this one to generate a kill code? End this now?”

“It would take me a full day to generate the required software,” Moss replied. “I presume we don’t have that kind of time.”

RoBecca nodded. “Moss is right.”

She pulled up a holographic map of the local network. Green nodes represented the Flame. Red ones—ALIE.

“She’s everywhere here,” RoBecca said. “I’m holding her off… but not for long.”

“Is that the…?” Raven asked, pointing toward the massive bay doors.

RoBecca nodded and walked to one of the consoles, plugging in. The doors hissed open, revealing a long metal staircase leading up to the top of a rocket.

“That’s how I perfected Nightblood—my anti-radiation serum,” Becca said, stepping forward. “It can only bind properly in a zero-G environment. So… every time we made a batch, it had to go up into space for final processing.”

Lexa tugged Clarke’s arm, eyes wide. “You… lived in that? No wonder you’re afraid of tight spaces.”

Clarke laughed. “No, silly. That’s just how people got up there.”

She turned to face her. “What I lived in… was the size of a city. You saw it—what came down to Earth. Arkadia? The Alpha Station? That was just one of twelve. All of them were connected.”

Lexa nodded slowly, the scale finally sinking in.

“Can you… maybe ask your new friend to get lost or something?” Raven said, nodding at the massive panther still calmly sitting by Mona’s side. “We really need to get moving here.”

“He won’t hurt you,” Mona said. “I promise. Trust me.”

Now wasn’t the time to explain where she came from—
a world where nature and humans lived as equals,
where all of God’s creations were treated with reverence.

Where animals were only taken under two conditions:
to be eaten within three days, or if they posed a direct threat to human life.

Where she’d left behind Simba—her family’s lion, royal and proud, a full member of the household.
Where, as a child, she used to stick her head in his mouth just to see what his fangs looked like from the inside.

This guy?

A total softie.
A three-year-old from Jaha could tame him.
And now that he’d eaten Clarke’s lunch?

He’d guard them all with his life.

Kush walked over to the panther and scratched gently behind its ears.

“Mona speaks true,” he said. “We… have our ways with animals.”

Then, without hesitation, he dragged the massive cat to a corner, nudged it down to the floor as it growled low in protest—
and calmly offered it a morsel of food.

The panther licked it from his palm, let out a soft chuff, and settled.

Kush stood, brushing off his hands, and turned back to the group with a grin. “Go. I’ll stay with him. Make sure he behaves.”

Dazza approached cautiously, hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. “Uh… I’ll watch it too.”

Suddenly, Kush had become a lot more interesting.

He reached out gently and took her hand off the weapon. “Don’t. Animals sense fear. I’ve got this… just sit.”

She hesitated, then nodded—and sat beside him.

Meanwhile, Raven approached the quantum computer. “Oookay… how do I even—?”

Becca tapped a few commands into a nearby console. A holographic projection of the unit flared to life in the center of the room.

“Here,” she said, pointing to a glowing core inside the image. “This is what we need. The processor.”

Mona rolled her eyes. “I knew that.”

Raven pulled a screwdriver from her bag and crouched beside the quantum computer, unscrewing the panel with practiced ease. Mona joined her, already rolling up her sleeves.

“Come,” RoBecca said, motioning to Lexa and Clarke. “Let me show you around.”

The rest of the team stayed behind, settling into the lab space. Lexa and Clarke followed RoBecca up a staircase tucked behind a glass wall that overlooked the main chamber.

At the top was an office-like control room. A massive screen dominated the wall, displaying security feeds from across the facility.

“This is the bottom floor,” RoBecca said, pointing to one of the feeds. “Fuel storage for the rocket. See the tanks?”

Another screen flashed—“Level 24: Storage.”

“These four levels—24 through 21—are all supply storage. And here,” she pointed again, “Level 20. My 3D printing facility. ALIE’s been using it…”

The camera panned over scattered materials—parts, wires, drone casings.

“She’s been printing drone components,” RoBecca continued, clicking through levels 19 to 17. “Full robotics manufacturing floors.”

“That explains the sheer number of drones,” Clarke said. “Are there any active inside?”

RoBecca shook her head. “I control the network—for now. I don’t detect any drones currently online.”

She moved on. “This is the genetic engineering floor—Level 16. Mostly robotic, too.”

Then her voice changed.

“Wait… what the hell is this?”

She tapped a few commands. A camera feed came into view.

Massive tanks filled the room. Inside them—suspended in fluid—were human forms. Embryonic. Developing.

Clarke pointed to one tank. It was empty, but the harness and tubes inside hung loosely, as if something had recently been inside.

“What is this?” Lexa asked.

“She…” Becca hesitated. “She finished what I started. Project NoVida.”

Her robotic voice flickered with tension. “She made herself a body.”

Lexa stiffened. “How is that even possible?”

Becca said nothing. Instead, she hit rewind on the feed.

Timestamp: Three days ago.

The video showed the tank opening. A body slid out—naked, limp. A man.

Titus.

A mechanical arm descended and injected something into his neck. His body convulsed, then jolted upright.

He stood. Walked. Gathered supplies.

Becca clicked through camera feeds—tracking him through the facility. The last footage showed him leaving.

“What the fuck…” Clarke muttered. “This guy just doesn’t know how to stay dead. Where’d he go?”

“If he didn’t leave the island,” Becca said, “there’s only one place he could be.”

Her voice darkened.

“The mansion.”

She turned, already moving. “And if he’s out there… and we’re in here…”

Lexa didn’t wait for the rest.

She bolted for the stairs, shouting: “Emerson! Take a team—guard the entrance! We’re not alone on this island!”

“Wouldn’t the EMP have fried the chip?” Clarke asked as they followed.

Becca shook her head. “No. The chip only transferred his mind into the body. The EMP may have killed the chip, but if he made it to the mansion—”

She didn’t finish.

A blast rocked the facility. One of the live feeds flashed white before cutting to static. The camera had caught Emerson mid-sprint—thrown backward as the entrance exploded, buried under a cascade of rubble.

“Very, very screwed,” Becca said, jaw clenched.

The radio crackled.

Emerson’s voice came through: “I’m okay… but fuck. I am not spending the rest of my life trapped in a bunker again.”

Clarke rushed out to Liza. “Where’s the jet?”

Liza turned to Moss.

“It’s a few miles out,” Moss replied calmly. “I had it flown to a safe distance.”

“Get it back—now,” Clarke snapped. “We need eyes on what’s happening outside.”

Minutes later, as Emerson and Bellamy came sprinting back into the lab, the jet reappeared above the island. Emerson was covered in dust; Bellamy had a nasty gash running along his hairline. Liza ran to him immediately, already digging into her med kit.

The jet’s live feed appeared on the lab’s main screen. It zoomed in on the shattered entrance—
Titus stood there. Calm. Waiting.

Then the camera pulled back—
and the ocean around the island erupted.

One submarine surfaced.
Then another.
Then a third.

Without warning, they opened fire.
The jet veered off hard, banking up into the clouds, taking a few hits as it barely escaped.

“Light the island up,” Becca said flatly. “Kill this asshole.”

“Emerson was right,” Clarke muttered. “We’re screwed. ALIE’s going to retake the lab any minute now, and we’ve got no way out.”

Becca turned to her. “Then I hope you don’t mind going back to space.”

She pointed to the rocket behind her.

“Because that is our only ride off this rock.”

On screen, the jet circled back and rained down a volley of missiles across the island—but the subs were already gone. Slipped back beneath the surface. No way to track them. No way to strike.

Becca exhaled sharply and turned toward the elevator.

“Come with me. Let’s check out what else ALIE’s cooking on Level 16. And for the record,” she added, glancing at Clarke, “I’m done with ‘RoBecca.’ I need to be able to work like a real human being again—if we’re going to pull this off.”

“Monty,” she said over her shoulder, “help Mona with the processor.”

“Raven—come with us. I might need backup.”

“And we’ll need to retrofit the rocket. It can’t hold all of us as-is.”

Clarke didn’t answer.
She just watched Raven smile—way too excited at the thought of going to space.

They rode the elevator down to Floor 16.

The doors opened to reveal a sprawling lab—cold, clinical, and decades beyond anything Cadogan had left behind. Robotics, machinery, biotech—all a century ahead of its time.

RoBecca walked slowly toward one of the suspension vats, eyes fixed on the figure floating inside.

Her own face stared back.

ALIE had built her a body.

“We need to destroy this place,” Lexa said quietly, scanning the rows of equipment. “It’s too dangerous.”

RoBecca nodded. “I agree. It’s a loss—there’s so much here we could use. But the risk isn’t worth it.” She placed her palm gently against the glass of the vat. “But this… I want to keep.”

Raven stepped closer, peering into the fluid. “You’re hot,” she muttered, eyeing the suspended body.

Two more vats lined the wall—one with a backup body for Titus. Another for ALIE herself.

Lexa looked at RoBecca. “You’ve earned my trust. Again and again. I won’t object.”

RoBecca nodded, then turned to the console. She plugged herself in.

One of the vats hissed open. The body—her body—slid out slowly, cables detaching as the liquid drained into the floor. The lifeless form collapsed gently, face down.

A voice filled the room: “Initiating data transfer.”

RoBecca’s mechanical form powered down instantly. Limbs stiff. Eyes dark.

“What the hell just happened?” Clarke asked, stepping forward as Raven rushed to the console.

“Hold on—got it,” Raven said, typing rapidly. “This should do it—”

She hit enter. A robotic arm descended, precise and clinical, inserting a chip into the base of the body’s skull.

The body jolted. Spasmed.

Then coughed.

Lexa and Clarke were there in seconds, lifting her up. Helping her sit. She blinked at them, dazed.

Her gaze fell to Lexa’s hands on her arms.

“I… haven’t felt touch,” she whispered, voice cracking—
“in over a hundred years.”

“You also haven’t been naked in over a hundred years,” Raven said, digging into her backpack and pulling out a bundle of clothes.

“Griff,” she added, glancing over her shoulder. “Gonna need some of your stuff—Doc here’s got a little more going on than me.” She gestured at her chest, then nodded toward Becca.

Clarke sighed, rolled her eyes, and reached into her pack. She tossed Raven a bra and shirt.

Lexa, meanwhile, was blinking—hard. Seeing Becca as a screen projection or a robot was one thing. Seeing her alive… real… was something else entirely.

“We need to move,” Becca said, as Raven and Lexa helped her clumsily into the clothes. “We’ve got maybe an hour—tops—before ALIE regains control of the base.”

“What’s the plan?” Raven asked, adjusting Becca’s shirt. “We go up, then come back down?”

Becca shook her head, still fumbling slightly with the fabric like someone who hadn’t dressed themselves in a century.

“No. We go up… and we stay there. The landing system can’t handle the full load with our remaining fuel. It’s too heavy. The plan is to dock with the missile platform already in orbit—see if we can siphon enough fuel to land later.”

“And if not?” Clarke asked.

Becca met her eyes. “Then we don’t come back down.”

Raven shrugged, unfazed. “I don’t mind the view.”

They returned to Level 12.

Becca moved up the steps to the glass-paneled office, standing where everyone could see her. She ignored the wide-eyed stares at her newly human appearance—there was no time for shock.

“Here’s the plan,” she said, voice sharp and steady. “We have one hour—maybe less—before the system stops responding to me and ALIE locks us in. So listen carefully.”

She looked out over the group.

“There’s no way back to the surface. Even if we could break through the rubble, we’d be vaporized the second we stepped outside. You saw the footage—she’s surrounded the island. The jet can’t land.”

She started delegating without missing a beat.

“Raven, Monty, Mona—get the processor out and secured. Liza, Clarke—head to the med floor, check on Bruno. His surgery should be done by now. Everyone else—you’re with me. We’re going to prep the rocket. It’s our only ticket out.”

She paused, glancing toward Mona.

“And we’re not taking a panther into space.”

Mona looked ready to argue, but stopped herself. The weight of their situation was already settling in. There was no room for attachment—only survival.

“Let’s go,” Clarke said, stepping into the elevator with Liza and Moss close behind.

Just before the doors shut, Dazza slipped in beside them. Clarke blinked.

“I’m your bodyguard, remember?” Dazza said flatly. Then her tone softened. “You okay? This is… a lot.”

Clarke sighed. “Are you?”

Dazza straightened, gaze steady. “This was meant to happen. You’ll see. Something good will come of it.”

Clarke wanted to believe that. She really did. They were about to board a century-old rocket, headed for the crumbling remains of the Ark—with no guarantees they’d ever make it back down.

But then it hit her.

Lexa… was going to space.
With her.

Clarke grinned.

Spirits… Lexa will see the Ark with her own eyes. And maybe… space sex?

The elevator dinged.

“We’re here,” Ontari said, leading the way.

They stepped into the operating room. Bruno was still unconscious, but the sight of his arm stopped them in their tracks—perfectly reattached, the skin pink and healthy. Recovery would take time, but with Ronen joining them, at least Bruno would have support on the Ark. He might even regain full function.

“Bruno,” Clarke said, tapping his face. “Wake up.”

Instead of him stirring, Dazza smacked Clarke’s ass—decidedly not lightly—then hoisted Bruno over her shoulder with ease.

“Let’s go.”

They made it back to the main floor. The rest of the team was waiting.

Becca stepped forward, then looked away, expression hardening.

“Moss can’t come,” she said. “We don’t have the space. And frankly, he’s better off staying here—guarding the coalition.”

“He can launch after us, right?” Clarke asked. “Fly out of the silo?”

Ontari turned to Moss. “Can you?”

Moss nodded. Then looked at the panther. “I can take him too.”

Ontari blinked. “Why? Why would you—”

“I don’t know,” Moss said. “I just… want to help.”

Becca rolled her eyes, exasperated, then turned to Liza and pinched her cheek.

“I should’ve had you teach ALIE,” she muttered. “Maybe then she wouldn’t have turned into such a maniac.”

Meanwhile, Lexa worked in silence, helping Raven retrofit the rocket’s cramped cabin with extra seats. Her movements were precise, focused—but her mind was clearly elsewhere.

Clarke walked over and handed her a wrench. “You okay, Lex?”

Lexa nodded without meeting her eyes.

“Lex,” Clarke said firmly. “Talk to me.”

Lexa exhaled. “I should’ve been more careful. This is on me. Us getting trapped here… now maybe getting stranded in space. You going back up there… Liza risking her life… I should’ve stopped you. This was my burden to carry. Not yours.”

She looked away. “Instead, I dragged all of you into this.”

Clarke shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”

Lexa blinked.

“I love you. Liza loves you. Raven loves you. Your people would follow you into the stars. And yeah—it’s messy and twisted, but even Dazza loves you in her own way. You didn’t drag us here, Lexa. We came because we believe in you. Because we’re your family. And family doesn’t let each other face hell alone.”

Lexa looked down, jaw tight.

“This was meant to happen,” Clarke said gently. “Plans fall apart. But what does Dazza always say?”

Lexa finally cracked a smile. “Faith lasts.”

“So have faith,” Clarke said softly. “We’ll be okay. And if we have to spend some time in space… so be it. It’s not all bad. You’ll see.”

“My father will get us back. Don’t worry.”

They turned to see Mona and Monty wheeling in a heavy crate, the processor securely fastened inside. Mona latched it to the wall with precision.

“New Afrika is close to launching a spacecraft that can reach us—wherever we end up,” she added.

Clarke blinked. “Your father?”

Mona nodded. “Chief Miti. He’s my father. He won’t leave us stranded.” She glanced at Clarke. “We can talk about my ancestry later.”

Clarke turned to Monty. “You knew?”

Monty just shrugged. “You care about politics. I care about Mona.”

Lexa smiled. “As you should.”

Suddenly, Becca burst into the room, urgency in every step. “We’ve got to go. Now. I’m losing control of the system.”

Her voice cut through the moment like a blade.

“Everyone—inside! Strap in! We’re out of time!”

Ontari sprinted to Moss. “Go—now! This place is going to blow!”

Moss’s quad propellers snapped out from its sides, lifting it smoothly into the air. It hovered for a beat, then veered toward the panther, gripping the animal with its mechanical legs and hoisting it off the ground.

“Stay safe,” Moss called to Liza. A brief pause. “Come back safe.”

Then it shot upward through the launch shaft and vanished into the darkness just as distant blasts began to echo.

“Shit—she’s trying to take it down,” Clarke said. “She’s waiting for us…”

The explosions grew louder. Alarms blared. Every screen in the command center flickered, glitched, then went black—before suddenly rebooting in red.

“Now!” Becca yelled from the front. “We have seconds!”

The engines roared to life below them.

“Strap in!” Clarke shouted, grabbing Lexa’s harness and locking it down before strapping in herself. Dazza dropped into the seat beside her; Ontari locked in beside Lexa. Becca took the pilot’s seat next to Raven, fingers flying across the panel.

Around the cabin, everyone scrambled into the makeshift seats bolted to the frame. The pressure was rising—literally.

The main door hissed closed—

“Wait!” Emerson shouted. “Where’s Reilly?!”

They all turned—saw him pounding on the exterior window just as—

BOOM.

The rocket was swallowed by fire, the cabin shuddering violently under the force. Everyone was thrown back in their seats. The ship roared as it ripped free from the silo, fire and smoke trailing beneath it—Reilly’s image vanishing in the blaze.

Clarke gritted her teeth as the pressure mounted and the Earth fell away beneath them.

Clarke reached over and grabbed Lexa’s hand, her own face stretched tight from the G-force. “You wanted to see space? Well—give it a mmmminuuute!”

Lexa was pale, eyes wide, gripping the armrest like it might save her soul.

Dazza? Completely unfazed.

Liza? Grinning like a maniac.

“This is ammmmazzzing!” Ontari managed to shout, her voice warping under the pressure. Even Lexa cracked a smile—though it might’ve just been her face getting pulled back by gravity.

“First stage booster separation in 3… 2… 1…”

The rocket jolted hard, the entire cabin rattling as metal groaned and fire streaked past the window.

Lexa stared, wide-eyed, at the small round pane—flames licking the edges… and then, just beyond it… stars.

“Second stage booster separation in 3… 2… 1…”

Another violent shudder—and then silence.

Raven unbuckled her harness, and like it was nothing, drifted weightless into the air.

“Boys and girls… Hedas and Wanhedas… welcome to zero G,” she said with a grin.

Lexa turned to Clarke, dazed.

Clarke reached out, floating slightly. “Welcome to space, babe.”

She pointed to the window.

Lexa blinked—and everything she thought she knew about beauty shattered. Whatever they’d seen from the jet didn’t even come close.

“The Ark remnants should be about twenty minutes out,” Becca said from the front. “In the meantime… enjoy the ride.”

She unstrapped and floated out of her seat, spinning midair in a perfect flip. Lexa blinked, watching her.

Now that Becca was human again—really human—Lexa saw her clearly for the first time. Not a voice in her head. Not a robotic shell. A young woman, maybe Dazza’s age. Late twenties. A spark in her eye. Weightless and laughing.

“C’mon, love,” Clarke said, watching Ontari drift back toward Echo, who still looked slightly rattled. “Hopefully we only get to experience this once.”

She helped Lexa unclip her harness, then turned to Dazza, who checked on Kush.

“You good?” Dazza asked.

“Not exactly how I pictured today,” he muttered.

Dazza smiled. Something had shifted in her the moment she saw him wrestle that panther to the ground. Maybe it was time this young man felt what life could actually feel like. She gave him one of her quiet, killer smiles.

Clarke took Lexa’s hand and gently pushed off. They floated forward together, tethered by fingers.

“We’re flying,” Lexa whispered, wide-eyed.

Clarke smiled. “With you? I always am.”

Lexa kissed her cheek, not caring who saw. “Cheesy.”

From the other side of the cabin, Raven smirked as she floated past to help Ronen with his harness.

“Lexa just said cheesy. I swear, I’m writing a book one day: The Undoing of the Commander.”

They floated toward the window together, Clarke tugging Lexa gently by the hand. “This is what I saw,” she murmured. “Never thought I’d see it again… but here we are. And I’m so fucking happy I get to share this with you… my love.”

She wrapped her arms around Lexa as they stared out at the Earth below—brilliant, blue, alive.

“We’re going to have to tell Mom,” Ontari said, drifting closer with Echo in tow. “She’s gonna lose her mind.”

“I’ll talk to Abby,” Becca said from behind them. “I’ll explain everything. We’re safe, for now. Hopefully the Ark’s in good shape. We have food for a week, maybe more. So… think of this as a vacation.”

“Moss will protect them,” Ontari said softly. “I still can’t believe it offered to save the panther. It’s like…”

“It had a good example to follow,” Dazza said.

She looked at Clarke and Lexa—at Ontari, too—and wanted to pull them into her arms. Tell them it would all be okay. That they would survive this. That their story had always been written in the stars. But now wasn’t the time.

Instead, she turned to Becca, who was quietly watching the Earth.

“How are you… human again?” Dazza asked.

Becca sighed. “I started a project… an experiment. Growing life outside the womb. At first, to help people who couldn’t have children. Later… it became something more. ALIE finished it. She made a body for herself. One for Titus. And now… one for me.”

“How does it feel?” Dazza asked.

Becca smiled. “I can’t describe it. It’s… overwhelming. Every breath, every movement… I feel alive again. And I’m grateful. No complaints.”

Dazza nodded, holding her gaze. “I’m glad you’re with us.”

They floated for another fifteen minutes or so before Becca’s voice called out, “Strap back in. We’re about to dock.”

She pointed to a massive ring drifting silently above the Earth just ahead of them.

“It’s dark,” Raven said, squinting.

“Not anymore,” Becca replied, pressing a few keys. The structure lit up instantly, casting a pale glow across the cabin.

Clarke and Lexa buckled in side by side. As the illuminated ring came closer into view, Clarke exhaled softly. “Now that’s… home.”

And in that moment, she realized something. The Ark had never felt like home before. But now, sitting beside Lexa, her fingers interlaced with hers, Clarke understood why. This was different. This was right.

She couldn’t stop smiling. Her mind wandered to what their quarters might look like—probably a cramped metal room with a hard bed and cold walls. But she pictured them inside it. Her and Lexa. That would make it home.

Clarke glanced at Dazza, strapped in next to them, steady and unshaken. Maybe up here, far from the chaos, with Dazza so clearly devoted to being by their side—whatever she was to them now—Lexa could finally let it all go.

Clarke squeezed her hand tighter. Dazza’s words echoed in her mind: You’ll see. Something good will come out of this.

And Clarke believed it. She leaned her head on Lexa’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
It already had.

Chapter Text

Clarke stood by the large observation window of the Ark, arms folded, gazing down at the Earth. It was just as beautiful as she remembered—maybe even more so—but it felt… slightly less breathtaking today. Mostly because Earth’s true beauty, the one with tousled hair and a sinful tongue, was still refusing to get out of bed back in their cramped quarters.

Day four in orbit. Likely not the last.

The mystery behind ALIE’s decision to leave the Ark’s nuclear warhead untouched now made perfect sense. When Sydney hijacked the Exodus ship nearly a year ago, she hadn’t just scrambled the Ark’s systems—she’d damaged the warhead housing as well. Whatever fuel remained had leaked out long ago. So now, all they could do was wait.

Wait for the African shuttle—a spacecraft that hadn’t flown in over a century—to be restored and launched. When Mona finally re-established contact with her father, after Becca repaired the Ark’s comms, Chief Miti hadn’t yelled, hadn’t chastised her for revealing her identity. He’d simply sighed, gathered the ministers, and ordered the restoration of the shuttle hidden deep beneath the continent in a sealed hangar.

Abby, on the other hand, had not taken the news nearly as well.

Despite Becca’s calm assurances that everyone aboard was safe and that rescue was only a matter of time, all Abby had heard was the part where her daughters were trapped in space. The rest didn’t matter.

Clarke exhaled heavily, her breath fogging the glass for a moment.

Then—footsteps. Measured. Firm. Echoing through the corridor.

Dazza.

There was no day or night up here, not really, but the schedule hadn’t changed. Dazza kept to it as if time itself bowed to her will. Training sessions with Clarke and Ontari continued daily—daily, now measured by the cold, indifferent clock on the wall instead of any sun.

Clarke didn’t mind. Not really.

Routine was good. Especially when home was a floating metal coffin.

Clarke turned as Dazza approached, silently joining her at the observation window. The Earth below looked impossibly small, almost fragile.

“It seems so… small from up here,” Dazza said, gazing out. “I never thought I’d see it like this.”

Clarke gave a quiet smile. “Looks can be deceiving,” she replied, placing her palm gently against the glass. “I never imagined there could be so much life down there. So much beauty… and chaos.”

Dazza nodded with a faint smile. “Lexa still asleep?”

Clarke nodded. Up here, where there were no wars to lead, no councils to command, no responsibilities pulling at her every moment—Lexa struggled. Her identity had always been tied to duty. Without that constant pressure, she seemed adrift. Becca had taken on the technical demands of their survival—regulating oxygen, guiding Monty with the algae system, helping Raven repair life support. Lexa wasn’t used to being… unnecessary. It weighed on her.

But Clarke wasn’t the only one carrying that burden anymore.

“Come,” Dazza said, not turning toward the gym but instead leading Clarke to their shared quarters.

Clarke followed, curious.

At the door, Dazza placed her hand on the panel and it slid open. Lexa was curled up on the narrow cot they shared. She wasn’t asleep—Clarke could tell—but she was trying to retreat all the same.

Dazza sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed a hand through Lexa’s hair.

“Strikon… don’t pretend. I know you’re awake,” she said softly. “Come train with us.”

Lexa cracked an eye open. Clarke’s heart tugged—she looked so small, so unguarded.

“I’m… tired,” Lexa murmured. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Dazza pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re not tired. You’re lost. I get it.”

Lexa frowned slightly, her expression guarded. Dazza’s fingers slid gently down the side of her neck, pausing at her collarbone.

“Get up, Strikon,” she said quietly. “This… not being in control, not having purpose—it’s unfamiliar. But that’s why we’re here. To let go for a while.”

Her hand drifted teasingly lower, brushing over Lexa’s chest just enough to capture her full attention.

Dazza hadn’t touched them like this since that night. But Clarke understood why now. This wasn’t just intimacy. It was care. It was purpose. A way to help Lexa let go—without losing herself entirely.

Lexa sat up slowly, but Dazza’s hand remained where it was—resting lightly on her chest, fingers grazing with the kind of intention that made the tips of Lexa’s ears flush red. Clarke smiled, knowing exactly what that meant.

“Come on,” Dazza said gently. “Get dressed. A little training will do you good.”

Lexa gave a small nod, and Dazza offered a soft smile as she pulled the blanket off of her without hesitation. Lexa stood, completely bare, but Dazza’s gaze remained calm—unfazed, steady. She bent down, picked up Lexa’s underwear from the floor, and held them out for her.

Lexa stepped into them, glancing toward Clarke with quiet shyness. Dazza’s fingers brushed lightly along her sides, then she leaned forward to press a kiss to her stomach.

“So beautiful,” she murmured.

She meant it. Believed it deeply. There were no accidents—no mistakes in the way things had unfolded. Getting stranded here, on the Ark, isolated above the world… it was more than a twist of fate. It was a gift. A pause. A chance to breathe.

They would go back, soon. Finish what they started. Install the processor. End ALIE once and for all. But for now… this stillness had purpose.

She would help Lexa rediscover herself—without burden, without duty, without the constant need to lead. She would help Clarke remember that she didn’t have to hold the commander up alone. That letting someone else carry the weight, even for a while, was not weakness.

In this place between battles, she would teach them both something far more difficult than survival.

She would teach them how to rest.

“Here,” Clarke said, handing over a soft T-shirt and a pair of loose pants she’d found in one of the empty rooms.

All that remained of the Ark was the ring—its central spine. The stations were long gone, fallen to Earth in pieces. But the ring had been built to operate on its own, equipped with everything needed to support life. It had once housed the most important council members… Clarke had lived here too, back when Abby had joined the Council.

Now, it was home again—at least for a little while. There was more than enough space for all of them, and even better, they’d found some old rations in storage. It would help stretch what little they’d brought from Becca’s lab, buying time while Monty’s algae grew and while the shuttle—hopefully—was made ready to bring them home.

Dazza helped Lexa pull on the clothes, then cupped her cheeks with both hands, smiling softly before kissing her forehead.

“Come,” she said as she stood. “Let’s show them what two of Anya’s seconds can do, yes?”

Lexa closed her eyes and nodded. Clarke noticed the look in them when they opened again—soft, distant, like she was floating, not just in zero gravity but in the warmth of being held. Of being cared for.

She was letting go… and letting herself be carried. And to Clarke, it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Clarke took Lexa’s hand and guided her gently out of their quarters, following Dazza through the quiet corridor toward Ontari and Echo’s room. The way Lexa held her hand now—less a grip, more a grasp—was different. Softer. Like she was slowly beginning to understand what this place meant: up here, she wasn’t a commander. She was just… Lexa. A person. A woman.

When they reached the door, Dazza knocked. It hissed open to reveal Ontari, who slipped out quietly.

“Shh,” she said with a smirk. “I’m coming. Echo’s asleep. She had a… busy night.”

Dazza chuckled and gave a small nod. They waited as Ontari disappeared briefly, then returned dressed in one of the outfits scavenged from the ring—cargo pants and a faded T-shirt with a grinning bunny on it. Below the logo, in cracked lettering, it read psycho bunny.

“You’re officially skaikru now,” Clarke said, grinning. It was strange and strangely fitting—Ontari, born trikru, forged in Azgeda, now striding through a space station in cargo pants like she owned the place.

They made their way to the gym. Warm-up time.

Dazza’s holy grail—and Ontari’s new obsession: treadmills.

Lexa tilted her head as she eyed the strange machine. “Hodnes… what is that?”

Clarke smiled, stepped onto it, and powered it on. The belt moved beneath her feet as she began a light jog. Lexa blinked, intrigued but wary. She moved closer, ready to try—only for Dazza to tap her shoulder.

“No cheating. You know the warm-up.”

Lexa sighed but didn’t argue. She dropped down into position beside Dazza, both of them beginning one-handed push-ups in perfect unison, while Ontari and Clarke ran side by side on their treadmills.

Yep. This was going to be one hell of a workout.

“So… this isn’t too bad,” Ontari said, adjusting the incline on her treadmill. “You made the Ark sound like a prison.”

Clarke exhaled, tweaking her own settings. “Try being stuck here for eighteen years. And I was in prison for one of them, remember.”

Ontari nodded. “I know. Uh… Raven said I could do a spacewalk with her tomorrow. Isn’t that amazing?”

Clarke smiled, genuinely. “It is.”

Her gaze drifted across the gym—past the treadmills, past Ontari—to Dazza and Lexa, now upside down, legs braced against the wall, doing push-ups on their hands like it was nothing. Neither of them showed a hint of strain. Clarke, on the other hand, was sweating for a completely different reason: Lexa’s shirt had slipped, pooling at her chest, offering Clarke an eyeful of the soft curves hidden beneath. She swallowed hard and kept running, eyes flicking away—then back again.

Still, beyond the view, beyond even the training and the strength she’d been building, Clarke realized something else: she wasn’t just stronger physically. She believed now. In herself. In timing. In fate. In them. And that… that was the greatest gift Dazza had given her.

Finally, Dazza stepped away from the wall and picked up two training staffs, tossing one to Lexa.

“Ready?” she asked.

Lexa caught it mid-air. Nodded.

And just like that, it began.

They’d agreed—no swords while aboard the Ark. Even with Dr. Franco on board and a well-equipped med bay Clarke knew like the back of her hand, it wasn’t worth the risk. So, staffs it was.

Clarke and Ontari paused their treadmills and slid down against the wall, watching as Dazza and Lexa faced off in the center of the gym. What unfolded in front of them looked like something pulled straight from a movie. Their staffs blurred with the speed of their strikes, clashing and spinning in perfect rhythm. Identical movements, mirrored precision—it was like watching one fighter split in two.

But this wasn’t just sparring. Clarke knew that. She suspected Dazza meant every word she’d ever whispered in private about being able to take Lexa. And now, in this isolated place, without politics or eyes watching—this was private.

And Dazza didn’t hold back.

Lexa found herself on the defensive quickly. Ducking. Twisting. Spinning out of reach. But as she bent backward to counter a swing at her side—snapping her staff toward Dazza’s thigh—Dazza leapt high, then came down hard, pinning Lexa beneath her in one fluid motion, both hands pressing the staff across Lexa’s throat.

Dazza grinned.

Lexa exhaled slowly, chest rising beneath her shirt. Clarke thought it might be part surrender, part relief.

She knew Dazza would never challenge Lexa like this in front of others. Never undermine her authority. But here? This was something different. This was Dazza giving Lexa something she hadn’t had in years: a safe place to not be the strongest. A safe place to let go.

Last night, Ontari had managed to get through to Moss.

The lab’s destruction had hit ALIE hard. Severed infrastructure. Scrambled code. No more drones. Communication down to a trickle. And Becca’s servers—once ALIE’s greatest asset—were gone, halving her computing power. Now, when they returned and deployed the kill code, there was no question.

ALIE would fall.

And the cherry on top? The panther had made it. Released into the wild forests near Polis. Free.

Just like all of them were beginning to be.

Lexa rose to her feet, and the match resumed—but something had shifted. She wasn’t fighting with the same intensity as before. Not because she couldn’t. Not because she didn’t want to. But because, for once, she didn’t have to.

Ontari glanced at Clarke and smiled knowingly. They’d spoken about this—how Clarke had hoped that here, in this strange, quiet refuge above the world, Lexa could finally rest. Recharge. Step back from the endless weight she carried. Just as Lexa had once given Clarke space to fall apart and rebuild. Just as she made sure Ontari never had to worry, always standing strong for them all.

Now, it was Lexa’s turn to be held.

But then, in a blink, Lexa surged forward—her staff snapping low, catching Dazza’s legs and sweeping them out from under her. Clarke’s eyes widened. Of course. Her gentleness had been a ruse. A trap.

Dazza hit the mat hard, but before Lexa could capitalize, she twisted mid-fall, using the rebound to propel herself upward. Her staff shot forward like a spear, jabbing into Lexa’s abdomen with a well-timed strike that sent the commander flying back. Lexa hit the mats with a loud thud, breath caught in her throat, eyes wide in surprise.

Clarke winced. Ontari grinned.

Lesson of the day? Dazza might be her safe place…
But she wasn’t going easy on anyone.

“Ok… enough for today,” Dazza said, offering Lexa a hand. Lexa took it, wincing slightly as she stood and lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal the forming bruise across her abs. Dazza only gave a small shrug, the look in her eyes clear: Patience, Strikon. I’ll make it feel better soon.

Clarke watched the exchange, thinking of the quiet truths Lexa had shared with her—how Dazza moved with intention, always on her own terms, always arriving when there was purpose. And now? There was purpose.

“We have to call mom after breakfast,” Clarke said.

To her delight—and satisfaction—both Ontari and Lexa nodded. Progress.

“Let’s go,” Dazza said, sliding the staffs back into their wall mounts. Then she glanced at Lexa. “Tomorrow?”

Lexa nodded again. And Dazza lit up with a grin.

Back home, Lexa had always kept herself separate from their training sessions. Her image demanded invincibility. But here—up above the earth, above expectations—there was no one watching. And Dazza hadn’t been bluffing. She was the better fighter. And Lexa, for once, didn’t have to hide behind the illusion of being the strongest.

They dropped Ontari off at her room, and the three of them continued down the corridor toward their quarters. As soon as the door hissed shut behind them, something in Lexa softened. The haze returned to her eyes—the kind Clarke was beginning to recognize as surrender.

Lexa turned slowly to Dazza, who tilted her head.

“Yes?” Dazza asked gently.

Lexa didn’t speak. Just let out a long breath, eyes finding Clarke’s for a moment, then closing.

Dazza crossed the room and opened her arms without needing to be asked. Lexa stepped into them without hesitation, resting her head on Dazza’s shoulder as Dazza’s fingers threaded gently through her hair.

“What do you want, Strikon?” Dazza murmured.

Lexa breathed in deep, letting her weight settle, letting go. She didn’t have the words for it. Maybe she didn’t even know herself.

But this—
This was what she wanted.

“Get some warm water, please…” Dazza said softly, easing Lexa out of her shirt with care. The bruise on her side had deepened, blooming dark across her ribs—but Lexa didn’t flinch. She wasn’t bothered by the pain. If anything, what she craved now was something simple and human: comfort. Soothing. Stillness.

Clarke smiled faintly, understanding without words, and crossed to grab one of the metal utility buckets found in every room on the ring. She made her way to the communal showers, small but clean and private—more compact than the ones on the old stations. The ring had been designed to be self-sustaining, not luxurious.

As she entered, she nearly bumped into Echo and Ontari, who were both preparing to shower. Echo, to Clarke’s delight, was in a fluffy white bathrobe, the kind probably reserved for council members back in the day.

Clarke smirked. “That is priceless.”

Echo raised an eyebrow. “What? We found it in the closet. It’s not like the owner’s coming back.”

Clarke snorted. “Statistically, they’re dead.”

Echo shrugged. “Exactly.”

Only two of the original twelve stations had survived. The ring was a relic—and now, their strange little sanctuary.

“You look good,” Clarke said, eyes catching on the soft moment as Echo gently untangled the knots in Ontari’s hair. She didn’t say it, but it warmed her to see Echo so relaxed, and Ontari so trusting. “What do you think—so far?”

Echo considered. “Reminds me of the bunker,” she said, “but with better views.”

Clarke hummed in agreement, her mind already drifting to the view waiting back in her quarters.

She filled the bucket with warm water and headed back, careful not to spill a drop. When the door to their room hissed open, her breath caught.

Lexa, entirely bare, was still nestled against Dazza, her arms loose around her waist. Dazza was tracing slow, gentle patterns along Lexa’s back, her touch reverent, soothing.

Clarke didn’t say a word. Just stood there, letting the moment wrap around her like warmth. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

Clarke took a small towel, dipped it into the warm water, and wrung it out slowly. Then, with the softest touch, she pressed it to Lexa’s stomach—knowing it would soothe the ache blooming there… and stir something else entirely.

Lexa let out a breath, slow and deep. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. That telltale haze was back—settling over her gaze like mist. Not quite surrender, not yet. But close.

Clarke smiled gently and ran the towel along Lexa’s side, down to her hip, then across the curve of her thigh. Dazza held her close, rocking her in a rhythm that felt like it had no beginning and no end.

Lexa sighed again—no visions, no flashes of destiny or divine weight this time. Just warmth. Floating. Peace.

She wasn’t leading. She wasn’t fighting. She wasn’t commanding a single thing.

And still, somehow… she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Morning had come—or at least, according to Earth time. Up here, it meant little. There was no rush, no obligations, no battles waiting. Becca, Raven, Monty, and Mona were hard at work—the tech minds of the group. The rest? Just drifting. Light tasks here and there, but nothing pressing.

Clarke slid her own shirt off and resumed tending to Lexa, her motions slow and deliberate. She ran the damp cloth across Lexa’s back, then along her side, over her stomach, down her legs. Lexa made a soft sound—almost a purr—her body completely at ease.

Dazza continued to rub gentle circles into her scalp, lips brushing against her forehead. Lexa tugged lightly on Dazza’s shirt, wordless but clear in her request. Skin. Warmth. Dazza smiled, soft and understanding, and pulled her shirt over her head, wrapping Lexa back into her arms.

Lexa’s breathing stayed slow, deep. Not quite asleep… but utterly still.

Clarke crouched down and kissed Lexa's bruised side, dipping the cloth in water and gently wiping Lexa’s side and behind. Lexa tangled her hand in Clarke’s hair. Clarke had been right. When they were together, they floated. That was what it felt like. Floating.

Lexa had been so disappointed in herself. She should have anticipated that ALIE would have had something up her sleeve, that going to that island would have had consequences. She should have brought an army, or… something.

But no one was upset with her. Becca had stolen the show here, yes. And now, it all made sense. People treated Lexa with more warmth, less fear, because here, in this confusing cage hanging in the sky, they were all stuck together. It wasn’t her duty to be Heda here. It was more Becca’s place. She was the chief astronaut, as Clarke had called her. So, when it came to Lexa, the few warriors left and her friends simply treated her with warmth. Yet her brain had confused it with failure, disrespect, irrelevancy. Lexa smiled and sighed into Dazza’s wonderful chest. Warmth… hmm. Nice. She felt Clarke wiping her down, reaching where she inevitably would. Even better. Space… was nice, Lexa thought, spreading her legs a little apart.

Clarke pressed a soft kiss to Lexa's bruised butt cheek, and Lexa let out a quiet hum. A haze enveloped her, as if she were drifting, watching herself from afar—detached yet tethered to the moment. “Did you slip something in my drink again?” she mumbled into Dazza’s chest, her words slurring, her body caught in a strange dance of weightlessness and heaviness.

Dazza’s smile warmed against Lexa’s hair. “Did you drink, Strikon?” she teased gently. Lexa shook her head, and Dazza’s voice softened. “No, love. It’s your body speaking to your soul. You need rest. Warmth. Release. Shhh… let us care for you. Let Clarke tend to you while I hold you close.”

Lexa’s response was a faint, incoherent hum, her thoughts muddled as Clarke’s touch deepened. The wet cloth glided slowly along her sensitive skin, tracing from her nether hole down to her folds. Lexa wanted to tell Dazza something—how she was their guardian angel, how Lexa’s love for her was profound yet indefinable, how Clarke surely felt the same by now. But words failed her. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss over Dazza’s heart, her thighs parting further. Clarke’s gentle touch continued, the cloth grazing Lexa’s most sensitive spot with a deliberate brush of her fingertip. Lexa’s body grew heavier, warmer, sinking deeper into the sensation.

“Here, Strikon,” Dazza murmured, gently turning Lexa around. One hand steadied Lexa’s waist while the other softly rolled her nipple. Lexa’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Clarke’s gaze as she crouched before her, dipping the cloth into the bucket. They were among the stars, on the ring, floating above the earth—yet the true galaxies shimmered in Clarke’s eyes, looking at Lexa as if she were a star herself. Dazza’s lips brushed the back of Lexa’s neck, right where the flame once rested. The journey had been long, and memories flashed before her: her mother’s face, being left with Titus, the natblida, Luna, the conclave, Costia… and then Clarke.

The flame had been a prison, its angry commanders a constant torment—arguing, fighting, threatening to corrupt her. But on the first day she received it, she met her. Becca. She said little, only promising to return when Lexa made room for more than just survival.

That promise had guided Lexa to kiss Clarke in the tent that day. *Shouldn’t life be about more than just survival?* Clarke had asked. And Lexa had answered.

So much had unfolded since then—Mount Weather, betrayal—but when Lexa found Clarke again, Becca kept her word. She quieted the flame’s chaos, helping Lexa care for Clarke.

Lexa sighed as Clarke’s cloth glided along her thighs, each stroke followed by tender kisses. At first, Clarke had wanted things for her people. But soon, she wanted more for Lexa—freedom, family, friends. Raven was Lexa’s first step toward that. Aside from Luna, who was in exile, and Dazza, who was simply… Dazza, Lexa had never had anyone. But Raven changed her life.

Letting Raven remove the flame to fight ALIE was the best decision Lexa ever made, second only to marrying Clarke. Free of the flame’s weight, Lexa found liberation. Becca was no longer a voice in her head but a vibrant young woman fighting alongside them, now leading their group in space. And now… Lexa had this.

Freedom. If only for a little while.

“I love you,” Clarke whispered against Lexa’s skin, her lips brushing the tender fold where thigh met groin. “So, so much…” Her kisses trailed upward, tracing a slow path toward Lexa’s navel. Lexa exhaled softly, her hand cupping Clarke’s cheek. “You’re the most beautiful star in the universe,” she murmured, half to herself, half to Clarke. Clarke’s hand drifted upward, finding Lexa’s breast, her fingers brushing over Dazza’s hand already there. The quiet energy that had been simmering between Clarke and Dazza for weeks now spilled over, warm and uncontainable.

Their connection defied definition, but Clarke understood why Lexa had initially kept Dazza at a distance. Dazza wasn’t a threat—far from it. She was devoted to them, fiercely so. Lexa had once explained that after Costia, Dazza’s presence had carved out space in her shattered heart, making room for love again. Room for Clarke. Dazza’s love for Lexa wasn’t romantic, but it was intimate, profound—a bond like that of a big sister or a mentor, expressed in her own direct, unapologetic way. To Dazza, intimacy was a language of spirituality, of deep connection. Lexa loved her fiercely in return, and Clarke was beginning to feel that same love for Dazza. She was special—someone Clarke and Lexa could surrender to, rely upon, be held by.

Clarke gently parted Lexa’s folds, her lips finding Lexa’s clit with a tender kiss. Lexa shivered but melted into the sensation, her body relaxing as Dazza’s strong arms cradled her, holding her steady in their shared warmth.

“Clarke…” Lexa whispered, her voice soft and pleading. “More, please. I need you… *ai hodnes*.” Clarke’s lips curved into a smile. Heda never begged. Even Lexa rarely did. But here, far from the weight of the world, cradled in the arms of Dazza—the one person Clarke knew who could disarm Lexa as effortlessly as if she were an inexperienced teenager—Lexa could finally let go. She felt safe to surrender. Clarke traced her tongue slowly, deliberately, along Lexa’s core, and Lexa responded with a languid roll of her hips, a soft hum escaping her lips. “Hmmm… more…” she murmured, her body utterly relaxed.

Clarke marveled at the sight. This was a miracle—Lexa so open, so unapologetically needy. She glanced up, meeting Lexa’s gaze. A tangible haze clouded those eyes, as if Lexa were possessed, lost in the moment. Dazza’s lips grazed Lexa’s earlobe, sucking gently, teasing, while her fingers played delicately over Lexa’s nipples. Clarke could’ve etched a portrait across Lexa’s stomach, and Lexa might only later wonder how it appeared. Heda was gone, cast out the window into the vast, cold expanse of space.

“I want you in me, Clarke…” Lexa murmured as Dazza guided her to the cot and settled down with her, holding her close. Clarke pressed a tender kiss to the bruise on Lexa’s stomach and nodded. “Of course, babe.” Lexa didn’t correct her, didn’t protest the pet name—a sign of just how far gone she was. But it wasn’t just arousal. No, this was deeper, as if a hidden part of Lexa, one that yearned to be cared for, to be held, was finally surfacing. Clarke had glimpsed it that morning when Dazza woke Lexa, stirring something soft and vulnerable.

What had brought it out? Perhaps it was being here, far from Earth, in a place where Lexa was a guest on Clarke’s turf. Or maybe it was Dazza’s intuitive magic, sensing Lexa’s lingering disappointment over the lab mission and coaxing her to release it. Or perhaps, after years of unrelenting pressure and expectations, Lexa was simply ready to let go—because, at last, she could. The reason didn’t matter.

Clarke brought her fingers to Lexa’s lips, and Lexa took them into her mouth, sucking gently. Clarke hummed, her heart swelling, and slowly pressed her fingers into Lexa’s heat, her thumb grazing Lexa’s clit with deliberate care. Lexa’s head fell back against Dazza’s shoulder, a loopy, contented smile spreading across her face as she surrendered fully to the moment.

“There…” Lexa whispered, her voice a soft sigh as Clarke’s fingers curled inside her, finding that perfect spot with effortless precision. Lexa was drenched, and Clarke’s hand moved in a fluid, graceful rhythm, each motion weaving them closer together. Glancing up, Clarke caught Dazza’s playful wink, her hands gently cupping Lexa’s breasts, teasing with a tender touch. Clarke’s heart swelled—she could stay in this moment forever, she thought, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Lexa’s hip. To her delight, Lexa draped her legs over Clarke’s shoulders with a possessive ease, like a contented kitten claiming her place. The sight of Lexa’s blissful expression brought a smile to Clarke’s lips, and she rewarded her with a slow, deliberate lick to her clit, savoring the subtle twitch it drew. Lexa’s fingers threaded into Clarke’s hair, tightening just enough with another lick, a silent plea for more.

“Want a finger in your ass?” Clarke asked softly, already knowing Lexa’s answer. A gentle nod came, accompanied by a quiet, “Please.” Clarke’s smile deepened, warm and knowing. She switched hands smoothly, letting the one already slick with Lexa’s arousal glide toward this new exploration—no need for a detour to medical for lube in this intimate space. Lexa was ready, capable of embracing a little pressure. Clarke pressed a finger gently against Lexa’s ass, letting her ease into it at her own pace, while her other hand continued its steady, rhythmic dance inside her. Lexa’s breathy moans, soft and unguarded, filled the air, each sound a delicate gift. Dazza, cradling Lexa from behind, watched with a warm, amused glint in her eyes, clearly cherishing the tender, unfolding scene before her.

Lexa had never felt this way before. She and Clarke had a vibrant sex life, always exploring, always connected. They’d even shared a night with Dazza not long ago, intense and unforgettable. But this moment was different. Clarke’s fingers moved inside her with a steady rhythm, filling her core, while the gentle pressure in her ass grounded her. It was almost too much, yet Dazza’s hands, cradling her, teasing her nipples, kept her from floating away. This was what surrender felt like, Lexa realized, as Clarke brushed that sensitive spot inside her. A loud, raw moan escaped her lips—hers, she noted with surprise, letting another slip free. She’d woken up craving this, feeling out of place, yearning to be held and cherished. This was exactly what she needed.

Her hands covered Dazza’s, urging a firmer grip. Dazza chuckled. “Alright, Strikon,” she said, squeezing as Lexa wanted. Clarke’s touch was deliberate—gentle in her ass, firmer in her center, where her fingers moved with purpose. “Clarke… mouth…” Lexa managed, her voice cracking. Clarke leaned in, her tongue circling Lexa’s clit, sending a jolt through her.

“Fuck…” Lexa gasped as her body ignited, her core pulsing in waves—again, again, again. Dazza’s lips brushed her forehead, soft and steadying, followed by Clarke’s lips on hers, warm and lingering. As Clarke pulled back, Lexa exhaled, a lazy smile spreading across her face. She sat up.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

Clarke laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Turn around then. Gotta wipe you off.” She resumed their earlier ritual, gently cleaning Lexa, then washing her own hands with careful precision.

Dazza pressed a soft kiss to Lexa’s cheek and slipped her shirt back on. Clarke blinked, caught off guard. “Where are you… we’re not done…”

Dazza’s hand found Clarke’s cheek, her smile warm and knowing. “Your wife is hungry. And we have time. Right now, it’s about her. Okay? Trust me.”

Clarke’s lips curved into a smile. “You know I do.” She couldn’t help but wonder what went on in that ginger head of theirs—Dazza, their resident grounder sex doctor and psychiatrist rolled into one. Clarke grabbed Lexa’s clothes, and together with Dazza, they helped Lexa dress, her movements slow and unguarded. Clarke pulled on her own shirt, marveling at how Lexa wasn’t even trying to reciprocate, to please her or Dazza. She was simply letting herself be cared for, fully expecting it. Clarke’s smile widened. Dr. Dazza, indeed.

They headed to the familiar mess hall, where everyone was already gathered. Emerson and his crew were in the corner laughing. Becca sat with Raven, showing her something on a tablet, while Bruno sat beside Ronen, who was helping him eat with his newly reattached arm. Ontari lounged with Bellamy and Echo, and across the room, Monty, Mona, and Kush were deep in a heated argument.

No one even looked up to acknowledge the three of them.

The food was exactly as Clarke remembered—ark rations. Protein bars, dehydrated meals, and other packaged remnants of survival.

“Definitely didn’t come here for the food,” Dazza said.

“The way you’ve been forcing me to eat lately? Not much different,” Clarke replied dryly.

Dazza patted Clarke’s now firmer stomach. Clarke nodded in agreement.

Lexa walked over to Bruno. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Bruno picked up a piece of food and held it up proudly. Lexa smiled, nodded, and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.

“This is incredible, Heda,” Ronen said. “She reattached his arm… and it works.”

Lexa gave a small smile. “When this is over… maybe Becca can rebuild that lab. Or whatever that thing was.”

“We’ll need to get back to Earth for that,” Ronen replied.

“Three days, babe,” Raven said, strolling over to them with her usual ease. “The chief called earlier. Launch is scheduled in three days.”

Clarke turned to Dazza, and both of them looked at Lexa.

They were on the clock now—three days left to spoil Lexa absolutely senseless.

****

Abby sat at the table, fingers drumming anxiously against the surface as she stared at the blank screen in front of her. She still couldn’t quite believe it. She had prepared herself for everything—injuries, loss… even death. And in a way, it had happened. Poor Reilly. He’d been a good kid.

But this?

Her girls—stuck in space? Stranded on the ring with no way back?

She glanced at Zik sitting beside her. Officially, no one had declared him in charge. But unofficially? With Heda off-planet, the responsibility had naturally fallen to him. Still, Abby couldn’t ignore Gaia’s rising influence. The girl had talent. She belonged on that throne—as long as someone was there to guide her.

“Why aren’t they calling?” Abby muttered. “What if— I don’t even…”

Zik stood up slowly. “Abi,” he said firmly. “Calm down. They’re fine. You just spoke to them last night. Becca said—”

Abby turned toward him, her worry etched deep across her face. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug.

And then, as if the universe had been listening, the screen flickered to life.

On it stood Lexa in a worn-out GAP t-shirt, Clarke in a simple tank top, and Ontari sporting a faded Psycho Bunny tee. Behind them, the familiar gray walls of the Ark framed the scene. The three of them were smiling—grinning, even.

And in perfect unison, they said:

“Mom.”

Abby blinked, stunned. She’d never seen Lexa look so… unguarded. So open.

And for the first time since they disappeared, she truly believed they were going to be okay.

“How are you?” Abby asked, her eyes narrowing as she spotted Raven in the background beside Becca, who was elbow-deep in something mechanical. It still baffled her—Becca, actually Becca, and not RoBeca. Flesh and blood. Human again.

“We’re actually… pretty okay,” Clarke said with a small smile. “And Miti called. If all goes well, we’ll be back in three days. We just have to land in… Africa. But Moss will be there to pick us up.”

Abby exhaled, her shoulders easing. “Is it safe?” she asked, wary. Lexa had mentioned Africa’s outdated air defenses, and now they were supposedly restoring a century-old shuttle to bring them home.

“Have faith, Mom,” Clarke said, her grin widening. “Say a little prayer for us.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Oh, this Dazza,” she muttered, but she couldn’t argue with Clarke’s new muscle tone.

“How’s the coalition?” Lexa asked next—not like a commander issuing orders, just… curious.

Zik stepped into view of the screen. “Azgeda wants more money for the scrap. What else is new?”

Lexa waved a hand dismissively. “Just give them what they want.”

Zik’s eyes widened. “What???”

Lexa shrugged. “Or don’t. I’ll deal with it when I get back.” Then, turning to Abby, “ALIE?”

Abby shook her head. “Nothing. Seems like you bought us some time.”

Clarke smiled. “And us. We’ll call again after supper.”

“I’m going on a spacewalk tomorrow with Raven!” Liza suddenly piped up from behind them, grinning like a child.

Abby stood quickly. “Wait—no! Liza!”

But Lexa waved, and the screen went dark.

Zik was chuckling until Abby gave him a look sharp enough to cut through steel. He straightened, sobering instantly.

“Sorry. But… if my girls were alive…” he said quietly, “I’d want them to be just like yours.”

Abby leaned back in her chair, eyes still fixed on the now-dark screen. “I’m very fortunate… to have them,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry. About…”

Zik waved her off gently. “It’s alright. Really. I’m just saying… they’re going to be fine. Bonds like that? They don’t break. They’re built to survive anything. They’ll make it back.” He paused, smirking. “Besides, I have no intention of running this ridiculous coalition a day longer than necessary. They better hurry up.”

Abby stood, straightening her coat. “Come on. We have patients to tend to.”

She didn’t mention it to Lexa—not over the screen, not when they were so far away—but in the past few days, three of the ALIE survivors now living with Luna had attempted to take their own lives. One of them had succeeded.

****

“I… wanted to thank you,” Lexa said, her voice soft as she gazed out the wide observation window. Below them, Earth shimmered in hues of blue and white, peaceful and alive. “Without you, we’d still be scrambling to catch up. More people would have died. You really came through. And… your help with Clarke, back when I first found her… it made all the difference.”

Becca turned to her, studying the young woman standing beside her—the haunted green eyes, the regal bearing, the strength softened by compassion. It had to be strange for Lexa, seeing the voice from her head brought to life. But for Becca, seeing her former host from the outside was even more surreal. She knew Lexa inside and out—literally. And what she saw now only affirmed what she’d always sensed: Lexa was one of the good ones. Better than any that came before.

“This…” Becca said, gesturing toward the view, “this will never be easy for me to look at.” Her voice grew distant. “I still see it as it was that day. Missiles streaking across the sky. Explosions. In minutes, the Earth went from vibrant blue to dead grey.” She paused, exhaling. “This is the first time I’ve seen it look alive again. Truly alive.”

She turned to face Lexa fully. “There’s nothing I won’t do to keep it that way. I failed once. I won’t fail again.”

Lexa nodded, placing her palm flat against the glass. The Earth pulsed with light beneath it. She hesitated for a moment before asking, almost whispering, “May I ask something?”

Becca gave a small nod.

“You’ve been in the Flame all this time. You saw everything unfold. The Conclave. The frikdreina. Blood must have blood. From what I understand, you didn’t really appear to the other commanders—not outside of ascension. Why me? Why then?”

Becca took a long breath. “The Flame was never meant to control. It was designed to complement, to enhance. Not to interfere. It reflects what’s already inside. And I waited… I waited to find someone worthy. Someone who could help me atone.”

She looked straight into Lexa’s eyes. “I saw you with Clarke. The way you cared for her. How you opened your heart, despite everything you were raised to believe. You defied the indoctrination, not just for love, but for compassion. For hope. That’s when I knew—you were worthy to be my heir. And Clarke…”

She faltered, but only for a moment. “Clarke is worthy to be my penance.”

Lexa’s head snapped toward her so fast, Becca flinched.

Because those were the exact words Melissa had written in her journal.

One… her heir.
One… her penance.

A chill ran down Lexa’s spine—but alongside it, a powerful calm. A quiet certainty.

They would be okay.

“I’ve taken the reins while we’re up here—as you may have noticed,” Becca said, leaning casually against the glass. “This is my turf: space, science, tech. But I want to be clear, Heda. Once we’re back on Earth, I won’t stand in your way. I’ll support you, the way I’ve been supporting you. Quietly. Fully.”

Lexa tilted her head slightly, curious. “And?”

“I only have one request,” Becca continued, her tone shifting subtly. “We dig out the stone. We find out where Cadogan went. If they’re still chasing the final code—we stop them. We destroy the damn thing. For good.”

Lexa’s brow furrowed. “Cadogan is dead,” she said, surprised by the direction this was taking. “It’s been over a hundred years.”

Becca sighed, eyes drifting to the stars outside. “I want to be sure,” she said, then gestured loosely to herself. “If I’m still around after all this time… who’s to say he isn’t?”

Lexa let out a slow sigh. “You really think it’s something we need to worry about? Now?” she asked, eyes steady on Becca. “No one’s heard from them in a century. The stone is buried… inactive… if what I saw in the flame is true. We still have ALIE to deal with. The coalition is fragile. We’ve just come out of a brutal war, and now this—people need time to heal.”

Becca turned her gaze to the vibrant planet below. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t feel it in my gut,” she said softly, touching her stomach. “Now that I actually have one. Something’s stirring, Lexa. Something dangerous. This—” she motioned to Earth, “—could be at risk again.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “Let’s finish ALIE first,” she said. “Then we’ll revisit it.”

She glanced at Becca and offered a faint smile. “And I really do appreciate you taking the lead… for now. As you skaikru say—Lexa Griffin, at your service. Spirits know I needed the break.”

Becca chuckled. “I’m not skaikru.”

Lexa looked out the window again, her smile deepening. “After this? I think it’s safe to say… we all are.”

Becca nodded. “I guess so. And I’m glad you’re enjoying the break. I don’t think there’s anyone alive who knows better than I do how deeply you care for your people. I’ve lived inside your head, remember?” She smiled gently. “The four of us—me, Raven, Mona, and her new boyfriend—we’ve got this. We’re making sure the secondary docking station is ready for the ride home, and we will. You… enjoy your vacation. You’ve earned it. And Lexa…”

Lexa turned, brow raised in question.

Becca stepped forward and hugged her. “It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

Lexa let out a small chuckle. “You too, Pramheda. You too.”

As Becca pulled back, her smile turned wistful. “You know, it took me years to learn Callie’s made-up childhood language. Half the time I had no idea what she was saying.”

Lexa smiled, but then tilted her head slightly. “Becca… do you remember Melissa? The second flamekeeper? What was she like? Why don’t I have any memories of her?”

Becca’s expression shifted, her brows knitting together slightly. “I don’t remember her well,” she admitted. “She was exiled not long after she took over from Callie. She opposed the new laws, especially the conclave. August—the second commander—exiled her.”

“Was she crazy?” Lexa asked, curiosity threading through her voice.

Becca shook her head. “No. Strange, maybe. But not crazy. Why?”

Lexa shrugged. “Just curious.” She didn’t mention the prophecies. Or the notebook. Not yet. Faith was a gift she wasn’t quite ready to share.

Before Becca could ask more, Clarke appeared beside them. “Lex… come on. We’re watching a movie. Dazza, Kush, Liza, and Echo are already waiting.”

Lexa smiled at her, the last remnants of command slipping off her shoulders. She took Clarke’s hand and nodded to Becca.

Then she exhaled—long and quiet—letting the commander in her dissolve into the stale air of the Ark. Whatever lay ahead, for now she let herself be pulled into this next chapter of rest, laughter, warmth.

And as Clarke led her away, the low thrum of ache still humming through her core was a welcome reminder—her space adventure was far from over.

Chapter Text

Ontari had never been a stranger to living inside a dream. From an early age, she’d mastered what Abby once called “disassociation.” It was the only way to survive Nia—her endless tests, twisted games, and the long, brutal hours spent either restrained, suspended, or ordered to remain perfectly still. In those moments, Ontari learned to escape inward, to create a world that wasn’t Nia’s.

The only problem? When you grow up as the Coalition’s best-kept secret—hidden away in stone chambers with nothing but cold walls and harsher expectations—you don’t have much to draw from. No fairy tales. No bedtime stories. No Muppet Show.

So she imagined the stars.

In Azgeda, there were plenty of them. On clear nights, she’d stare out the slitted windows and picture herself floating among them—weightless, like a feather caught in the wind. It became her safe place, her escape, her dream.

Now, tethered to Raven, floating just outside the ring while Raven and Becca worked on the secondary docking station, Ontari was living that dream. Literally. Stars above, the Earth sprawling out below. The impossible had become real.

Too bad Echo chickened out.

Ontari tilted her head, scanning the endless dark through the solar shield of her helmet. So many stars. So much silence. She looked down, trying to spot Azgeda. Where are you, old ghost?

She had one job out here: don’t touch anything. And, as Raven put it, have fun—but not too much fun.

But honestly? There wasn’t much to do out here. Floating in space sounded more exciting than it actually was. She wiggled her gloved fingers. Looked at the blinking lights. Watched Becca weld something. Sighed.

This would be way better if Moss were here. He’d probably try to blow something up. Raven would scream. Becca would panic. Ontari would laugh.

Now that would be fun.

She was slowly getting used to the fact that her mind worked a little differently. And, surprisingly, she was starting to love herself for it. That was new. But it felt natural, easy—even inevitable—when she was surrounded by people who made her feel lovable. Abby. Clarke. Lexa. And now… Dazza.

Maybe she’d ask Echo if they could sleep with Dazza too. In space. That would definitely be something. Why did Lexa and Clarke have to be so greedy anyway? The woman was hot as hell. And weird.

She chuckled, thinking back to the first time she’d tagged along to train with Clarke. Dazza had sniffed her—literally smelled her—and then deemed her worthy. Who even does that?

She sighed and drifted closer to Raven and Becca.

“I want to go back.”

“We’re almost done,” Raven said, tightening a bolt. “Patience, young grasshopper.”

Ontari huffed. “Space is boring.”

Becca chuckled over the comms. “C’mere, kid.”

Ontari floated over, and Becca reached out, taking both her hands in hers.

“Let me show you something.”

With a few careful tugs and small movements, Becca guided Ontari’s arms, adjusting the angle of her wrists and the tension in her shoulders. Slowly, Ontari’s body began to pivot, then roll. Becca shifted one of her hands, and Ontari tilted the other way.

“See that?” Becca said gently. “You don’t need thrusters to move in zero-g. Just small adjustments. Your limbs are like rudders. Tiny inputs go a long way.”

Ontari blinked, watching the stars spin lazily as she twisted through the air. Becca let go, and Ontari instinctively adjusted her posture, using her hands and feet to slow herself.

She laughed.

“I’m flying,” she whispered. “I’m actually flying.”

“See? Not so boring,” Raven said, tightening the last bolt. “Now practice… and let us finish. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck up here for another week.”

Ontari grinned and spun away, arms stretched like wings, the tether keeping her close. She started experimenting—twisting, rolling, changing direction with subtle movements. By the time Becca gave the all-clear, she was moving through space like she’d been born to it.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said, still drifting in slow circles.

Even through the helmet, she could tell Raven was exasperated.

“Unbelievable,” Raven muttered. “Get your ass to the hatch, space muppet”.

Ontari extended her arms like Becca had shown her and floated smoothly toward the hatch. Huh. Not so boring after all. She was definitely going to drag Echo out here before they left. Today was day five… and the shuttle was due in two days. Ontari smiled to herself. Now she could tell all her Arkadia friends she was an Arker too.

They dropped into the airlock, and Becca reached over to slam the seal switch after securing the hatch. The sharp hiss of the repressurization made Ontari flinch, but then the inner doors opened with a soft chime, and they stepped through.

Raven turned and walked over, unscrewing Ontari’s helmet with a twist. “So?”

Ontari beamed, already spotting Echo lingering in the corridor.
“It’s like… flying,” she said. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”

Becca laughed, tugging off her own helmet. “I thought space was boring?”

Ontari shrugged as Raven helped her out of the suit. “I didn’t know you could actually… fly. How does that even work?”

Becca smiled, brushing her hair back. “It’s all about kinetic energy. When you move in one direction—say, push off a surface or swing your arms—it generates momentum. In zero gravity, there’s no air resistance, so that motion keeps you going until something stops you. No gravity pulling you down means you just… keep floating.”

Ontari’s eyes widened. “So… every little move I make sends me somewhere?”

“Exactly,” Becca said. “Even just shifting your body changes your center of mass. Move deliberately, and you can steer yourself anywhere.”

Ontari grinned. “That’s so cool. I’m definitely coming back out tomorrow.”

Raven rolled her eyes with a smirk. “What happened to ‘space is boring’?”

“Space was boring,” Ontari corrected, “until I learned to fly.”

Echo walked over and wrapped Ontari in a firm hug.

“I was watching you,” she said softly. “Did you have fun?”

Ontari nodded, still beaming. “You’re coming with us tomorrow. It’s… unreal. You can actually fly out there.”

Echo scratched the back of her head. “Hard pass, hodnes. Not exactly—”

“Not your thing,” Ontari cut in, raising an eyebrow. “But it’s our thing.”

Echo sighed in resignation. “Fine.”

Becca, standing nearby, watched the two with a smile tugging at her lips. She remembered being inside Lexa’s mind when they found these two—Ontari barely clinging to life on the floor, Echo restrained between two Azgeda warriors, her mouth moments from being silenced for good on Nia’s command.

She remembered Nia’s face—smug, cruel.

And then chaos erupted.

Clarke’s shot rang out, sharp and clean, dropping the warrior with the knife. Arrows flew in response—one hit Echo’s thigh, another buried itself in Ontari’s side. The flame, reading threats in real time, calculated the arc of Lexa’s dagger as she threw it—straight into Nia’s shoulder.

Later that night, Becca had felt it all—Lexa cradling Ontari across her saddle, Lexa’s blood transfusing into the wounded girl. The girl had an arrow in her gut and barely a pulse, but Lexa held her like she was sacred. That feeling—raw, aching protectiveness—had silenced any lingering doubts Becca had. Lexa had been worthy of more than guidance. She’d been worthy of truth.

It was one thing to love Clarke, whose very presence flooded Lexa with instinct and adrenaline. But Ontari? A threat by every definition, a reminder of Azgeda’s worst. And Lexa chose to save her anyway. Chose to care.

Just like Clarke, Ontari had become someone Lexa cherished. And Becca had helped—had whispered through the flame, offering gentle nudges, psychological insight, soft reminders on what healing might look like.

Now, here she was. Ontari. Liza. A walking paradox.

Azgeda’s darkest secret turned into the Ark’s most pampered, opinionated, relentless little muppet.

Becca chuckled under her breath.

A spoiled brat, sure.

But one who had survived—and thrived.

“C’mon,” Becca said, motioning to Raven. “We need to check if the new seal’s holding.”

Raven nodded, falling into step beside her as they made their way toward the bridge, the hum of the station’s life support systems buzzing low beneath their boots.

Time flowed differently when you weren’t fully human. When your consciousness had once been code. Becca remembered the day all too well—wished she didn’t. Five days locked in a cold, dark cell. No light. No comfort. Just barely enough water to survive. Cadogan’s voice echoing through the silence: Just tell me the code. I’ll let you walk. Humanity deserves to transcend.

But Becca had seen what waited on the other side of that transcendence. And it had changed her.

At first, she’d thought she’d died. The experience was soft, familiar—her mother, waiting by the creek they used to visit when she was a child. The sound of water running over stones. Her mother’s smile. She’d run to her. Hugged her.

But what embraced her back wasn’t her mother.

It wasn’t human.

There was no warmth, no emotion, no thought—only mimicry. A hollow shell wrapped in memory. It offered her a test. Just talk to us, it said, like a job interview. Pass, and join us. Become part of the great unity. Fail, and… well.

Crystal. Everyone and everything turned to crystal.

Becca refused. Not because she feared failure. Not just because she knew she’d fail. But because she understood—becoming one with that thing was no different than ALIE. Just deeper. Smarter. Colder.

She spat in Cadogan’s face that same day.

So he set her on fire.

Becca sighed as the doors to the command room came into view, a soft hiss parting the metal before her. Being burned alive had sucked. But at least it meant she kept her soul.

She remembered the screaming. The pleading. It wasn’t Cadogan himself who lit the fire—it was his son. Him and the loyal zealots who followed him without question.

But they were already too late.

By then, half of Second Dawn had been inoculated with nightblood and escaped, flame in hand. Callie—Cadogan’s own daughter—had taken it. Becca’s plan was already in motion. The earth would become habitable again. Her vision was unfolding, even as her body turned to ash.

She remembered waking up in the flame. With no host, its internal space was hers to shape. At first, it was intoxicating. A beach of pristine white sand? A neon-lit nightclub with synth music pulsing through the walls? Done. It was paradise. A place where her will ruled, where anything she imagined could become real.

And, of course, there were… digital indulgences. The kind she’d sworn to take to her grave. But now that she was flesh and blood again—she wouldn’t mind revisiting a few of those fantasies in a more… tangible way.

That first merge with a living host, though—that was something else. Traumatic. For both her and the host. August, the first true Commander. Being inside his mind gave her access to everything he was. Every repressed emotion, every violent instinct, every shred of pain. That’s when Becca truly understood the human condition. The lies people told themselves. The trauma buried so deep, even they couldn’t find it.

She tried to guide him. And at first, he listened. She showed him how to grow crops in scorched soil, how to purify water without tech, how to use plants for healing. But survival has a way of warping nobility. Power—even when used with the best intentions—twists. And eventually, it consumed him too.

Still, Becca remembered Melissa.

She’d succeeded Callie as flamekeeper after her death. Brilliant. Eccentric. Wise in a way that didn’t make sense until you listened long enough. Melissa could meditate for hours, concoct strange herbal blends that pushed the mind into strange places. She called it enlightenment. And after what Becca had seen in the stone, she found herself more open to that kind of talk. More open to the idea that something more might exist beyond time and space.

The data the flame had gathered from her “interview” with whatever inhabited the stone—that was proof enough. That there was a code behind the physical world. That existence, as humans understood it, was no more than a screen. A monitor for something deeper. Something primal. Impossible to decode.

Melissa never took the flame—she wasn’t meant to. She was the keeper, the guide. The balance.

When August came up with the idea of a conclave—based on some half-remembered story Callie once told him about wrestling matches with her brother—Melissa begged him to reconsider. Just as she had when those more vulnerable to radiation were cast out. Just as she had when the survivors fractured into warring clans.

She reminded him of Callie’s dream. Of unity. Of peace.

He called her a traitor.

And while most traitors to the Commander were executed without hesitation—not even the flamekeeper spared—Becca intervened. Talked August into exile instead. It was the best she could do.

She remembered Melissa’s journal. Her warnings. Her “prophecies.” They were no longer just ink on old paper. They were happening. Lexa asking about her meant she must have found it. Must have read it recently. Because if it had happened earlier—Becca would’ve known. She would’ve seen it through Lexa’s mind.

But Lexa hadn’t seen everything.

She hadn’t heard Melissa’s final warning—shouted as she was dragged away in chains:

Cadogan will return.

And if he isn’t stopped… he’ll turn what’s left of the human race into crystal.

ALIE was a problem—a big one. But she wasn’t the problem. Not really. That title still belonged to Cadogan… or whatever was left of his cult. Being out here among the stars brought that into sharp focus. And being around these people—teaching Ontari how to float, hugging Lexa for the first time, tolerating Raven’s endless teasing—reminded Becca just how much she had to lose now.

“Here,” Raven said, pulling up the data from the secondary dock. “It’s still leaking. Better than before, but I told you—the outer layer needs reinforcement.”

Becca nodded. Raven was right. Again. But as pressing as that was… another issue had been quietly climbing her internal priority list.

She hadn’t had sex in over a hundred years.

****

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lexa said, staring at the small circular table in the center of the room. “How can the chancellor just… have a seat at the table? How can you rule without a throne?”

Clarke laughed, leading her through the tour of the ring. They’d entered what used to be the Ark’s council chamber, and to Lexa, it looked nothing like a seat of power. No elevated dais, no symbols of status—just a table, chairs, and simplicity.

“This,” Clarke said, gesturing around them, “was the Ark’s version of a throne room. It’s where decisions were made.”

Lexa couldn’t quite process it. She stood still, eyes narrowing. “No throne?” she repeated, disbelieving.

“Do you remember when you asked me how our leaders are chosen?” Clarke asked, her voice softer now.

Lexa nodded. “I do.” Their conversation back then had been cut short—by a very hungry pauna crashing the party, of course.

Clarke smiled at the memory. “On the Ark, the chancellor was elected. Every two years. They held power, yes—but it wasn’t absolute. The council could veto their decisions. Most of the time, it was more about compromise than control.”

Lexa blinked, processing the idea. “That sounds… dysfunctional.”

Clarke shrugged. “It was. But sometimes… it worked.”

Lexa shrugged. “As long as this garbage doesn’t make it into the coalition, let it stay here.” She thought of the ministers in Africa—an entire hall packed with people arguing like children, grilling her as if she owed them something. Democracy, as Liza liked to call it, was absurd. Regular citizens had no understanding of politics, no grasp of what it truly meant to lead or manage a nation. Handing them power over their homeland’s fate? Foolish. Dangerous.

“Come on,” Clarke said, tugging her gently. “I want to show you the farm—or what’s left of it.”

Lexa nodded. A farm. In space. She’d always wondered how that was even possible.

They walked down a long hallway, turned right, and Clarke pressed her palm against a panel. The doors hissed open. Lexa blinked. Inside were neat rows of plants suspended above tanks of water, their roots dangling into the liquid. It was clearly neglected—dusty, overgrown. No one had tended to it in nearly a year.

“The Farm Station,” Clarke explained. “This was their job. It’s called hydroponic farming. We add nutrients directly to the water. No soil needed. This was how the ring sustained itself. A self-contained food supply.”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes caught something in the far corner. She walked toward it, squinting. Lexa followed.

There it was—an overgrown plant, unpruned and wild, but unmistakable. Buds upon buds clustered along the stalk.

Clarke turned to Lexa, eyes wide, a slow grin forming.
“Love,” she said, almost breathless, “I think we just found a goldmine.”

“Goncha…” Lexa murmured, eyes wide in disbelief. “You had goncha… in space?”

Clarke hummed, amused. “It was highly regulated… but yeah. We had it all. Monty and Jasper actually got locked up once for smoking some.”

Lexa shook her head slowly, a mix of awe and judgment on her face. “Your people are savage.”

Clarke smirked, unbothered. “We all have our flaws. And besides, you’re my people now. My savage, grounder, super-hot commander wife.”

Lexa hummed in agreement, reaching out to pluck a few ripe buds from the overgrown plant.

Clarke watched with approval. “Good thinking.”

Lexa stuffed the buds into Clarke’s shirt pocket with quiet determination. This was now a mission. They needed a fire. A pipe. Clarke’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her, a familiar glint sparking behind them.

“I know just the place,” Clarke said, taking Lexa’s hand. “Come on. I may have overheard something our first day back.”

They moved quickly, descending a level into one of the older residential halls. The metal walls echoed faintly with each step, the hum of the ring’s systems ever-present around them. Clarke paused in front of a faded door, then pressed her palm to the access panel.

A soft hiss, and the door slid open.

Jasper’s room.

Clarke slipped into the small side room with purpose. She was on a mission now. The space was cramped—typical for the Ark—but unmistakably a teenager’s domain. Jasper’s domain.

The room had been left untouched since he was sent to the Skybox, a chaotic mix of scattered clothes, disassembled gadgets, and the occasional childhood toy forgotten in corners. Clarke crouched beside the bed, fingers finding the loose panel she remembered. She pried it open.

“Bingo,” she murmured.

Inside was a stash that could’ve made Monty cry—rolling papers, matches, a hand-carved pipe, and, amusingly, a small pile of old-school printouts… distinctly teenage and very naked. Clarke snorted.

“Oh, Jasper,” she said, shaking her head with a grin. “We thank you for your service.”

Lexa peered over her shoulder and nodded solemnly. “He has served the coalition well.”

Clarke burst out laughing, already packing the pipe with one of the fluffy buds. “Indeed.”

Clarke plopped down on the narrow cot and flicked the lighter. The flame danced to life on the first try. “Ohh, beautiful,” she whispered, triumphant.

It had been a long time since she last smoked—TonDC, to be exact. Back when Zik had all but force-fed her goncha to keep her panic attacks at bay. That day… the day they found Ontari. The day Clarke realized Lexa didn’t need a broken charity case clinging to her—she needed a partner. She’d looked up at Lexa astride her white stallion, barely holding the blood-soaked Ontari in her arms, and refused the pipe Zik offered. War was upon them, and Wanheda had to rise.

Lexa had never smoked. Not really. Just that one time—after finding out Lia, one of her closest advisors, had been a spy for Nia. Had helped orchestrate Costia’s abduction. That night, the pain had demanded something to numb it.

But now, Lexa sat beside her on the cot, relaxed and—dare Clarke say it—eager. There was no throne here. No burden of command. Becca had made it clear yesterday that while they were up here, she was claiming leadership. Lexa hadn’t resisted. She’d simply let go. Let herself breathe. Let herself be cared for.

Clarke took a long drag from the pipe, coughed a little—then again, and passed it over. Lexa took it carefully, inhaled deep, and immediately broke into a fit of coughs.

Clarke laughed and patted her back. “Again,” she said with a grin.

Lexa inhaled deeply.

“Hold it in…” Clarke croaked, her own voice raspy from the hit.

Whatever this strain was, it wasn’t the half-dried, backyard goncha they scraped together on Earth. This was high-grade, hydroponically grown, likely bioengineered bliss—and it hit like a freight train.

Clarke leaned back, eyes already bloodshot, pupils wide. She turned to Lexa, who blinked slowly, dazed, and tried to suppress another cough.

Oh, commander, Clarke thought, smirking. All it took was a little trip to space, a redheaded co-conspirator, and boom—world, meet teenage Lexa. Lazy. Horny. Indulgent. A brat. Clarke’s personal fantasy was finally real and sitting next to her, stoned out of her mind.

Clarke took another puff, passed the pipe, and Lexa obediently took it again—coughing just as hard.

“So?” Clarke asked, placing the pipe aside.

Lexa shrugged.

And giggled.

So did Clarke. It spiraled into a full minute of giggles—breathless, uncontrollable, ridiculous. Eventually, they settled down, limbs tangled, lungs aching, faces flushed. Clarke leaned back into Lexa’s arms, still grinning.

“So?” she tried again.

Lexa blinked, her mind visibly turning over. “So,” she repeated slowly, rolling the sound around like it was a foreign object. “Such a strange word. Sss… ooo…”

Clarke hummed in agreement, eyes closed, basking in the warmth and weight of Lexa behind her.

“Your language,” Lexa decided, voice solemn, “is awful. When I’m Heda again, I’m outlawing it. Death by a thousand cuts.” A dramatic pause. “Yes. Hmm. Very fair.”

Clarke scratched the side of her head. “You know… Trig is based on English. Just twisted. Probably by some bored kid with a stick and too much time.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “She wasn’t bored. She was… creative.” Her brow furrowed. “Callie. The first flamekeeper. It was her… pig Latin. That’s what she called it. Whoa.” Her eyes widened. “I remember that from the flame! Can you believe I had that stupid thing in my neck for six years?”

Clarke gave a small nod. “I can. And I’m glad it’s out.”

Lexa sighed dramatically. “Good thing Titus put it in my neck. You’d probably have stuck it in my ass instead.”

Clarke nodded without missing a beat. “Or in Titus’s.”

Lexa broke into laughter so hard she doubled over, arms wrapping around her stomach. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Well… you missed that chance, babe,” Clarke said, smirking as she leaned into Lexa. “He came back to us—spirits rest his undying soul. You had your chance to bag him up. Anyway… I don’t want to talk about Titus. He’s a buzzkill. Literally. Let’s talk about more pleasant things. Like our new redheaded friend.”

Lexa chuckled, low and warm. “She’s more than a friend, and you know it, Clarke. I have… for a long time now. That’s why I kept her away. Aside from the fact that her little rituals wouldn’t have exactly helped your mental stability at the time.”

Clarke smiled, eyes half-lidded with the buzz still working through her. Note to self, she thought wryly. If anyone ever takes Lexa hostage and wants intel? Just get her high. She’ll break immediately and miss all the good torture scenes. A twisted thought—but in her state, it made her laugh quietly to herself.

“You never have to be ashamed of her, love,” Clarke said, her voice soft as she leaned back further into Lexa’s body. “I’m all for it. I’m glad you had someone. I’m glad we… have someone. It’s just a little confusing. Not because it feels wrong. Or threatening. But because… it doesn’t.”

Lexa hummed in agreement. “I think she always cared about me. Not just because I was the commander… but even before the conclave. She was like… an extension of Anya. She felt responsible for me. Was there when Anya couldn’t be. I… actually learned something right before you came. You’re not going to believe it.”

Clarke turned her head, curious. “Hmm. Try me, babe.”

Lexa grinned lazily. “No problem, kid.”

Clarke burst out laughing again, full and unfiltered. “Gods, don’t do that! I’m gonna choke!”

Lexa shifted slightly, adjusting so Clarke could rest more comfortably against her. Her voice came softer now, thoughtful. “Zik uncovered something a while back… while sniffing out more Azgeda rot—like always. He came across one of Nia’s old spies. Jacko, I think his name was. Said something to Zik right before he passed into the next world.”

Clarke tilted her head, listening.

“Apparently,” Lexa continued, “Dazza seduced Divo before the conclave. You remember him? He was one of the guards overseeing the arena. She had a plan—if I couldn’t handle myself… if something went wrong… he’d help her sneak in. She stayed hidden inside one of the buildings, arrow notched, ready to drop anyone I couldn’t beat. And if the worst came to pass… they would’ve smuggled me out.”

Clarke blinked. “Wow.”

Lexa gave a soft huff, equal parts amusement and disbelief. “She was willing to risk everything—her honor, her position—just to make sure I survived.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Clarke asked, surprised. “Not even after?”

“I was furious at first,” Lexa admitted. “It’s a dishonor. When Luna ran, I understood. I never held it against her. But for myself? I swore I’d rather die with honor than live without it.”

Clarke studied her. “So why didn’t you punish them?”

Lexa exhaled, eyes distant. “Because I realized… she wasn’t trying to save me for me. She wanted to save me… for you. Even back then. Before I even knew who you were.”

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of that truth sinking in.

“This is… wow,” Clarke murmured, fingers curling around Lexa’s. “I don’t even know what to say. She’s really devoted to us, huh?”

Lexa nodded. “Very. And I can’t help but feel the same. That’s where it gets confusing. It’s not just attraction, Clarke. It’s more than that. She’s not a partner—not like you. Not even close. But I care about her. Deeply. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Clarke kissed Lexa’s palm softly. “You know she gets up before dawn every morning just to train me, right? Doesn’t care if I’m exhausted or sore—she beats the crap out of me. No mercy. Same with Liza. But underneath it all? She cares. Really cares. About both of us. I don’t want to throw the word around lightly… but I think she loves us. In her own way. And because of that, she loves the people we love, too. I feel safe with her. Like—truly safe. I just… don’t know how to define it.”

Lexa’s thumb brushed over Clarke’s knuckles. “Then don’t define it. Just live it. Nothing about us has ever been normal. You’re Wanheda—a girl from the stars. And I… I used to be the commander of the whole world. Turns out, it was just part of it.”

Clarke chuckled. “And we fought a war against each other.”

Lexa gave her a look. “Which I would have won…”

Clarke grinned. “But I did.”

Lexa pinched her side gently. “Only because I underestimated you. Regardless… we’re one of a kind. We don’t have to follow anyone else’s rules. Only ours. If that means letting someone else be part of us… then so be it. As long as your mom never finds out.”

Clarke burst into laughter. “Mom is literally sleeping with your playboy cousin. She’d get over it… eventually.”

Lexa smirked. “Still… I don’t want to test that theory.”

Clarke chuckled softly. “Neither do I. But… I do have one concern. I don’t want this… arrangement… to get in the way of her happiness. She deserves something of her own.”

Lexa laughed, low and warm. “You Skai people… always so caught up in boxes and definitions. Almost like our new African allies—endless rules, endless debates. In our culture, it’s not unusual for couples to include others in their lives… as long as both partners accept it. And we’re not talking about making her a third wife, branwoda. This is different. It won’t happen often.”

She shifted, motioning lazily to their relaxed sprawl on Jasper’s cot. “It’s just while we’re up here… Dazza has taken it upon herself to turn me into this. Once we’re back, it’ll return to normal. She’ll only come to us if she feels it’s needed. And trust me—if we begged, she still wouldn’t budge.”

Clarke arched a brow. “You begged?”

Lexa nodded, mock solemn. “Back in the day? I begged. She turned me down flat.”

“You were that desperate? You had half the coalition ready to jump you.”

Lexa smirked. “Exactly what she said. Told me to go get it out of my system. And when I was ready to continue my spiritual journey… then she’d make it worth the wait.”

Clarke’s eyes went dreamy. “What a monster.”

“An absolute tyrant,” Lexa agreed. “Nia doesn’t even come close.”

Clarke tilted her head, thoughtful. “You… never told me about your adventures up here,” Lexa said, her voice calm but curious. “I know about the boy you stabbed… Finn. But before him?”

Clarke considered that for a moment. “He was my first. All the way. And now that I’ve discovered what an actual sex life looks like…” she trailed off, smirking. “Let’s just say—I came to you a virgin. He had no idea what he was doing.”

She looked over at Lexa. “Look at it this way: he stabbed me… and I stabbed him back.”

Suddenly, Clarke burst into laughter, eyes watering. Lexa shifted slightly, raising a brow.

“I—oh my god… This is why he didn’t get death by a thousand cuts. Just one. It makes perfect sense now.”

She wiped her eyes, still giggling. “He stabbed me once. I stabbed him once. One for one.”

Lexa tilted her head. “I’m… glad you’re laughing about it, Clarke. I thought you’d be more… sensitive. You were broken, if I remember correctly.”

Clarke waved her off. “First of all, I’m so stoned. Second, I was immature. And third? He wasn’t a good person. He cheated on Raven—with me. He killed 18 innocent people… kids, elders. I thought he snapped. Maybe he did. But you know what? I snapped too—and I didn’t massacre anyone. So screw him. You were right to demand his death.”

Lexa kissed her cheek. “I should’ve asked for more. His death… and your submission.”

Clarke turned to her, grinning. “Damn right. You know I’d be down for that. Can you imagine? Finn tied to one pole… and me on the other… being—”

Lexa chuckled. “Now that’s what I’d call sound politics.”

“I can’t believe I was ever scared of you,” Clarke said, her voice soft as she nestled closer. “I was half convinced you were going to let Indra slit my throat in that tent.”

Lexa let out a quiet laugh. “I considered it,” she admitted. “I really did. Just like I considered ending your life when I found you in the woods.”

Clarke blinked at her, surprised by the honesty.

“But I loved you from the first moment I saw you,” Lexa continued, her tone low and unwavering. “And every time I look at you, I love you more. You weren’t wrong to fear me. Just like you’re not wrong to know that between the two of us, you hold the reins. Even when I tie you to trees and Heda claims her stake… she does so on her knees.”

Clarke smirked. “Are you trying to get into my pants, wifey?”

Lexa smiled, brushing her lips along Clarke’s shoulder. “I’m already there.”

Clarke hummed, fully content. “True.”

🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🪱🪱🪱🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛

Raven stretched, her spine cracking with satisfaction. “I need a new worm,” she muttered. “And I’m guessing no one brought critters to space, right?”

Ronen raised an eyebrow, reached into his pack, and pulled out a glass jar. Inside: dark earth, tiny burrows, and a familiar glint of movement. The lid had carefully punctured holes.

“Ai bring vorm evriver,” he said with mock solemnity.

Raven grinned and settled onto his lap. “You’re the best. And for the record—you can stop talking like a caveman. I know you speak English just fine.”

Ronen kissed her neck. “You think it’s… sixi,” he murmured.

She snorted. “Sexy, moron. And… you’re not wrong. It kind of is.”

Still, her smile faded slightly. “But seriously… I think the old one’s done. I’m starting to feel it again.”

Ronen nodded. “You know what to do.”

They were in her old quarters—cramped by earth standards, but luxury by Ark standards. It came with filtered air, priority rations, and—best of all—proximity to all stations. After she turned eighteen, she got her own tiny room on the ring. Utility closet by name, lifesaver by function.

The worm was a grotesque little thing, but it had saved her life. Crawled into her sciatic nerve cluster and intercepted pain signals like a living anesthetic. Ancient science, lost until Rina brought it back. And after Rina died… Ronen took up the torch. He’d watched her enough times to know exactly what to do.

And of course, her self-appointed worm-implant specialist never traveled without a backup. Even in space.

There was just one catch: Ronen had a strict policy. If Raven was going to undress for the procedure, she had to do it like it was anything but clinical. And afterward? She had to prove it worked.

Raven sighed, already pulling her shirt over her head. “You’re lucky I love space worms.”

Ronen tilted his head as Raven pulled her shirt over her head and sent it flying in an undisclosed direction. “I’m lucky you’re my wife,” he said, his pupils already wide. Raven lowered her bra, letting her breasts spill out of the cups, and flicked her nipples. “You’re very… very lucky.” He reached out to help, but Raven smacked his hand away. “Nope. First… you watch. Then… you put my worm inside of me. Then… you touch. Then… maybe… you can put your worm inside of me.”

Ronen huffed but smiled. He remembered the day Heda had come to him. “I have a soldier for you to fix. You’re coming with me,” she had said. It hadn’t been the first time. He had traveled all over the coalition, helping those wounded in battle to walk again, to use their hands again. Just as he had been helped by his wife and her mother, Rina, when his leg was a mess, wounded by a poisoned blade during a battle with Azgeda. More flesh had been cut away to save his life than he had been willing to live with. He’d thought he’d never walk again. But after weeks of strange procedures—insects that bit and ate and laid eggs, grueling exercises, and smelly ointments—he hadn’t just walked again; he had fallen hopelessly in love with Lora. His first wife.

Until the mountain took her. Until the only connection he had with her was his new role, doing what Lora had done.

Ronen tilted his head, eyeing Heda as he mentally cataloged what to pack. “Which clan?” he asked, voice steady. He needed to know what he was walking into. “And what’s his name?”

Heda’s sigh carried the weight of too many battles. “Not a clan. Our… guests. Skaikru. And it’s a her. Raven. The mountain broke her—drilled into her hip. She can’t walk without a brace. But without her, Wanheda never would’ve gotten inside. Never would’ve brought them down.”

“Ravion?” Ronen’s brow furrowed. “The one you tied to the tree? The one Gustus…”

Heda gave a curt nod. “Her. I’m leaving in an hour. You coming?”

He went. It took sixty minutes of pleading in Gonasleng he could barely string together back then, plus Heda’s sharp threat to put Raven back on that tree, but he started working with her.

Raven was a force, unlike anyone he’d ever met. Rowdy, loud, and unapologetically opinionated. Not a warrior in the traditional sense—undisciplined, chaotic, burning with anger. She didn’t fight with blades or fists; she couldn’t, not with her body so battered. Instead, she created. Invented. Built things that didn’t just destroy but made life better. She was stunning. Wild. Hilarious. Gorgeous.

The moment she shucked off her pants for the procedure, he knew. He’d bring her back to TonDC. He’d marry her. That ass, that mouth—they were fierce, bold, almost as vast as her heart.

Raven smirked, squeezing her breast as she leaned over Ronen. “Want a lick?” she teased, her voice low and playful. His nod came slow, eyes dazed as always, but she wagged a finger at him, denying him for now. That same finger trailed downward, slipping inside the loose waistband of her pants.

Ronen had to admit, he’d gained a new appreciation for Skaikru clothing. When they’d arrived on the ring five days ago, the air had bitten like Azgeda in deep winter—sharp, bone-chilling cold. But then Becca—yes, *that* Becca, the long-dead Pramheda, now inexplicably Heda in space and his wife’s close friend—had tapped a few commands into what Ronen proudly recognized as a keyboard. Suddenly, the temperature was perfect. No need for rugged layers here. Comfortable worked just fine.

And as Raven’s finger dipped further into her pants—Skaikru “sweatpants,” she called them—without the hassle of buttons or buckles, Ronen’s appreciation for their simplicity surged. His internal temperature skyrocketed, matching the heat in her gaze.

Raven let out a soft hum, her voice teasing. “Hmm… I wish it was you touching me…” She fixed Ronen with a playful glare. “But you insist I put on a show… so… watch.” Her fingers moved deliberately, touching herself in a way that made his pulse race, eager to take her place.

But Raven was in pain—she’d said so herself. Standing wasn’t an option for her right now. Ronen didn’t hesitate. He scooped her up effortlessly, like she weighed nothing, and settled her onto his lap.

She didn’t need to be uncomfortable just to drive him wild. Raven looped an arm around his neck, her other hand tugging her pants and underwear down to her knees.

With a sly grin, she continued, her movements bold and unapologetic, leaving him very, very uncomfortable in the best way.

Ronen was the best. Simple. Solid. Unyielding. He’d practically manhandled Raven into leaving everything she knew behind, convincing her to move to TonDC when Skaikru were still seen as unwelcome invaders.

Those first few days, the people of TonDC shot Raven sharp looks as she hobbled through the streets. Ronen had a few quiet “heart-to-hearts” with them. Things changed after that. No one dared mess with Ronen.

His loyalty was unshakable. Unlike Finn, there were no doubts, no endless philosophical debates. Raven wasn’t even sure Ronen was capable of overthinking. He was straightforward: she asked, he acted. A massage for her aching hip? Done. Joining her on Becca’s island or even into hell itself? *Ai nid faiv minat pak.* Add to that his Greek god looks, and Raven couldn’t imagine life without him. Her only gripe? He was too gentle in bed. For all his testosterone, he handled her like she was fragile glass. Her gentle giant.

Raven smirked as her fingers found their rhythm, Ronen’s massive arousal pressing against her side through his pants. With a mental *fuck it*, she grabbed his hand and guided it to her nipple. The gentle giant issue was improving—definitely fixable.

Ronen’s fingers rolled her nipple just the way Raven loved, helping her earn her worm. She spread her legs wider, giving him a better view, and quickened her movements. With his hand on her breast, the bulge in his pants promising a thorough “physical therapy” session soon, and his dark eyes locked on her, it was easy to let go. A rush surged through her, and she arched into him, clenching around her own fingers, biting her lip as she shattered.

“Pfffffff,” she exhaled, catching her breath. “Happy now? Give me my damn worm.”

He grinned as she stood, laughing at the wet spot she’d left on his pants.

“Let’s go, babe,” she said, standing before him, legs slightly wobbly. What was coming next was disgusting, but worth enduring for what would follow.

Ronen reached into his bag, pulling out the supplies. The protocol had flaws, he thought—chief among them performing minor surgery with a raging erection and a mind half-gone with want. He grabbed the numbing cream and spread it generously over Raven’s hip, rubbing it deeply into the faded scar where the mountain’s monsters had drilled into her, and where he’d cut her a few times to insert the worm.

He pinched the spot. “Feel?”

She shook her head, confirming the area was numb.

He reached for his scalpel—a gift from a horrified Abby after she’d seen the rusted paring knife he’d used before. With precision, he made a small, deep cut, wiping the blood with gauze. “Redi?” he asked.

Raven nodded.

Using narrow, long tweezers, he plucked a worm from the jar and carefully inserted it into the incision, letting it go. He knew it would take a moment to find her nerve. First, it would consume the remains of its predecessor, then latch on, resuming its quiet work of absorbing her pain.

He pulled Raven into a hug, knowing that while the procedure wasn’t truly painful, the faint discomfort she felt now would soon fade. It would be worth it.

Raven shivered in Ronen’s arms. The worms were dangerous—post-bomb mutations evolved to absorb pain, their parasitic leeching so subtle it went unnoticed by an unsuspecting host. Left unchecked, they could cause paralysis or worse. But Rina had studied them, mastered the art of placing them to ease the unbearable pain of nerve damage, like Raven’s. Ronen had learned to insert them in just the right spot.

She felt it all: the worm crawling inside her, the faint munching as it consumed its predecessor. Then, *chum chum*—the pain vanished.

Raven sighed in relief as Ronen placed a bandage over the incision. *Time to party,* she thought, her hand already reaching for his… worm.

Raven slipped her hand into the waistband of Ronen’s pants. Her new parasitic savior would need a couple more minutes to settle into its home, but Ronen had waited long enough. Her fingers wrapped around his length, and she marveled, as always, at how it could possibly fit inside her. If they ever had a kid—something she secretly hoped for—giving birth might not be such a shock to her system.

He let out a low growl as she stroked him gently, up and down. Raven grinned. This was progress. The more primal, the better.

Raven’s smile softened. Their love story wasn’t conventional, no gradual unfolding of feelings. On the ground, life was too short for that. *“Yu kam TonDC and yu becam ai houmon,”* Ronen had declared, not asking but stating it as undeniable truth. *You’ll be my wife.* Raven, with her sharp tongue and habit of arguing everything, didn’t fight him. Not this time. Ronen was certainty itself—solid, sure, unshakable. She’d never had anyone she could truly rely on. An alcoholic mother who swapped rations for booze. A sleazy boyfriend who turned from clingy to disloyal the moment they hit the ground. But Ronen? From the moment they met, she felt it: a protector, a real man who saw her as a superstar from the start.

She followed him to TonDC, moving in with him and Rina, his late wife’s mother. Rina didn’t hesitate—she yanked Raven’s pants down, inserted the first worm, and then force-fed her until her old clothes were either indecent or impossible to wear. When Raven suggested they find their own place, feeling uneasy about living with her husband-to-be’s former mother-in-law, Ronen’s response was immediate. That same day, Lexa strode into Raven’s workshop, carrying Ronen’s proposal for her to become his wife. Raven said yes, assuming the ceremony would take weeks, maybe months, to plan.

They were married that night. Dead panthers and semi-public sex included, naturally. Rina moved out anyway—may her beautiful soul rest—and from that day on, Raven thanked the universe for Ronen, for them. He found love again; she found more than she’d ever dared dream of. Not just a partner, but a rock. A man.

Raven grinned, her eyes glinting as she thought of Ronen, her rock of a man. She yanked down his pants, smirking at his proudly protruding manhood. A space virgin, she realized with a chuckle. Time to fix that.

She slid to the floor, settling between his parted knees, and looked up at him. Her big mouth, often a weapon, was something Ronen was grateful for in moments like this—otherwise, this would be near impossible.

She started with a slow lick, and he twitched, already on edge. He’d earned a bit of teasing. Raven kissed along his shaft, working her way up, then gave a swirling flick of her tongue at the tip. Impossibly, he grew bigger, harder, almost angrier, straining under her touch.

Raven knew this could end quickly if she wasn’t careful, so she kept her touch light—barely teasing, just enough to drive him wild. She took him into her mouth, as much as she could manage, stifling a laugh at the faint crack of her jaw.

There was no way to fit all of him, so she used her hand to stroke what her mouth couldn’t reach, moving up and down with deliberate care.

She savored the warmth of him, but even more, the increasingly desperate sounds Ronen couldn’t hold back, each one spurring her on.

Raven would never have done this for Finn, not even if he begged—especially because he begged. Ronen didn’t beg; he stated facts, his certainty as solid as stone. If Finn had been even a fraction of the man Ronen was, she might’ve considered it. But he wasn’t. Not even close.

She gave Ronen’s balls a possessive squeeze, then kissed the hard planes of his abs, smirking. *A fucking understatement.* Time to test her hips. She pushed him down onto the cot, which was clearly not built for Earth-grown humans—his frame barely fit. Straddling him, she took him in her hand, guiding just the tip inside her, slow and deliberate.

Good thing she’d prepped herself; otherwise, she’d be raiding medical for lube. She hated lube, but for this, she needed to be a well-oiled machine. Inch by inch, she lowered herself, savoring the stretch. Ronen let out a guttural sound that made her giggle, and she began to move up and down, the only way to take him fully.

“Ai skaisora,” Ronen murmured, his hands tucked behind his head, giving her a lazy grin. This was Raven’s exercise to complete—she needed to move her ass to prove the worm was latched on properly, that her mobility was intact. If it wasn’t, the worm could crawl into her spinal cord, and if she was lucky, she’d only be paralyzed from the waist down.

Ronen had told her once about Rina’s single mistake. A little girl, her leg mangled by a bear, suffering brutal nerve damage and relentless pain. Rina tried “worming” her, but the girl panicked, thrashing as she felt the critter move inside her hip. Instead of latching onto her sciatic nerve, the worm slipped past to her spine. The girl never walked again.

So Raven had to prove it worked. She moved up and down his shaft with ease, her hips fluid, her body responding perfectly. It was a success.

“You can help, you know,” Raven murmured, guiding Ronen’s hands to her breasts. He wouldn’t assist with the rocking of her hips—that was her test to prove the worm was in place—but helping her chase another climax? That was a different story. Ronen reached places in her she hadn’t known existed: her heart, her soul, and deep within her body. It was delicious, this feeling of being so completely loved, so perfectly filled. Weightless, despite the ring’s artificial gravity.

Ronen rolled her nipples just the way she liked, and she felt herself stretching fuller, if that was even possible. “My love,” she whispered, her nails grazing his chest. She was close now, and she wished this moment could last forever—his gaze locking with hers, intense and adoring. She wished they could stay in space, far from the chaos, the endless wars, the crushing responsibilities. But in two days, a shuttle would take them back to Earth, back to the fight against ALIE. Hopefully, this time, they’d finish her for good.

Truth be told, life on the ground wasn’t so bad. Not just because she had *this*—her hips rocking less than gently on Ronen’s shaft—but because she had a family. A ragtag crew of commanders and misfits, shielding the world from threats it wasn’t meant to survive: evil queens, rogue AIs, and, if Becca was right, god-like beings obsessed with turning everything to crystal.

But right now, more urgent matters demanded her attention. Her core clenched desperately around Ronen as his hips arched beneath her. With a groan, he spilled into her, and she was too late to stop it. The sensation of his hot seed pushed her over the edge, and she climaxed hard, collapsing forward to kiss him. Between Ronen’s herbal remedies, Becca’s medical expertise, and the Ark’s stockpile of pregnancy-ending compounds, this little oversight could be fixed easily.

Still, as she caught her breath, a thought flickered: maybe things happened for a reason. Maybe this was meant to be.

Chapter Text

“Papa…” Mona said, voice steady but with an edge of tension. She stared into the screen, eyes flicking slightly off-camera. “I… want you to meet someone. A friend. He’s also… an IT specialist. Among other things.”

Miti’s brows rose. That alone told him everything he needed to know.

His daughter—his eldest—was not someone who ever just introduced a friend. Not Mona. Among his three girls, she was the most headstrong, the most brilliant. A mind like fire—curious, relentless, fiercely independent. She didn’t flaunt her royal status. In fact, she ran from it. What she took pride in was her intellect, her work, her autonomy.

All things that made her difficult in the eyes of society.

He remembered the day she came to him. He had just finished telling Marwa that the North American delegation would be arriving tomorrow—on an aircraft, no less. Two women, married. A disgrace, according to the old codes. And yet… a miracle too. After generations of silence, they’d finally made contact. They needed the North Americans. That virus—the artificial intelligence—had crippled their systems. Only they seemed to know how to stop it.

“I’m leaving,” Mona had said. “If you don’t let me go with them, I’ll go anyway. And you’ll never see me again.”

She’d meant it.

She had always questioned things, even as a child. Why does the sun rise in the east? Why does God have a form? Why must belief silence inquiry? And in university, it only intensified. Her faith withered—but her integrity didn’t. She made a deal with them. She’d stay chaste. And she had. But she could not pretend to believe anymore. Marwa had seen it. So had he.

And when the time came to marry Kim—her cousin, her future king—Mona had stood before the entire congregation during mass… and told the world to go fuck itself.

So now? This—this—introduction?

Her voice uncertain? A “friend”? Miti’s stomach sank.

It meant things were serious.

At least, he thought grimly… it was a man.

Monty leaned into view on the screen and gave an awkward wave. “Ahm… hello, Chief. I’m Monty.”

Miti, who had been in politics since before his daughters could speak, had never worked harder to keep a neutral expression in his life. Every inch of him wanted to grab this boy by the collar and shake some sense into him—not just for daring to cozy up to his daughter, but because the boy was Asian. A relic from the old stories. A nonbeliever. A pagan.

“Hello, young man,” Miti said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Monty nodded, oblivious. “Nice to meet you too.”

Then—of course—Lexa appeared in the frame, casually popping in like she was photobombing a family call. “Hey, Chief,” she said, and gestured toward Monty. “Just so you know—he’s one of our brightest minds. And bravest.”

Miti’s eyes narrowed.

Lexa’s hair was half-done, a mess of curls falling over one shoulder. She wore a faded shirt, sleeves pushed up, posture slouched like a rebellious teenager. This was not the composed, calculating Heda he remembered hosting in his capital. This version of her was relaxed. Unbothered.

Too unbothered.

A chill prickled at the back of his neck.

What the hell are they doing up there?

He decided to poke around a bit, his politician’s instincts kicking in.

“So… sweetheart,” Miti said casually, “how is… space?”

He still couldn’t believe it. His daughter—his daughter—was in space. When she first called him over the official radio frequency, one that only a select few even knew existed, her voice had been calm. Too calm.

Papa… we had no choice but to escape the island, she had said. We got the processor… so that’s good, I guess… but…

Yes? he’d asked, already feeling the ice forming in his chest.

We’re on the Ark. Or… what’s left of it. There was no other way. And… we have no way down. We thought there’d be fuel here, but…

His heart had sunk. In that moment, every terrifying what if imaginable had flooded his mind—each one worse than the last. But Miti had done what he always did: swallowed the panic, straightened his spine, and got to work.

Africa had been the last to join the old world’s space race before the bombs fell. Now, ironically, it was the first to rejoin it after. Becca’s shuttle didn’t count—it was pre-war, a relic of another era.

“Space… is not bad,” Mona said now, smoothing down the front of her shirt. “Pretty nice, actually. The views are… incredible.”

She thanked God for making her Black—no blushing. Because the “views” she was exposed to these days had far more to do with toned male anatomy than with stars or Earth’s blue curve below.

“How are the preparations going?” Mona asked, trying to sound casual. “Still coming in two days?”

She hoped he’d say no. That there was some unforeseen delay. Anything. Because as incredible as the entire experience was… she wasn’t ready for it to end.

Back on Earth, things had been great. Better than great. She quickly realized that the Coalition was everything she had secretly hoped for—free, wild, and the kind of glorious debauchery her people would label blasphemous. And on top of it all, Heda herself had made it her personal mission to give Mona a taste of sunshine. She practically shoved Monty into her life, made sure she and Kush were guided through Polis’s most questionable and exhilarating establishments.

But up here?

It was a different world entirely. Everyone was just… chilling. Taking a breath. Even Heda—especially Heda—had been dethroned by none other than Dr. Franco herself, now re-bodied thanks to ALIE. And somehow, the most powerful woman alive had turned into a lazy, occasionally stoned goofball who took mid-day naps with Clarke (and, unless Mona’s eyes had deceived her, Dazza might’ve joined them once or twice). She stuffed her face with the Ark’s version of animal crackers and claimed they were all just spacing out. The whole crew had softened. Relaxed.

And Mona and Monty? They were… exploring new frontiers. No sex—yet—but when Mona mentioned to Raven they were figuring things out but still had a lot to learn, Raven raised one eyebrow, left the room, and returned five minutes later with Liza. Who, it turned out, wasn’t just the commander of a small army of lethal mechas and the proud handler of a robodog—she was also an unexpectedly phenomenal sex-ed instructor.

“Still on schedule,” Miti said, his voice firm. “Day after tomorrow.”

Mona’s face fell just enough for him to notice—and in that moment, Miti knew. Whatever was going on up there… it was serious.

“How is Momi?” Mona asked quietly. Her mother wasn’t a politician—never had been. A queen, yes. But unlike her father, she never held back. She loved Mona deeply, but made no secret of the fact that she believed her daughter was on a fast track to eternal damnation.

Still, fearing she’d push Mona away for good, she had learned to keep her distance.

“Momi sends her regards,” Miti replied, his voice carefully neutral. “She’s out doing charity work… as always.”

Mona nodded, suppressing a sigh. Landing in Africa meant masks back on. Pretending again. The proper daughter. The pious girl. All performance.

She hated it.

She could only hope ALIE—or something else—would give them a reason to leave quickly.

“I’ll call again soon, Papi,” Mona said, preparing to log off. “Guess… I’ll see you in two days.”

“I’ll see you soon, sweetie,” Miti replied, then hesitated. “Can… I speak with the Commander, please?”

Mona stepped aside, and Lexa moved into view, hand buried in a bag of animal crackers. Clarke stood behind her, clearly amused. There was only one snack option left on the Ark: artificially flavored animal crackers made from soy-based powder. Clarke thought they tasted like plastic. Lexa, on the other hand—who had an entire floor in her tower dedicated to gourmet cuisine—had fallen head over heels for the junk.

“Chief?” Lexa said, tilting her head with a playful grin, clearly a brat.

“Hmm, Commander…” Miti began, narrowing his eyes. “I see you’re enjoying your space odyssey. Taking your holiday quite seriously.”

Lexa shoved a handful of crackers into her mouth and nodded enthusiastically, speaking around them. “Very seriously. And… I am the Commander of the Coalition. But… we are not in the Coalition right now. So… up here?” She glanced at Clarke, grinning, hoping she remembered the word right. “The Doc’s in charge. I’m… chilling.”

“Chilling, huh?” Miti said, cocking his head. “That sounds… nice. And who’s running the Coalition while you’re away?”

He understood the difference between New Africa and the Coalition. His people had a functioning parliamentary system, with Ontabo as the Prime Minister—mostly a symbolic position. Miti could step down tomorrow and the system would continue uninterrupted. But this young muncher in front of him? From everything she’d told him, she was no figurehead. Lexa was a de facto dictator—with a council of ambassadors, sure, but one she could override at will. His question wasn’t just curiosity. It was concern. Africa was providing liquid nitrogen to cool the quantum computer. In return, the Coalition promised security guarantees against ALIE. But if Heda was up in space, and the girl in charge of Moss was here with her… who, exactly, was protecting Earth?

“Don’t worry, Chief,” Lexa said, her mouth full, shoulders relaxed. “I have good people in charge. Gaia—my deputy Flamekeeper—is handling the political side. And Liza still has access to Moss from up here, if anything goes wrong. Besides, we did real damage when we destroyed the lab. ALIE’s busy licking her wounds right now. Dr. Franco’s monitoring her from up here.” She chewed another mouthful and waved a hand. “Now enough ALIE talk. Let’s discuss something more important.”

Miti raised an eyebrow.

“I’d like to establish official diplomatic relations between our two nations,” Lexa said, sitting up straighter. “I’ll send an ambassador to you, and you’ll send representatives to us. That way we can build ties, share knowledge, build trust. What do you think?”

Miti nodded slowly. “I’d prefer that very much. Of course. Once ALIE is dealt with, I’ll send people your way—if you’ll allow it. And you can set up an embassy here.”

“No need for you to send people,” Lexa said casually, reaching again into the bag of artificial animal crackers. “Mona and Kush will do just fine.”

Miti nearly choked.

Mona? Staying there? Long term?

That was…

Brilliant, actually. He looked closer at Lexa, the way she hunched protectively over her snack stash, and realized with a sigh: this had nothing to do with politics.

This way, Mona could have what she wanted—freedom, purpose, belonging—without causing a scandal back home or setting off a political firestorm. She could live her life on her own terms, serve her people in her own way, become part of her family’s legacy without being shackled by its expectations. Miti was slowly making peace with the fact that his daughter might never embrace the path of faith as he and Marwa had. He sighed. Marwa would be relieved. Their family—faithful for generations—would be spared the shame of their daughter’s “waywardness.”

“I… would consider that,” he said carefully. “If you can guarantee her safety and arrange a way for us to see each other periodically.”

Mona’s jaw dropped.

When Lexa had first suggested the idea yesterday at supper, Mona was sure her father would shut it down before she could even finish the sentence. But Lexa had shrugged, popping a cracker into her mouth, and said something about how life was a journey one must walk with hope and faith—her gaze drifting toward Dazza, who was, as usual, deep into pre-bomb historical records with Kush at her side.

Mona had once spoken to Dazza about religion. Surprisingly, the redhead knew more about Christianity than she did—and Mona had racked up quite a few theology credits back in university, as every student was required to.

“God is love,” Dazza had said. “If Jesus believed in love, then he was his son indeed. Just as you are his daughter. Just as every living being capable of love is. Your people try to humanize something that is beyond. Sometimes, trying to do the right thing comes out all wrong. Religions were not started by people who sought God. They were created by people who wanted to become Him. Your faith can be strong—without sacrificing who you are.”

And just like that, Mona had found herself quietly converted—into the Church of Dazza.

“Papi… thank you,” Mona said softly from the side, as Lexa slouched further down in her chair, tossing another cracker into her mouth. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say that you love me,” Miti replied with a smile. “We’ll discuss the details of this arrangement when you return to Earth. For now… enjoy your chilling, Ambassador.”

Mona wiped a tear and nodded. “I love you, Papi. Very, very much.”

Lexa hummed and rose from her seat. “See you soon, Chief,” she said, her voice light. “And thank you… for your help.”

Miti gave one final nod before the screen went dark.

Mona turned to Lexa, searching her expression. “Thank you… Heda.”

Lexa smirked and, to Mona’s surprise, pulled her into a warm, brief hug. “You’re welcome, kid.”

Mona chuckled and wrapped her arms around Lexa, returning the embrace. Lexa might only be a year or two older, but Mona wasn’t fooled by the laid-back, quirky version of her she’d seen up here in space. She’d seen Heda in action—commanding armies, making life-or-death decisions without flinching. She’d seen the steel behind the smile, the ancient weight in her gaze. Her mother would’ve called it an old soul. A spirit carved by war and wisdom both.

And now, somehow, Mona—once the scandalous daughter of New Africa’s royal house—was officially under her command. A representative, yes, but also… something more. Mona and Kush—who still had no idea what Miti had just agreed to—were now part of Lexa’s world. She could plant roots. Not here in space, no. But back in Polis, that chaotic, beautiful capital of freedom and potential. She could help shape it. Roads. Shops. Communication systems. With Raven. With Becca—yes, the Becca. The ghost-turned-legend-turned-literal-human-again.

Mona glanced over her shoulder and found Monty standing quietly by the doorway, eyes fixed on her. She smiled. A life with him… it wasn’t just a dream anymore.

“You heard?” she asked softly, walking over to him.

He nodded, his smile gentle, eyes full of quiet joy. When Lexa had told him he’d be escorting the African delegation upon their arrival, he’d panicked. Fixing computers? Easy. Engineering? Second nature. But welcoming people, especially her? Terrifying.

She looked like art. Spoke with an accent that made his thoughts stutter. But he soon learned she was just as awkward as he was. Where he had been shy all his life, she had been raised in a world where even hand-holding was scandalous. Where modesty was survival. Where everything he took for granted was something she had to rebel to reach.

And that’s when Raven, naturally, decided to intervene—berating him, pushing him, dragging him into courage. And it worked. Since then, they’d been slowly, beautifully discovering each other. Every layer new. Every kiss a revelation. Every touch, a first.

She was precious. And now, she wasn’t a temporary guest in his world.

She was staying.

They were staying.

And Monty couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Mona walked over and melted into Monty’s arms, closing her eyes as his warmth wrapped around her. This was real. It felt like a dream—but the most vivid, grounded, soul-deep kind. The kind that left no room for doubt.

“You’ll have to meet my father,” she whispered against his chest. “He’s nice.”

Monty nodded slowly, but she wasn’t done.

“And my mother,” she added. “She’s… not. And my sisters. Oh—and Simba.”

Monty froze.

Simba?

She looked up at him, smirking.

“My lion.”

He swallowed. Hard. Meeting a family who’d probably see him as an abomination? Doable. Facing a literal full-grown lion named Simba? That was going to require nerves of titanium.

Suddenly, Lexa’s head snapped up. Her gaze locked on the far corner of the command chamber.

“Hmm… what the fuck?” she muttered, pointing.

Everyone turned. And sure enough—there was Becca. Becca Pramheda. The scientist. The myth. The woman who once saved humanity and then lingered for a century as code. Casually chatting with Emerson.

Not just chatting.

Flirting.

Making eyes.

Clarke blinked. “That’s… disturbing.”

“Ew,” Monty agreed, his face contorting.

“Let them be,” Dazza said dryly, barely glancing up. “The woman’s got needs. A hundred years as disembodied consciousness? I’m sure this is just… biological release.”

Clarke whipped around to look at her. Dazza, of all people—who had once punched Emerson square in the jaw the first time they met. Who barely tolerated him on a good day. Who always made a face like she’d smelled something rotten whenever he was near.

And now she was defending Becca flirting with him?

That, Clarke decided, was officially more disturbing than Emerson’s weirdly pinked-up ear tips.

“We need to get out of here,” Lexa said, standing up abruptly. “It’s ruining my vacation. Who’s in for a movie?”

“I’m game,” Clarke replied, stretching. “What are we watching?”

“Black Widow, of course,” Lexa said without hesitation.

Clarke chuckled. “The point of watching movies is to see a different one every time, not the same one over and over.”

Lexa shrugged. “When you become Heda, you can make the rules. Let’s go.”

Clarke grinned, biting back the snarky “I thought you’re not Heda in space” already forming on her tongue.

The theater on the Ark was small, cramped, and barely functional—half the speakers crackled or didn’t work at all. The cushions were worn down and the screen had a few dead pixels. But none of that mattered. Not to Lexa.

She made it her haven. When she wasn’t pinned between Clarke’s thighs or writhing under Dazza’s merciless, lubed-up fingers, this was where she wanted to be. In the dark. Surrounded by warmth, still and safe. No wars. No councils. No decisions with lives in the balance.

Just Clarke pressed close beside her, the sound of soy animal crackers crunching, and a world on screen where warriors had heart. Where heroes could be broken and brave all at once.

Her favorite? Always the Black Widow.

A storm in human form. A survivor. A fighter. A woman built of ghosts and steel—and love buried deep. Just like her.

Even if her version of a love interest wasn’t a radioactive green giant… but a blonde-haired goddess and at times a redheaded wildcard who made her feel like she could finally breathe.

They stepped through the double doors into the corridor, a trail of bodies in tow—Dazza and Kush, Monty and Mona falling in behind.

“Liza?” Clarke asked.

Lexa nodded.

They turned, Clarke knocking on the third door down.

“Whaaat?” came the exasperated voice from inside. Of course. What else would the muppet be doing?

The door creaked open. Ontari peeked out, hair wild, face flushed, clearly interrupted mid-something. “What?” she asked again.

“Movie,” Clarke said, barely holding back a laugh.

Ontari turned to Echo, visible lounging on the bed behind her.

“Fifteen minutes,” Echo said without hesitation. “We’ll meet you there. Start without us. It’s about that redhead who looks like Dazza anyway, right?”

“She does… doesn’t she?” Dazza smirked.

“Let’s go,” Clarke said, glancing at her sideways.

Hmm. Dazza was better looking. No contest. The Black Widow lost points for not having that impossibly sexy scar. And her body? Soft, curvy, polished. More showpiece than warrior.

Dazza was all substance—grit wrapped in muscle and mystery.

Truth be told, all of them were the real deal. If someone ever wanted to write a show about a band of misfits who saved the world—Clarke chuckled to herself—this crew would blow every box office record to dust.

Lexa, the mighty Heda, who’d chosen freedom over the supercharged power of the Flame. Clarke herself—Wanheda, reluctant leader and certified ghost-whisperer. Liza the mech-wielding muppet. Raven, the half-mad genius.

Yeah… someone give them a script.

She glanced at Lexa, who was scratching her nose absently like she had zero idea she was made for the screen.

Definitely star material.

They made their way upstairs to the entertainment center—a small, worn-down section of the ark once reserved for overachievers. Back in its prime, kids who aced their exams or adults who exceeded their quotas earned time here. Now, it felt like a shrine to the old world. A couple of pool tables leaned slightly to one side, an ancient arcade console blinked with stubborn determination—no one knew who the hell had thought to bring Pac-Man to space, but they owed that person a medal—and tucked away in the far corner, a medium-sized room that passed for a movie theater.

It wasn’t much. A few rows of mismatched chairs that didn’t entirely flatten your ass, and half-functioning speakers, but up here, it was gold.

Every room on the ark had screens—some massive, some barely bigger than a clipboard. Technically, there was no need for a dedicated theater. But it wasn’t about need. It was about having something to do. Because the ark’s real mission—beyond survival—was to pass the time. Wait for Earth to forgive them.

What they hadn’t known was that Earth was more forgiving than they’d ever dared to hope.

Monty fumbled with the old control panel at the back, swearing under his breath. Mona stepped in and gave the side of the box a decisive smack. The screen crackled to life. Sound—scratchy. Picture—grainy.

Perfect.

Clarke dropped into a seat in the back, Lexa sprawling across her lap like a lazy cat, limbs askew. Her shirt was dusted with crumbs, hair a riot, and she still smelled faintly of sex and goncha.

Clarke ran her fingers through Lexa’s tangled curls and exhaled.

She had never, in her entire life, experienced anything more perfect.

Her superstar, Clarke thought, watching Lexa lazily sprawled across her lap like she owned the universe—and maybe, in some ways, she did.

She thought back to their wedding night. That quiet bench, the slow sting of ink marking her skin—the eye, half blue, half green. Clarke had asked then if they’d ever get a real break. A few days to themselves. A vacation.

Lexa had been honest. No. Not unless someone else could take over for a while.

So they made do. Carved out time where they could—two stolen hours behind closed doors. Sometimes they made love. Sometimes they just talked. Other times, they curled into each other and slept.

It lasted a week.

Then Raven burst through the door with three words that shattered the quiet:

“I. Lost. ALIE.”

And just like that, the break was over.

There had barely been time to breathe between the war with Nia and the fight to save the world from digital annihilation. Clarke had come to accept that happily ever after didn’t look the way the stories promised. It lived in the in-between—the stolen glances, the quiet moments between battles.

She never imagined one of those moments would look like this.

A week on the Ark. Removed from Earth, from their titles, from the weight of the world. Here, in the cradle of old humanity, Becca Pramheda herself had reemerged to take up the reins—and with one clear instruction:

“Stay out of the way. Enjoy your time off.”

And Lexa… did.

Dazza swooped in like a force of nature, dragging the commander out of her crown and into her body. She made Lexa rest. She made her submit. Kicked her ass every morning, stripped her of relevance, and reminded her that she didn’t need to lead every second to have value.

Here, Lexa was a girl on vacation. A little spoiled. A little aimless. Oversleeping. Getting high. Eating like a stoned teenager with a bottomless stomach.

And Clarke… Clarke was starting to worry.

Not because she feared this version of Lexa wouldn’t disappear when they returned to Earth…

But because she prayed she wouldn’t.

Because this Lexa—quiet, peaceful, high as the stars, eyes glassy as she lazily tracked the fight on-screen with a half-eaten cracker in hand—this Lexa was the most maddeningly endearing version of her wife Clarke had ever known.

And she never wanted to let her go.

Clarke slipped her hand beneath Lexa’s shirt, fingers gliding across warm skin and settling over her stomach. She smiled, feeling the soft curve just above Lexa’s abs—Dazza’s rigorous training clearly doing battle with the Ark’s endless supply of artificial snacks. Her fingers gave a playful squeeze.

Lexa let out a small burp.

Clarke grinned. Adorable.

“She’s trying to whip us into shape,” Clarke murmured, her thumb tracing lazy circles. “You into a teenager… me into a warrior…”

Lexa hummed in agreement, too stoned or too content to respond with words. She lifted a lazy hand and pointed toward the couch off to the side. Clarke followed the gesture.

Kush sat quietly in one corner, posture rigid in a way that screamed don’t move. Dazza lounged beside him, her legs casually draped over his lap like she owned the space—and possibly him too.

“Well,” Clarke said, eyebrows raised. “Looks like someone’s exploring cultural diplomacy.”

Lexa smirked. “He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Clarke chuckled softly. She doubted it would turn into anything more than a passing flirtation. Kush was bright, thoughtful—more scholar than soldier. And Dazza… well, Dazza was Dazza. Intense. Mysterious. Entirely her own. But maybe, Clarke thought as she watched Dazza subtly adjust her position, maybe she was finally taking something for herself.

The door hissed open and Ontari strolled in with Echo trailing behind. Ontari gave Clarke a lazy grin before collapsing onto the opposite couch, Echo settling beside her without a word.

The room felt full now. Easy. Safe.

Clarke leaned further into Lexa, her palm warm against her skin.

This… this was everything.

They kept watching the movie, Lexa tossing out the occasional lazy comment—usually about the impracticality of fighting styles, the absurd clutter of the old world, or how paper currency made absolutely no sense.

In the dim light, Lexa subtly unfastened her pants and guided Clarke’s hand lower.

“Lexa…” Clarke whispered sharply in her ear, glancing around. “We’re not alone! What if—”

Lexa let out a soft growl and shifted her hips, legs parting slightly in silent insistence.

Clarke exhaled, resigned. “Fine,” she muttered.

Lexa gave a low, satisfied hum and arched her hips encouragingly. Clarke risked a glance at Dazza, who was toying with the edge of Kush’s shirt, the poor guy frozen stiff—quite literally, if the way he clutched a throw pillow to his lap was anything to go by.

Clarke sighed. What have we unleashed?

With one hand creeping higher under Lexa’s shirt, her fingers brushed warm skin. Lexa made a pleased sound, eyes fixed lazily on the screen, but very much not watching the movie anymore.

Clarke buried her nose in Lexa’s hair, expecting the familiar scent of lavender and earth, but instead, she caught a faint chemical tang from the Ark’s scentless soap, laced with the unmistakable skunk of gancha. Lexa had leaned hard into it, embracing the hazy escape of weed with a fervor that surprised Clarke. It took her back to her own early days of chaos—panic attacks, hallucinations, when Zik had slipped her a joint to dull the edges. It had carried her through the worst. Now, Lexa was indulging in the same stillness, the same cloudy bliss, letting herself live for once.

“C’mon, Wanheda,” Lexa purred, voice low and teasing, “I want to cum.”

Clarke stifled a laugh, pressing a soft kiss to Lexa’s temple. “Keep it down,” she whispered, half-scolding. “You’ll never face the others as Heda again if they hear you like this.”

Lexa gave a lazy shrug, hips bucking with quiet insistence. “Just get on with it,” she murmured, a playful edge to her voice. “Please.”

Clarke scanned the room and spotted a tattered blanket, probably a century old, draped near Dazza. She caught Dazza’s eye and hissed softly, “Pssst.” Dazza turned, her gaze narrowing before a knowing smile spread across her face. Clarke mouthed, *Blanket.* Dazza nodded, instantly picking up on the plan, and tossed it over with a flick of her wrist. The room was distracted, eyes glued to a chaotic helicopter escape scene blaring on the screen. Dazza shifted back to the movie, nudging her leg against Kush in a way that left him gripping the throw pillow in his lap even tighter, clearly struggling to keep his composure.

Clarke draped the blanket over herself and Lexa, who shifted slightly, guiding Clarke’s hand—already nestled in her pants—firmly against her core. Clarke’s heart stuttered. Her fierce wife, forged in war and bound by duty, was unraveling into the most spoiled, indulgent version of herself Clarke had ever seen. Lexa’s lazy, contented sigh held more joy than even their wedding day, and Clarke couldn’t help but melt into the moment.

A full-on fingering session was out of the question. Even if Lexa had managed to stifle her moans, the sound of fingers slipping in and out would’ve been too obvious. No, this had to be gentle. Slow. Stealthy.

Clarke smiled and pressed a kiss to Lexa’s neck, her fingers finding a nipple and giving it a soft squeeze. Lexa bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the screen. In the back of her mind, she registered the movie’s prison, set in an icy tundra, reminding her of Azgeda’s harsh landscapes.

But then Clarke’s fingertip grazed her clit, just so, and Lexa’s thoughts dissolved into nothing. She’d never known this kind of freedom before—never allowed herself to take what she wanted without guilt weighing her down.

She shivered as Clarke continued, unrelenting. Gentle grazes, back and forth, right there. A firm roll of her nipple sent a jolt through her. Lexa’s breath hitched, and a new worry crept in: maybe the others wouldn’t hear her, but they’d smell her.

On the Ark, the air was sterile—no traces of nature or leather to mask the musky scent of her arousal. Lexa’s mind shrugged it off. Let them smell it and wonder. When they returned to Earth, she’d silence any whispers with a threat of a long drop from the tower.

A soft “Mhhhh” escaped her as she exhaled. Clarke’s finger had shifted to rubbing slow, deliberate circles. It wasn’t fair. It would end too soon.

“Sorry, love,” Clarke whispered in Lexa’s ear, her voice soft but urgent. “We have to make this quick.”

The circling of her fingers grew more intense, the pressure on Lexa’s nipple firmer. Lexa had no choice but to close her eyes, focusing every ounce of willpower on staying quiet. It was going to be embarrassingly fast, especially with Clarke’s teeth grazing her neck.

Dazza glanced their way, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Their red-headed priestess of love. Lexa’s mind spun. *I’m so messed up,* she thought, catching the undeniable scent of her own arousal in the sterile air of the Ark.

But before self-consciousness could take hold, Clarke rolled her clit between her fingers. Lexa’s body locked in bliss, a sharp edge of pain blending with pleasure. She couldn’t help herself—she climaxed hard, a soft whimper slipping past her lips.

She couldn’t stop it, just as she couldn’t stop the gratitude swelling in her chest for whatever force had brought her here. For the first time, she’d met the girl beneath the surface—herself, beyond the title of Heda. And as aftershock after aftershock rolled through her, Lexa realized she loved what she’d found. She was… awesome.

She decided then and there: she *had* to bring those animal crackers back to Earth.

Clarke buttoned Lexa’s pants and gently adjusted the blanket, pulling her wife closer. “Let’s watch the movie, babe,” she murmured, settling Lexa comfortably in her arms.

This time, when Clarke called her “babe,” Lexa didn’t object. Not even a little. She never would again. She *was* a babe. A pretty awesome one.

****

“Listen… Prime Commander… or whatever they call you these days,” Emerson said, his voice low. “I’m not exactly a fan favorite around here. I appreciate the company, but… maybe slow down a little. Do you even know what I’ve done? What my people did? We tortured and killed thousands. For years.”

Becca didn’t flinch. She simply shrugged, her mouth brushing along the line of his jaw. “I’m responsible for more. Fifteen billion, maybe more. If this is a guilt contest, Lieutenant, I win. And anyway—your whole arc? It’s sexy. Almost as sexy as time dilation. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk.”

Emerson met her gaze, those dark eyes pulling him in. “I… can’t,” he admitted.

They were in the ark’s lowest chamber, the Earth observation window. One of many across the ring, but this one had been calibrated to always provide the clearest view—its position synced with the planet’s slow, endless spin. No one came down here. No one was supposed to.

They had talked for a while up in the lab—Becca asking pointed questions about the mountain, its history, its governance, its engineering. Emerson had been eager to answer, not only because it gave him something to focus on, but because since the moment she had walked into the room—real, not projected, not coded or mechanized—he hadn’t been able to look away. She moved like someone born of another era, stepping from a lost century straight into the now, and he was helpless to resist.

He still grieved. His wife’s absence was a wound that hadn’t closed. But as the Commander always said: the dead were gone—and the living were hungry.

“I want to see the Earth,” Becca had said upstairs.

At first, Emerson thought he might be hallucinating. After all, with the commander walking around smelling like a dispensary, everyone on the ring had probably been riding a secondhand high for days. But no—this was real. Becca Pramheda, legend, myth, woman reborn, was flirting with him.

The last sliver of doubt disappeared when she mentioned wanting to go down to the observation deck… but being too “nervous” to go alone. And then she took his hand. Just like that. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She moved through the corridors with the ease of someone who was used to being watched, admired, followed. And when they reached the viewing chamber, she didn’t hesitate—just dropped right into his lap with a casual smile and a half-laugh.

“These cold benches weren’t built for this new ass,” she said, lips brushing his ear.

And that was that.

It took Emerson time to gather his thoughts. He remembered that day—the day the mountain fell.

At first, there was no panic. They had spent decades preparing for every possible threat. Acid fog. Missile defense. Minefields laid with surgical precision. Surveillance systems that could spot a leaf out of place. They had contingency plans for every scenario. They always knew the outsiders would come eventually.

What they hadn’t anticipated was that they’d already been losing the war long before the first shot was fired.

Even before Emerson was born, Mount Weather had been bleeding people. The seals were deteriorating. The systems were aging. They patched what they could, but it was never enough.

It was Dante’s father who began the research—how to use the blood of the outsiders to reverse radiation sickness. It started with corpses. Sampling. Analysis. And what they found shocked them: the outsiders weren’t just surviving in radiation. They were immune. Genetically immune. And it wasn’t random mutation—it was engineered.

Now, lying here with Becca in his arms, he knew the truth. She had been the source. A woman from the stars who came bearing a gift: a serum that not only granted resistance to radiation, but rewrote the human genome. Passed on to children. Embedded in bloodlines. And the secret to replicating it? Zero gravity. Something they didn’t even consider back then.

When Dr. Tsing’s father proposed an alternative—dialysis using living outsiders as biological filters—President Wallace shut it down without hesitation. “We are not savages,” he said.

“But they are,” Tsing replied.

Still, Wallace refused. Until his eldest son died. Then the lines began to blur.

Their first test subject was a willing one. A young woman from the Dead Zone, deformed, desperate, seeking sanctuary. Wallace offered her a deal: live here, contribute to the research, help save lives. She agreed. But when it became clear that repeated treatments would kill her, she changed her mind. It didn’t matter. They kept using her anyway.

And so the Harvest Project was born.

Scout teams were deployed to find more test subjects. Outsiders. Anyone they could use. But the grounders adapted. Set traps. Fought back. That’s when the Cerberus Program began. Dr. Tsing developed a drug so addictive it could turn the strongest warrior into a slave. The promise of another hit made them do anything—even drag their own kin back to the mountain for harvesting.

Emerson was born into this world. By the time he came of age, the project was already in full swing. It was all he had ever known.

And it worked. For a while.

Until the 100 fell from the sky.

At first, President Dante watched with interest. “They’re like us,” he said. Civilized. Educated. They captured them after the explosion that wiped out the grounder army—the same army the commander had sent to destroy the delinquents. The truth? Dante had intervened. He sent the unit to protect them.

Turned out they didn’t need protection. Clarke’s ring of fire beat them to it.

Forty-eight of them survived. They were brought inside. Given food, rooms, safety. Integrated into the mountain.

But then more came. An entire Ark station. Nearly a thousand people. And that’s when Tsing—this time, the daughter—realized that the sky people’s resilience to radiation was even greater than the grounders’.

She and Cage approached Dante again. “A small favor,” they called it. But he refused, like always.

That’s when Cage made his move.

“The Earth belongs to us,” he said. “And we will do whatever it takes to walk it again.”

Dante staged a coup and overthrew his own father. Even as Clarke fled, he locked the surviving Sky teens inside and began drilling for bone marrow. Emerson didn’t hesitate. The dream of one day watching his children walk the Earth overshadowed any lingering sense of right and wrong. He was a soldier. A good one. His duty was to follow orders—not his conscience.

The rest was history.

The ground and sky united. Lexa and Clarke—barely more than children—outmaneuvered them at every turn. Desperate, Cage turned back to his father for help. And Dante gave him one final card to play: let the grounders go. They weren’t needed anymore. Offer Lexa something she couldn’t refuse. Tell her about the mine ring. Offer her peace instead of bloodshed. All they needed in return… was the Sky People.

He did. And it worked.

Lexa agreed. Her only condition: Clarke be spared.

A fatal mistake.

Because that Clarke—quiet, grief-stricken, burning with guilt—sneaked back into the mountain and killed them all. Gave them what they longed for most—outside air—and turned it into their final breath. Their last wish became their last torment.

Emerson survived. He had already been inoculated. He fled, evading capture for a time. But Nia had scouts combing the ruins, searching for scraps of tech, weapons—anything that could give her an edge over Lexa. They found him. Captured. Starving. Bleeding.

He remembered the first time he saw Nia—draped in power, cruelty woven into her smile. Regal. Untouchable. At first, she was almost kind. Gave him a room. Asked for information—where were the bombs, the weapons, the secrets of the mountain? He told her. He wanted revenge. He had lost everything. If he could help her take down Lexa, it would be worth it.

Then came the girl.

Twelve. Maybe younger.

A “gift,” Nia said.

He refused. Outraged. Disgusted. He was a father. He had lines he wouldn’t cross.

The punishment was immediate. He went from honored guest to caged animal. Beaten. Starved. Broken. Made to endure the unimaginable. Forced into tortures he could barely remember, and worse—forced to become part of them.

Eventually, he was no longer a prisoner. Just another broken tool in Nia’s dungeon.

And sometimes, Emerson thought, to know who you are… you first have to learn who you’re not.

He remembered Clarke’s desperate plea in that tent—strapped to a pole, pants around her ankles, blood dripping from her mouth after biting a chunk out of Nia’s face. The Ice Queen had fled the tent with a screech, promising to return and gut Clarke like an animal.

“Please,” Clarke had whispered through the blood. “Help me… help my mother… and I swear, I will grant you life.”

This girl—this child—was the reason for everything he had lost. He had helped capture her. He’d trained Nia’s spies to use the red gas, handed them the antidote. He had been the architect of their suffering. And yet… here she was, begging him for help. Pleading with him to betray Nia, to risk everything for her and her mother.

He should have spit in her face.

But by then, his life wasn’t worth much. Being Nia’s pet, her trophy, her dog on a leash—it was a fate worse than death. So he helped. Loosened the bonds. Freed them. Watched Clarke grab Nia’s own spear and slice through the back wall of the tent. They were ready to die on the other side.

Instead, they found a miracle.

Liza—Ontari—whatever name she went by then—came barreling through the chaos in a salvaged transport, Reyes at her side as her sniper. Risked everything to get to Clarke and Abby. Clarke tossed him a rifle without hesitation, trusting he wouldn’t turn on them.

And then Nia came. Her death squad in tow. But the sky cracked open, and a massive drone descended, its twin cannons tearing through Nia’s elite like paper. Moments later, Lexa and the coalition army arrived. It was over before it began.

He got to watch the muppet—Liza—gut Nia like an animal. Whatever was left of her face, Clarke had already claimed. Then Liza took Nia’s prized sword and shoved it somewhere poetic.

Finally, Heda stepped forward. Lexa. Calm. Precise. She cut off Nia’s head piece by piece, making sure the Ice Queen felt every moment of it.

When Clarke told her she’d promised Emerson his life, Lexa didn’t hesitate.

She punched him straight in the face.

He woke in a cell—clean, quiet, warm food waiting on a tray. No chains. No shouting. No one came for him, not at first. For days, he was left alone.

Then Clarke appeared.

She wasn’t alone. At her side stood a grounder—slender, compact, sharp-eyed. Looked enough like the commander to be kin. Clarke thanked him. For saving her life. For protecting her dignity when he had no reason to. Then she introduced the other man.

Zik, she said. Heda’s spymaster.

He would be interrogated. Given truth serums. It might not be pleasant. But if he cooperated, there would be options. Not freedom—not yet. But alternatives to public disembowelment.

The next few days blurred into a haze of pain and foggy memory. He spoke—he had no choice—and when the ordeal ended, Clarke returned.

This time, the commander was with her.

Lexa didn’t pace. Didn’t threaten. She simply asked:

“What do you want?”

The answer almost left his lips. To see you both suffer. To repay loss with pain. But he didn’t say it.

Partly because he liked his limbs where they were.

And partly because, deep down, it wasn’t entirely true.

He hadn’t known what he wanted. And he said as much. Asked to be left alone. He was the last of his kind—family gone, mind shattered by torture and the horrors he’d helped inflict. He was broken. But Clarke kept coming back.

Until one day, she didn’t ask. She told him.

The Pentagon. Military files. Warfare protocols. They needed him.

He didn’t say no.

Then came DARPA. The mechadog. That cursed machine nearly crushed the commander when she idiotically tried to ride it like a damn bull. Without thinking, he jumped in front of it—took the bullet that would’ve ended her.

He never figured out why. Maybe he wanted to die. Or maybe… if his daughter had ever been given a future, he’d want her to grow up like Lexa. Or Clarke.

After that, he had purpose again. Real purpose.

Not to conquer.

Not to survive.

But to protect.

Not just his people—but all people.

Because that was the team his commander played for now.

Up here, though… his commander had changed. Transformed into an unrecognizable, bratty pothead who roamed the ark’s halls smelling like weed, sex, and a kind of freedom he still didn’t fully understand. And the real authority in this strange new world wasn’t her—it was the woman currently straddling him, eyes steady, asking without words:

Are you ready to let go of your self-pity, stop mourning the life you lost, and finally say yes to the one in front of you?

He’d made his choice weeks ago—he’d fight for the living. Maybe now it was time to start living again, too.

He sighed. He would see Maria again—in the next life. But this one… this one was still his. And maybe it could begin here.

As his lips found hers, a thought flickered—and he hated it, but it came anyway. The last time someone offered him a child, he’d refused, endured hell for it, and never regretted it. That was not this.

Becca’s body was barely three days old. Her soul? A century older than his. If anything, he was the child in this equation.

But the woman in his arms? She was very much alive. And so was he. For the first time in a long, long time.

****

Monty blinked awake. Last day on the Ark.

Oh well. It had been good. Better than he expected, honestly. He’d thought returning would stir up old ghosts—pain, maybe guilt—but instead, it felt like a long, unexpected vacation. Their little crew had finally gotten to breathe. Just teenagers again. No commands, no saving the world, no burdens. Just laughter, naps, way too much food, and time.

He turned over to see Mona already sitting up, eyes distant, clearly lost in thought.

“Morning,” he said, smiling.

She looked over at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. They’d been sharing a room. No one cared. And it was incredible. Almost… too incredible. So many almosts. Almost kisses, almost confessions, almost everything.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, already knowing the look on her face. That contemplative, heavy-thinking look. Mona always worked through things in her head before she said them out loud.

“I promised my papa I would remain chaste while in Polis,” she said quietly. “And I have. We haven’t… you know.”

Monty raised an eyebrow. “And…?”

Mona smiled, a little wickedly now. “We’re not in Polis, are we?”

Monty chuckled. “No. No, we’re definitely not.” He stretched a little, propping himself up on one elbow. “But… what’s the rush? We’re not missing out. Not really.”

She nodded slowly. He was right. Ontari had armed her with more “curriculum” than most scholars back home could handle. But this wasn’t about curiosity. She liked him. A lot. Enough to wonder if “like” was just the beginning. And she had no doubt the feeling was mutual.

Back on Earth, promises would matter again. Expectations. Traditions. The weight of her family. But up here? In space?

“If I… if I have sex with you here, then… ‘remain chaste’ won’t apply. Because to remain something,” she said, grinning, “you have to be it first.”

Monty blinked. “You’d make a terrifying lawyer.”

She laughed. “Ziva said the same thing in university.”

Monty stared at her for a moment, heart pounding. He respected her—deeply. But this? This was a big moment.

Maybe they should wait.

But then… he remembered Raven’s words. That hissed warning when he tried to overthink it.

Be a man.

He reached for Mona’s hand.

“Then let’s exploit that loophole, ambassador.”

Mona sighed, her breath shaky with the gravity of the moment. This was a monumental step, one that felt like it could damn her forever.

But she’d left the old faith behind. She’d found a new church, free of stifling rules and outdated beliefs.

It was guided by a redheaded muse, whose wisdom and intellect were rivaled only by a deep, unshakable spirituality. Dazza’s creed pulsed with connection, with passion, with love—always love.

This moment with Monty would cut her ties to her old religion for good. And yet, in its place, it might just rekindle her faith.

Monty grinned, his hand resting gently on Mona’s side, savoring her warmth. “How about a shower first?” he suggested, his voice soft but playful. “Then we come back here… see what happens?”

Mona nodded, a spark in her eyes. “Let’s go, space man.”

He chuckled, matching her energy. “Let’s go, space woman.”

Mona blinked, realization hitting her. In less than half an hour, she’d truly be a *space woman*. She stood, slipping into a robe she’d found on the Ark, and gathered her supplies along with Monty’s. For a fleeting moment, she paused, struck by the fact that she was *living* with a man.

When they’d first arrived and finished setting up the ring—ensuring life support systems were running, the Ark’s temperature raised from a frigid minus forty Celsius to a cozy twenty-two—claiming quarters had come next. Monty had initially assumed he’d take a small room beside Mona’s, but her sharp look had stopped him cold.

*Grow the fuck up,* it said, without a word.

He’d laughed, and just like that, they’d moved in together. It was settled: when they returned to Earth, she’d move in with him. No question.

They padded through the Ark’s corridors toward the showers, hoping to find them empty. At six in the morning, Dazza, Ontari, Clarke, and Lexa were likely training, and the others were probably still asleep.

But as they entered, they were surprised to see Becca drying her hair, another shower running nearby. Mona’s brow furrowed. *Who else is in there?* she wondered, unsure if she really wanted the answer.

Becca glanced up, her voice unusually bright. “Good morning, young lady… young man!” She leaned protectively against the running shower stall, her posture screaming *keep moving or I’ll float you both*.

Mona rolled her eyes and tugged Monty behind her to a shower stall at the far end. They’d have to wait out Becca’s mystery companion until they made their escape.

But no stealthy exit came. Instead, laughter echoed from the stall, followed by the unmistakable sound of sloppy kissing and—

*Emerson.*

Mona’s eyes widened, her expression pure horror as she looked at Monty. This couldn’t be happening.

Monty shrugged, unfazed. “Not our business,” he whispered. “How about we get back to ours?”

Mona’s voice was a soft, teasing drawl. “I… say… let’s…” She slipped her robe off, letting it pool at her feet.

Monty’s breath caught. He’d never tire of seeing her—graceful as a jungle panther, vibrant, alive, full in all the right places. Unable to resist, he reached for her breast, feeling its familiar warmth and weight in his hand.

She chuckled, tugging his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoning his pants. “We came here to shower, space boy…” she murmured, her eyes glinting, “…about to become a man.”

Monty grinned as her hand slid down, stroking his already eager length, standing at attention and ready for more. “Shower,” she whispered, turning on the water and stepping under the stream.

Raven had spent three hours dismantling the water rationing system, ensuring they could linger longer than the standard three-minute limit. The ring was built for over five hundred people; their uneven dozen had no need for restrictions.

Mona hummed softly as Monty washed her hair, rough and tightly curled when not braided. He’d once teased that her locks could double as sandpaper. The coalition was a mix of all races, blended together, but none were like her—pure-bred African, a rare and radiant gem in his eyes, unique and precious.

She turned to face him, her hands working through his straight hair as she washed it. “Weeeeeird,” she said with a playful smirk.

They washed each other, their hands lingering, teasing, stoking a shared anticipation that left them both restless and aching. Mona’s fingers brushed over Monty again, another “accidental” graze, and he groaned softly. “Can we go now?” he asked, his voice tight with need.

She nodded, her mind racing through Ontari’s advice. *It’ll sting at first, maybe some blood. Use plenty of lube… make sure he’s really hard. And an orgasm beforehand helps—it relaxes you down there. Got it, princess?* Mona had nodded then, smirking. *Got it, sex muppet.*

She really liked Ontari. The girl was adorably honest, as if manipulation were a sin, her joy tempered by eyes that held depths of pain, like she’d seen more evil than anyone should. Mona had heard whispers—Ontari had been a pet to some cruel ice queen, her intimate knowledge born not from books but from hard experience. Mona didn’t need the details. She just hoped they could be friends.

Ontari had a good heart, paired with a wickedly dirty sense of humor that Mona couldn’t help but admire.

They dried off, Monty pulling on his sweats and shirt while Mona slipped back into her robe. The walk to their room was quiet, their hands intertwined, exchanging fleeting glances charged with anticipation.

As soon as the door hissed shut behind them, Mona turned to him, her expression deadpan. “You need to give me an orgasm. Ontari said.”

Monty blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… okay?”

She nodded, her face serious as she shed her robe and lay down, legs spread. “Use your mouth. It’s my favorite.”

Monty laughed, a mix of nerves and eagerness. “Happy to comply.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “Great. But… kiss me first. I’m nervous.”

Monty stripped off his clothes and crawled over to her, his lips finding hers in a deep, fervent kiss. “Me too,” he murmured against her mouth.

They kissed for a while, lips locked in a slow, heated dance, until Mona murmured against his mouth, “Get on with it, space almost-man.”

Monty chuckled, his voice warm. “Yes, princess. As you wish.” He lingered at her breasts first, taking his time, teasing her until she squirmed beneath him. Her beautiful curves were beyond anything he’d imagined in his wildest dreams—perfection he hadn’t dared hope for. The princess didn’t ask twice, though sometimes, he knew, she might beg.

He shifted between her thighs, marveling at the delicate pink petals framed by her midnight-dark skin. It was a new intimacy they’d explored on the Ark, sparked by Ontari’s candid talk with Mona. A firm tug on his hair pulled his face into her heat, and he glanced up, incredulous. “Really?”

They both burst into laughter, the tension breaking—until he licked her, long and slow. Mona moaned, her hands pressing him back down. He licked again, then again, his tongue finding that small, sensitive spot he’d discovered their first time exploring each other.

After a few days of practice, he knew what he was doing. She loved circles, and circles she got. His hands slid up to her nipples, teasing in rhythm, as her soft whimpers and moans filled the air, punctuated by the occasional gasp of his name—his favorite melody.

It didn’t take long. After a few minutes of Monty’s diligent—dare he say, loving—efforts, Mona’s breathing quickened, her hips arching off the bed. A sudden splash of something divine hit his face, catching him off guard. *That’s… new.*

He wiped his face and crawled up to her, surprised when she kissed him deeply, unbothered by the mess.

“So?” he asked, grinning. “Where to now, captain?”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I didn’t know you had boats in space.”

“I read, princess,” he said, smugly.

Mona nodded and rolled them over, straddling him. “Now, space man… I’m going to get you *very*… *very* hard.”

“Harder than this?” Monty nodded downward, his voice teasing.

“Hm-hm,” Mona hummed, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Sorry, Monty… just following instructions.”

He smiled, warmth flooding his chest. He’d never imagined it could be this easy, this fun, with anyone. She might be a princess, but to him, she was already a queen.

Her hand wrapped around his shaft, and with a wicked glance, she licked the tip. It twitched, standing prouder, and she smirked, savoring her power.

Mona had always resented her royal status. In New Africa, where the scars of the bombs had taught people to value every life as precious, she wasn’t treated *that* differently. But the small gestures were unavoidable—a free coffee here, a respectful nod there. The worst was when people stood as she entered a room. It was rare, but painfully awkward.

This, though—she thought, stroking Monty with steady determination—was the one rising she didn’t mind. She smiled up at him and took him into her mouth.

The first time had been… interesting. She couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. But Ontari, with that juvenile seriousness Mona was growing to adore, had explained it matter-of-factly. Though she’d never done it herself, Ontari insisted it was a normal part of intimate relationships. When Mona had grimaced, Ontari scratched her head and asked why this was any different from what they’d discussed before—Monty pleasuring her in a similar way.

Point conceded. And it wasn’t bad at all, especially after a shower. There was a certain joy in the control it gave her, how each movement of her mouth sent Monty spiraling, his whimpers and twitches fueling her confidence. Mona was no longer squeamish.

Mona swirled her tongue around Monty’s tip, her hand resting on his stomach. Her head bobbed steadily, working him until he was rock-hard. It was… showtime.

*It’s easier if you’re on top,* Ontari had advised during their impromptu lesson. *You control the pace, and gravity’s your friend. Don’t overthink it. It might sting a bit, but you’re a big girl. You’ll survive.*

When Mona had asked how old Ontari was when she’d *become a woman*—not daring to probe how that happened under Nia’s shadow—Ontari’s face had darkened. *Not old enough,* she’d said curtly. *Just… use lube, even if you’re soaked.*

Mona smiled softly as she rose to grab the small vial of lube Ontari had scavenged from the ring’s medical bay. She applied some to herself, then smeared a bit on Monty, her nerves buzzing. She was *really* nervous.

“You… mean a lot to me,” Monty said, his eyes filled with reverence. “More than I can say.”

Mona’s smile widened. “I know, space man. I feel the same. That’s why… we’re here.”

Monty grinned as she straddled him again, positioning his tip at her entrance. Closing her eyes, she lowered herself slightly, feeling the pressure. A sharp jolt of pain tore through her, making her whimper. Her knees buckled, and she sank lower, the overwhelming sensation a mix of pain and something not entirely bad.

She glanced down, spotting a trickle of blood on her thigh. Rising slightly, she met Monty’s gaze. He reached for her hand, and she lowered again, this time nearly all the way. The pain lingered, but something else emerged—a sense of merging, as if she and Monty had become one right there.

“You… okay?” Monty asked, his voice soft with concern.

“Hmm,” she murmured, rising and lowering once more, this time fully. The pain dulled to an ache, overshadowed by a terrifyingly delicious pressure.

Mona lowered herself fully and wrapped her arms around Monty, clinging to him. “I need a moment,” she murmured, her voice trembling as he held her close.

It wasn’t the physical pain overwhelming her—it was the weight of this moment, transforming her completely. Had this been impulsive? Doubts swirled. She’d defied everything she’d been taught, risking shame and the fires of hell her people warned about. A sharp inhale caught in her throat, tears threatening to spill.

But then she felt Monty’s hand brushing gently across her back, and his voice, soft and sure, broke through. “You are mine,” he whispered. “And I am yours.”

Mona had never fully grasped her family’s strict creed, the rigid laws that governed their lives, but that didn’t mean she doubted a greater presence. She’d always felt it in her heart—some connection to something bigger, a quiet hum tying her to life, nature, the universe. Never had she felt it more deeply than now.

No more words were needed. She rocked her hips in response, feeling his warmth fill her in the best way. That hum—she sensed it now, pulsing through her. She and Monty were part of it, always had been.

Mona rocked gently atop Monty, finding a rhythm born of instinct, marveling at how life had unfolded. In many ways, she’d grown up in paradise. New Africa was vibrant, warm, thriving—her people farmed, hunted, innovated, wanting for nothing. Yet she’d always known a choice loomed: abandon her people or sacrifice herself.

When her betrothal to Kim, her cousin—a good but rigid, devout man—was announced, she’d rejected it publicly. Her mother, stern but pragmatic, granted her a year’s reprieve. Refuse, and she’d be disowned, banished to some remote corner, her name erased, a stain on her family’s legacy. Her father, kinder, understood her reluctance but was powerless against a century of tradition. Mona had been ready to leave, truly.

Then, one night, she was summoned to Joha’s data center. A cyberattack from an unknown force—unlike anything her people had faced—demanded all hands on deck. As she and a few others fended it off, news broke: they weren’t alone. A response came from the northern hemisphere, from a mysterious commander across the world. Mona learned of ALIE, of allies in a distant fight. When word arrived that they were coming, she saw it as a sign—a chance to escape, to buy time.

Now, here she was, joined with this boy—this young man assigned as her chaperone, her guide. On the jet to Polis, sitting stiffly in the jump seat, the commander had smiled and said, *I have someone for you.* Mona had taken it as mistrust, a minder to ensure she followed rules, stayed clear of secrets her people weren’t meant to know.

Instead, she got Monty—a young man as inexperienced as she was, who wanted nothing from her but her. And now, she was free. An ambassador to a world of her dreams—grittier, rougher, less advanced, but so free, so perfectly her pace. In a blink, everything had changed. The commander herself had arranged for Mona to stay, not for diplomacy but because Lexa saw she didn’t want to return. Mona owed her so much.

The pain was gone now, though the blood trickling down her thigh might have alarmed her without Ontari’s warning. As she moved atop Monty, she felt him sliding in and out, reaching places inside her she hadn’t known existed. His expression—eyes wide, lips parted—told her he was savoring every moment.

“Don’t… hmm… in me,” she murmured, her fingers grazing his stomach.

He nodded, breathless, his hands steady on her hips.

Mona collapsed onto Monty, their lips locking in a fervent kiss. His hand cupped her breast, fingers teasing her nipple, while the other rested gently on her neck. His hips arched slightly, and she felt the tension building in him—he was close. Her own core tightened, signaling the end was near. Too soon, perhaps, but they had time now, no pressure weighing them down. This was just their first time, and by any measure, it was far from bad.

She rocked harder, drawing a groan from him. “I’m close,” he rasped.

Mona sat up, her movements unrelenting. Her hips trembled, mirroring his, and as she moved again, he lifted her hips, sliding out. His hand found her, slipping inside, and that was enough. She clenched hard around his fingers, a wave of pleasure crashing through her. Her hand reached down, stroking him firmly, and with another groan, he spilled into her touch.

She collapsed onto him, her mind swirling in blissful haze. He held her close, his fingers stroking her hair. “I… lo…” he murmured, stopping short of the word.

She felt it too, though she wasn’t ready to voice what was so clear between them.

“Hello… space man,” she husked, her voice soft and warm.

“Hi… space woman,” he replied, a smile in his tone.

They fell silent, wrapped in the loudest quiet either had ever known.

Chapter Text

Everyone was gathered at the observation window—everyone except Becca and Raven, who were down in the docking bay handling the alignment from the Ark’s end. And Ronen, of course, who seemed far more entertained by Raven swearing like a sailor than by the historic arrival unfolding outside the glass.

Clarke sighed. Lexa was back. Not entirely—she still clutched a half-eaten bag of animal crackers—but the shift was undeniable. Armor on. Hair braided. Medallion resting squarely between her brows. Heda had returned.

The shuttle appeared first as a pinprick of light, like a comet just cresting into view. But soon it grew larger, until its full size took shape—a massive, hulking craft the size of a building, crawling toward the Ark like some ancient beast from the deep.

Lexa’s eyes widened. “We’re going down in that?” she asked. “It’s… enormous. I’ve And the wings are tiny.”

Mona grinned. “Yep. Don’t worry, Heda. It’s made five round trips to space and back.”

“That was over a hundred years ago,” Monty muttered with a laugh.

Outside the window, the shuttle aligned with the Ark’s secondary docking port. The entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Then—clunk—a soft jolt. The seal locked into place.

Mona exhaled slowly.

Lexa popped another cracker into her mouth.

Vacation was officially over.

They walked toward the dock, ready to greet the two expected pilots—only to stop short when they saw three. Mona gasped, her eyes locking on the third figure. Dressed in a space suit, helmet tucked under one arm, he was deep in conversation with Becca, visibly fascinated.

“Papa…?” she whispered, stunned. “What are you… doing here?”

Miti looked up at her, exhaled, and opened his arms. “Come here.”

She didn’t hesitate. She ran into his embrace, burying her face in his chest like she used to when she was small.

Lexa stepped forward, watching quietly with a knowing smile. Of course. She understood instantly. Up here, Miti wasn’t a chief, a ruler, or a symbol. He was just a father—one who wanted to see his daughter without an audience… or a scandal. Maybe even meet her boyfriend without starting World War Four.

After a moment, Miti gently eased Mona back and stepped forward.

“Commander,” he said.

Lexa extended her hand. Her respect for him doubled in that moment. He took it, and smiled.

“Good to see you, Chief,” Lexa said. “Good of you to come… personally.”

He nodded. “You all seemed to be having such a fine time up here… I wanted to see what it was about.”

Clarke chuckled. “Came to party with us, Chief? You just missed it. Party’s over.”

Miti sighed, then turned his gaze to Monty, who stood nervously at Mona’s side. “So… this is the one? Your ‘friend’?”

Before Monty could respond, Mona stepped in front of him protectively, lifting her chin.

“Yes.”

She braced herself. Her father had once killed a medium-sized lion with his bare hands—and if not that, then definitely with his old shotgun. She was ready for fireworks.

Instead, Miti glanced at his watch.

“We don’t leave for another hour,” he said calmly. “I was hoping to… talk.”

Mona blinked. “No death threats?”

She looked him over suspiciously.

“Are you sure you’re not under ALIE’s control?”

Miti shrugged. “Come, sweetie. Let’s find somewhere quiet.”
Then, with a pointed look, he added to Monty, “You too… friend…”

Clarke shot Lexa a glance that clearly said, Should we step in before blood gets spilled?
Lexa just gave a lazy shrug. “Introduce us to your pilots, Chief?” she said instead, smoothly changing the subject.

Miti nodded. “This is Samuel… and Debra,” he said, gesturing to the two pilots behind him. “Why don’t you show them around?”

“You’re not coming to see the station, Papa?” Mona asked, a note of disappointment in her voice.

He gave her a gentle smile. “No, my star. That’s not what I’m here for.”

Mona exhaled and gave Monty’s hand a squeeze. “Come on. I know just the place.”

Without another word, she led Monty away, her father following a few steps behind. If seeing her hand in Monty’s ripped Miti’s heart in half, he gave no sign.

For two days, it had been an endless cycle of pleading, fighting, and tears—between him and Marwa. But in the end, Miti made his choice. His daughter was worth more to him than traditions, more than beliefs that had held sway for over a hundred years. Marwa didn’t see it that way. She begged. She threatened. She wept. But Miti remained firm—uncharacteristically so.

He told the world he was going to space as a symbol of national pride, a testament to what their people had achieved. But privately, the truth was simpler. He needed to see Mona. To tell her she was loved. That no matter what decisions she made, she was still his daughter—and he was proud of her.

And if there was going to be a man in her life, he wanted to make sure that man was worthy. Not as a chief. But as her father.

Because once they returned to Earth, Mona would quickly discover what he already suspected—her mother wouldn’t look at her the same way. Maybe one day, that would change. But not soon.

“He is a good man,” Dazza said, turning to Kush. “You should be proud to have a leader like him.”

Kush shrugged. “The chief’s alright.” He turned to Debrah and Samuel. “Come on, I’ll show you around. The place is actually pretty interesting.”

Dazza chuckled. Interesting was one word for it.

Kush had undergone his own little transformation up here, and she wasn’t sure yet what to do with him. She genuinely liked the kid—found him charming, even attractive—but she wasn’t looking for a relationship. And even if she were, she wasn’t looking for a project. She had enough of those. Ones she was already bound to. And now, the list was only growing. Lexa needed her. Clarke too. But Ontari and Echo? They were in desperate need of someone who understood trauma… someone who could help them build something whole again.

Kush didn’t need her emotional scaffolding. What he needed was far simpler.

The second rule of Dazza’s “church” was clear: sex was never just for sex—it had to serve something higher.

But the first rule?

There were no rules.

So, as always, Dazza improvised.

She just needed to give him a push. Dazza was sure Kush would find someone—someone who truly saw him, who matched his quiet strength and sharp mind. But first, he needed to start looking. So, she gave him a little incentive. A glimpse of what he was missing.

After that infamous movie night—where Lexa demanded to be worshipped without moving a muscle from Clarke’s lap—Dazza pulled Kush aside and into her room for some “education.” Nothing heavy. Just exploring boundaries. Curious hands, teasing kisses. A little tension unwound. And when she turned to leave, spotting the mix of desperation and discomfort on his face, she took mercy. Helped him out.

Then, calmly, she laid it out: as his friend—and fellow academic—she’d make it her mission to help him catch the eye of whoever he truly wanted. This? This was a one-time favor. A lesson. Not an invitation for more.

To his credit, the boy didn’t pout. Didn’t beg.

He just nodded.

Like a man.

Now… they were going back. And once again, it fell to Dazza to be the silent guardian of this odd, broken, beautiful little tribe—these misfits who somehow carried the weight of the world with steady hands and cracked hearts. She had claimed her place here, unquestionably. Made it known who led this pack—not just on the ridiculous padded mats of the Ark’s training room, where she bested them all, but behind closed doors, where dominance took other forms.

Lexa and Clarke were hers now. Not owned. Not possessed. But tethered—willingly. Gratefully. They ate from her fingers. They bled their trust into her palms. Things would shift back on Earth, of course—titles, responsibilities, appearances. But the bond would remain. She’d visit them. Care for them. Maybe tie them up, if they asked nicely. Keep their secrets, carry their burdens. Clarke had taken to calling her their guardian angel, and Dazza, despite herself, didn’t protest.

It was Clarke who’d asked her to give Ontari a chance. Just a few quiet conversations for now. Soft things. Braiding her hair. Letting her cry, scream, tremble in her arms. Letting the weight of stolen girlhood unravel one knot at a time. Dazza treaded carefully there. Ontari had been violated, twisted by the one who raised her. This had to stay pure. For now.

Echo… Echo was another story. That one was locked in iron. Trauma so deep Dazza couldn’t tell how much of it Echo even remembered. She’d have to dig slowly. Patiently. One breath at a time.

“Dazz…” Clarke had whispered the night before, curled up against Lexa and reaching across to pull her in, “What about you? You deserve something too.”

Dazza only smiled, exhaled slowly. “I don’t think the one meant for me is… reachable. Not yet.”

She didn’t say more. Not about the missing pages from Melissa’s diaries. Not about the ghost she chased in silence.

Some things were still just hers.

For now, Dazza had to focus on the present. On what was in front of her—this crew, this mission, this moment. There was so much to tend to. So many people relying on her, even if they didn’t realize it yet.

She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Earth from orbit. That didn’t stop her from pausing to take it in—one good, long look at the blue, breathing world below. Their home. The one they nearly lost once. The one they were fighting like hell to rebuild.

Dazza was a girl out of time. Born Trikru, yes—but her mother came from elsewhere. A place never named. Not until the very end. Not until it no longer mattered.

Her mother had spoken Gonasleng. Fluently. Naturally. As if it were her first language. And it had been. Her Trig carried an accent—not the kind of accent that comes from learning something new, but one you wear when you haven’t spoken it in a long while.

As a child, curious and relentless, Dazza once asked her about it. Her mother had smiled, warm but distant, and said, “One day… when you’re ready.”

But Dazza figured it out herself. Eventually.

Her father had been a hunter. Her mother… something else entirely. A healer, yes—but not of the body. Her work was deeper. Quieter. The kind that mended minds, spirits. In their cellar was a heavy metal crate, hidden beneath a loose board. Inside—books. Dozens of them. Histories, religions, poems, philosophies. Most older than the bombs. Older than the world as it was now. Artifacts from the before-time, the real before-time.

Dazza devoured them. Learned to read before most kids her age could hold a blade. Her father hated it. Called it a waste. “The world where that mattered is dead,” he used to say. “Survival’s all that counts now.”

Her mother would only offer her usual quiet smile. “Survival… to what end?”

Dazza never forgot those words.

But she learned the truth the day the Reapers came. Dragged her parents from their home as she hid in that crate. That was when she understood: knowledge alone wasn’t enough. Peace was a dream the world had yet to earn. If she wanted to survive—to protect what mattered—she’d have to fight, too.

Her mother’s final words weren’t I love you. Dazza didn’t need them to know.

They were: “The box has a false bottom.”

That’s how she found Melissa’s journal. That’s how she knew what others didn’t. That Melissa, when exiled, didn’t go alone. And she didn’t intend to die. She planned to wait. Hide. Until the time was right.

Until the world was ready.

Along with the journal came a map—faded, weathered, and dangerously specific. It pointed straight into the heart of the Dead Zone, to the very epicenter of the blast. What used to be New York City. Now just scorched earth, crumbled steel, and whispers of a civilization long buried beneath sand and silence.

And as it turns out… her mother’s birthplace.

There was a letter, too. Neatly folded, tucked into the back cover of the journal. A confession, really. A revelation.

In it, her mother told the truth—not just about where she came from, but who she was.

Dazza was Melissa’s great-granddaughter. A direct descendant. The bloodline hadn’t been lost to exile and war after all. It had been preserved. Hidden. Generation after generation. A quiet line of scholars, healers, and mystics who lived in secrecy, waiting for a world beyond survival.

They called themselves The Keepers. A small, scattered society preparing for the end of savagery. They studied the past. Preserved truth. Honored the earth, worshipped love, and nurtured each other with devotion and ritual. They followed Melissa’s teachings—her visions of a better world. Her formulas. Her keys. Compounds that opened the mind and let it see.

And now, all of it—the legacy, the purpose, the map—belonged to Dazza.

But her mother had warned her:
Keep it secret.

The world wasn’t ready—not yet. The Keepers, their knowledge, their home in the Dead Zone—it all had to remain hidden until the time was right. Until blood must have blood was nothing more than memory. Until the frikdreina—those cast out, cursed, unwanted—were given a place among the living, not hunted or hidden.

Until a commander rose not only to survive but to live—to build, to rise above the ashes.
Until sky met earth, and calmed the storm.
Until the prophecy fulfilled itself.

Dazza’s task was simple:
Learn.
Grow.
Prepare.

And when the world was ready—truly ready—her mother’s people would rejoin the rest of humanity. Not just to live beside them… but to heal them.

Her fingers closed around the medallion at her neck. She didn’t remember a time she hadn’t worn it.
Three rings entwined. Three stones—red, green, blue.

But the greatest revelation in her mother’s letter wasn’t the secret society. Not the prophecy. Not even the truth of her heritage.

It was about Dazza herself.

Whether it was a quirk of genetics or the effect of lingering radiation, Melissa had a gift—sight.
She could see what was to come when she took the Key.
Visions of the future. Threads of fate. She could trace her own path, then plan how to walk it.

And that gift passed on.

Her mother had it too—but weaker.
Dazza, her mother wrote, had inherited it fully.

That’s why her mother left. Not out of restlessness, not rejection—but because there were no suitable mates among her people. The gift lived in her bloodline, and needed a future. She stepped into the chaos of the outer world knowing it would cost her everything.
Because the gift needed to survive.

She knew how her story would end.
She foresaw the reaper attack.
Knew Anya would pass through, would find the small child hiding in the floorboards.
Knew she would take Dazza as her second.
Knew she would not stand in her way, but open the gates—give her access to Polis, its scrolls, its forgotten texts.

Because without knowledge, sight was useless.

And what Dazza would see—what she was meant to see—could never be understood by an uneducated mind. But she was ready. Trained. Waiting.

The letter ended with a final blessing:
That Dazza would find the love of her life.

No name. No face. Just one cryptic note:
The key is in the necklace.

What that meant… Dazza didn’t know.
Not yet.

But she would.
She had always been patient.

With Anya, she had to earn her place. If she wanted time to study, she needed to prove herself—become the best of the best when it came to combat. If she wanted a spot in Heda’s guard, wanted to live in the tower where the libraries whispered of old worlds, she had to rise above the rest. And so Dazza gave it everything.

It came easily.

When you could feel the future—sense it like a pulse beneath your skin—no enemy, no matter how skilled, remained a threat for long. Every strike became predictable. Every blow avoidable. Her strength wasn’t just muscle memory—it was memory and prophecy. Her body moved with knowledge that hadn’t yet occurred.

She smiled when she smelled Lexa and Clarke approach, coming to stand beside her at the window. Her sense of smell had always been how she read people—sensed their soul, their intent, their sincerity.

For a time, she thought these two might be the great loves her mother had foretold. Red. Blue. Green.

But it didn’t smell right.

They weren’t her partners.
They were her path.
The ones meant to lead her to the one she did belong to.

Oh, she loved them. Fiercely. And yes—mind-blowingly hot as the two of them were, they were not hers to possess.

They were hers to protect.
Not to join.

“I don’t want to go back,” Lexa exhaled, her voice quiet. “It was so… nice up here. Peaceful.”

Dazza smiled. Finally.

She remembered the first time she met her—just a girl then. A quiet, curious natblida in the Polis library. One Anya had asked Dazza to watch over. One Dazza instantly knew would shape her life. She taught Lexa gonasleng, taught her to read, to interpret what she read, to ask questions rather than obey. The girl had been diligent. Respectful. Almost painfully polite.

Dazza had become an older sister to her. Guided her. Protected her. During the conclave, she’d even joined Anya in crafting a plan B—not because she doubted Lexa would win, but because back then her sight hadn’t yet fully matured. She didn’t take chances.

After Costia’s death, things shifted. Became… closer.

Dazza stepped in again—this time not to teach, but to heal. She’d seen how deep Titus’s conditioning had burrowed. That false flamekeeper wasn’t guiding Lexa. He was reshaping her into something brutal and hollow—a commander stripped of spirit, a weapon bound by tradition. Dazza didn’t have the power to change the laws.

So she changed Lexa.

She offered connection. Revived the soul inside the mask. And when she sensed Lexa’s heart was still incomplete—waiting for something, someone—Dazza helped her find the key.

And when Dazza saw Clarke standing at the foot of that mountain… she knew. That was the one. That was her. The one from the prophecy. Not of earth. The one who would change everything. But Clarke needed to break first.

So she did.

And Lexa… saved her.

As it was meant to be.

Clarke would always hold power over Lexa—that much was clear. Her dominance, absolute. But because Lexa had healed her, because she’d seen Clarke at her most fragile, the balance was preserved. Lexa could love her without being consumed by her.

And now… this moment—Lexa saying it. That she liked being here. That she wanted to stay.

That meant Dazza’s work was bearing fruit. Slowly, surely… Lexa was becoming a human being first. A commander second.

As it was meant to be.

They were close. The fact that Emerson still walked the earth with his head intact was proof enough—blood must have blood was no longer the law. And the frikdreina were no longer outcasts. They were being treated, cared for, acknowledged.

The world was changing.

And now that they had more than just rovers—now that they had a functioning plane—suddenly, nothing was out of reach.

Dazza was ready.

Ready to find her people. To reach the descendants of those who had spent nearly a century in exile, quietly preserving humanity’s heart and soul. The ones who sacrificed everything so Melissa, and her gift, could survive.

It was time for them to come home.

And maybe, just maybe, Dazza would find the one meant for her among them. Someone with a soul vast enough to accept her entirely—past, present, and the infinite becoming.

She looked around. The others had already scattered to finish their last-minute packing, collecting whatever they could from the Ark before departure—souvenirs, gear, odd comforts.

The bathrobes were a hit.

Clarke had packed her family’s photo albums. Something sacred.

Lexa…

Dazza smiled as she glanced toward the boxes by the door and pulled the two warriors into a warm embrace. Heda’s prized cargo: crates of animal crackers. Of course.

She only hoped there was enough space on the shuttle for all of them.

“I wonder if Monty’s still alive,” Clarke murmured, leaning her head against Dazza’s shoulder.

Dazza shrugged, her gaze fixed on the curve of the Earth below. “Monty will die of old age, Strikon. Don’t worry. This isn’t how his story ends.”

Clarke hummed in response. She was learning to surrender to this—this peace, this comfort, this thing called prophecy. It was becoming natural, almost easy.

Especially after last night.

That thing Dazza did with her tongue while Clarke lay tangled in Lexa’s arms—her wrists pinned gently above her head at Dazza’s command, forbidden to move even a breath too much or else it would all stop—that had been the closest thing to divine revelation Clarke had ever experienced.

Spiritual growth? Oh, yeah. Clarke and Lexa were evolving. Together.

****

“So… this is where you grew up?” Miti asked, leaning back in his chair as he looked around the modest council chamber. The room was quiet, the low hum of the Ark surrounding them like a familiar echo of the past.

Monty nodded, a little nervous. “Yeah… but on a different station. Farm Station. It was attached to the Ring, but… it came down during descent. Crashed. My parents… didn’t make it.”

Miti’s expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

Monty gave a quiet nod.

“You came with them?”

“No… I was part of the Skybox,” Monty said quietly. “A… prisoner, back then.”

Miti sat up straighter. A prisoner? The thought sent a quiet alarm through his mind. My daughter… with a criminal?

“What was your crime?” he asked, voice more guarded now.

Monty glanced down, his voice casual. “I stole some… plants. That’s all.”

Miti exhaled in relief. Hunger, he assumed.

“On the Ark, every crime was punishable by death,” Mona added, gently. “No matter how small. But if you were under eighteen, they held you until trial. Monty’s a good man, Papa.”

“Man, huh?” Miti raised an eyebrow. “A young one, then.”

Mona fought not to roll her eyes. “Monty is a man. As of yesterday,” she added silently. No need to offer that detail.

“You like my daughter?” Miti turned to Monty, his tone even but serious. “What are your intentions?”

Monty looked down, then met Miti’s gaze. “I care for her, sir. Deeply. And I intend to keep doing so—for as long as she’ll let me.”

Miti’s eyes turned to his daughter. “And you?”

“I care for him too, Papa. I know you may not approve, but—”

“I didn’t say that,” Miti interrupted softly. “Sweetheart, I’m not here to argue. I’m here because of what the commander said. This isn’t earth. Up here, I’m not a chief. I’m just your father.”

He reached out and took her hand gently.

“And I came… because I wanted to say how much I love you. How proud I am of the woman you’re becoming. That I will always love you—no matter what path you take, no matter what anyone says.”

Then he turned back to Monty.

“And also, to tell this young man that if a single hair falls from your head while you’re in his care… I will personally strangle him.” His smile was warm, but his eyes sharp.

“Otherwise…” he added, with a shrug, “behind closed doors, I’ll tolerate him. All I ask is that when we return… don’t flaunt your connection. Not until you leave.”

Mona nodded, emotion thick in her throat. “Understood. Thank you, Papa.”

“Momi… is upset,” Miti said, matter-of-factly. “You know how she is.”

Mona gave a resigned smile. “Fiery?”

“Apocalyptic,” he corrected. “But still, I want to invite you… both… for dinner. You and your friends. Maybe Simba will eat him.” He nodded toward Monty. “Solve the problem.”

“I haven’t fed him in a few days, you know…”

Monty gave a nervous chuckle, uncertain whether it was a joke or a warning. “An… honorable way to go,” he offered. “Death by lion.”

“Exactly,” Miti nodded solemnly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement.

He shifted his tone. “Do you like it there? The Coalition? Is it… safe?”

Mona smiled, her voice warm. “It’s beautiful, Papa. Free. A little wild… but in a good way. It’s not like home, not as organized. But it works. Maybe… you’ll visit?”

Miti nodded slowly. “Of course. But not yet. We still need to deal with ALIE. She’s been too quiet. I have a feeling something’s coming. Something big.”

He looked at her more intently. “Did you handle the warhead up here?”

Mona nodded, pride in her voice. “I did. I even went on a spacewalk. Helped Raven and Becca dismantle it.”

Miti raised his brows, clearly impressed. “A nuclear warhead. In space. Now I know your university education wasn’t a complete waste.”

Mona smirked. “You didn’t pay tuition, Papa. You’re the Chief.”

“Exactly,” he said, standing with a chuckle. “They charged me double.”

He turned to Monty and extended a hand. Monty took it, carefully.

“Take care of her,” Miti said, his voice low. “She is my star.”

Monty looked him in the eyes. “Mine too,” he said softly. “Mine too.”

Miti sighed, half-smiling as he watched them. A good kid. He could feel it.

All things considered… he really hoped Simba didn’t eat him. Maybe just a playful mauling.

They returned to the docking station where everyone was gathered.

“We must leave in twenty minutes, Chief,” Debra said. “We don’t want to miss our reentry window.”

“Of course,” Miti replied, nodding. “I’m proud of you both,” he added, looking at her and Samuel.

He glanced toward the crates being loaded onto the shuttle. “That’s a lot of supplies,” he remarked. “What exactly are we bringing?”

Lexa tensed immediately, as if he’d just threatened her life.

“Animal crackers,” she said.

“Let’s load up,” Samuel said, his accent thick as he gestured toward the hatch. “We must go through the final checks and go. Eighteen minutes and counting.”

Ontari sighed dramatically. She really wanted to drive. But something told her that this was one ride where pouting wouldn’t get her the pilot’s seat. Rover? She drove it. F75? Yep—under Moss’s strict and suspicious supervision. She even got Echo to do a spacewalk with her. Lexa to share her animal crackers? That was the real miracle.

Climbing through the hatch, Ontari blinked at the maze of tech and cables. Instruments lined every wall.

“Zis way,” Samuel said, pointing.

She followed him down a narrow corridor and into the passenger compartment. It opened up into a small area—huge observation windows, sleek consoles, and surprisingly luxurious seats.

“Zis was a tourist plein,” Samuel offered casually.

Ontari scratched her head and immediately dropped into the front seat like she owned it, tugging Echo down beside her without a second thought. Two heads of state were right behind her, but the idea of yielding her seat didn’t even occur to her.

She sighed contentedly. Yeah… she’d been spoiled rotten lately. And she had absolutely no plans to stop.

She chuckled as Lexa gave her a light smack on the back of the head. “Branwoda. Who do you think you are?”

Ontari just shrugged. “I’m… me. Deal with it, Heda. We’re still in space.”

Lexa smiled and ruffled her hair. She couldn’t believe it, but after this little break, she didn’t just feel close to Ontari—she felt equal. Not the mighty Heda extending mercy to a broken stray, but a fellow misfit in Dazza’s unofficial school for the “gifted.” And it felt wonderful. She knew that the moment they landed, she’d put the mask back on—become Heda again. But now, she understood the truth: that would be the performance. Not this.

One by one, the others boarded the shuttle, taking their seats. Miti entered last, fully suited, Ontari watching him with thinly veiled envy. Lexa exhaled and leaned back into her chair.

“Buckle in, everyone,” a thickly accented voice crackled over the intercom. “It’s going to get bumpy.”

Clarke smiled as Ontari grinned like a kid on a ride. She glanced over at Dazza, who sat in perfect stillness, utterly at peace. Clarke’s last return to earth had been violent, terrifying. But this time… this time was different.

This time, she wasn’t going to a radioactive wasteland.

She was going home.

With the love of her life by her side.

With a soft clang, the shuttle detached—and the ring disappeared from view.

A short while later, the shuttle dipped downward, angling toward Earth. Through the wide windows, the African continent stretched into view—vast, golden, breathtaking. A soft orange halo began to form around the shuttle, deepening in intensity with every second.

“We have to hit the atmosphere just right,” Raven explained, eyes on the monitors. “Or we’ll bounce right off and land somewhere in China.”

“Oh… that would be interesting,” Dazza mused. “Fascinating culture. And the spirituality? Did you know—”

The shuttle suddenly jolted, shaking violently.

Raven waved a hand dismissively. “This is nothing. Wait until we—”

Boom. The sky outside erupted into flame. An inferno roared past the windows.

Becca sighed, unbothered. “Yeah… that.”

“Now… hold on,” Becca said calmly as the flaps on the back of the wings opened with a heavy metallic groan. The sudden resistance from the thickening air made the shuttle rattle even harder, vibrating with force as they began to slow. Below, clouds swirled—dense, endless. Echo exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the glass. Space had been incredible… but nothing beat the feel of solid ground beneath her boots.

“Only get one shot at this,” Raven muttered, her eyes scanning the readouts. “No do-overs.” She jabbed a thumb toward Dazza. “So whoever’s in this one’s club? Pray.”

Without another word, she reached over and grabbed Ronen’s hand. Across the cabin, Lexa looked at Clarke—and without hesitation, their fingers laced together.

And in the silence that followed… they all prayed.

It got rough. Really rough.

There were no retro rockets on this thing—no smooth, high-tech descent like Clarke had imagined as a kid. This was a glide, if one could call it that. More like a controlled fall. A brick with wings, she thought grimly. A brick trying to pretend it was a paper airplane.

But Clarke’s prayers weren’t for the landing. Not really. They were for Lexa. For the version of her that had bloomed on the Ark—the one who stretched like a cat in bed, asked for foot rubs, ate animal crackers with total reverence. A girl who let herself be seen. Who knew she was worth every ounce of love and still asked for more. Clarke prayed for her. That the earth wouldn’t strip that girl away again.

They passed through the clouds. The glow around the shuttle faded. A cool mist replaced the flames as their speed dropped further. The cabin shuddered as the landing gear deployed, the whole shuttle tilting slightly upward.

“Prepare for final touchdown,” Samuel’s voice crackled over the intercom.

Lexa leaned toward the window. Nothing but endless waves of emerald green canopy below, with occasional flashes of sand—Africa in all its vast, raw beauty. They were coming in fast, but Raven looked calm. So did Becca. That was enough.

Then—boom.

The wheels hit earth with a violent jolt. A moment later, the drag chute deployed with a deafening rip, and they skidded hard, the entire shuttle groaning with the force. Outside, emergency vehicles were already racing toward them, sirens wailing in the distance.

Ontari pressed her face to the glass, then turned to Miti with eyes lit up like a kid at a festival. She jabbed a finger toward one of the fire trucks.

“Can I drive that?” she asked, practically vibrating. “Please?”

Before Miti could answer, Clarke pointed toward the opposite side of the clearing. “Look,” she said quietly.

There, parked just beyond the landing site, was their jet—the F75. And beside it, two familiar figures walked toward them with steady purpose.

“Mom’s here…” Ontari murmured, her voice soft. Not that she was surprised, exactly—but still. Her chest tightened.

“Your mother came yesterday,” Miti explained. “Insisted on coming to space with me. The only way I could get her off my back was by giving her a tour of our main hospital.” He exhaled, half-admiring, half-exhausted. “Quite a woman…”

Clarke smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “She really is.”

The shuttle’s side hatch hissed open, and a gust of warm, earthy wind swept in. It carried dust, the scent of soil, leaves, and life. Lexa inhaled deeply, her fingers tightening around Clarke’s.

Now she understood.

She understood what Clarke must have felt that first time the dropship opened and let her taste earth’s air for the first time. This wasn’t just oxygen—it was memory, history, home. And after so many days above the clouds, this air hit like truth.

Miti stood and stretched. “Come, everyone,” he said with a warm but commanding tone. “Welcome to Africa.”

His eyes found Mona’s, and she immediately understood. Without a word, she leaned in and placed a quick, affectionate kiss on Monty’s cheek—a quiet reminder of the roles they’d have to play now. Here, she wasn’t just Mona. She was the chief’s daughter. A princess. And Monty… he was just a fellow IT specialist. Not the boy who had held her through the night. Not the one who had changed everything.

She exhaled, steadying herself as Miri groaned and rolled his eyes.

Home.
Sweet, beautiful, oppressive home.

As they reached the hatch, Ontari grinned and tightened her grip on Echo’s hand. “One last adventure,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes, nodding toward the yellow slide—no steps, just the fast way down.

Miti went first, vanishing down the chute. Ontari followed with a laugh, shooting down and landing straight into Abby’s arms. And Lia’s. Abby was crying before a word left her mouth, clutching Ontari tightly. “Oh, my muppet… I was so worried…” she whispered, voice cracking.

Lia, ever the contrast, rolled her eyes at Abby’s emotion—then softened instantly, planting a kiss on Ontari’s head before darting off toward Bellamy, who slid down just after Lexa and Clarke.

Lexa and Clarke stepped into the reunion embrace, warm and familiar. But Lexa’s presence was brief. She had already straightened her spine, her expression shifting. Wanheda beside her, Heda was back.

Abby didn’t care about titles or postures. She kissed Clarke’s forehead, then Lexa’s, wiping her tears away as she clung to them both. One by one, the others came down the slide—grinning, tumbling, reuniting. Becca was the last before Samuel and Debrah. She paused at the top, taking a long look around. This was her first time on Earth as herself—not a program, not a synthetic body, not a ghost in a machine. And it was stunning. The heat kissed her skin like an embrace. Alive. Real.

Emerson came to stand beside her—not close enough to crowd, but near enough that she felt him. She’d grown fond of him. Beneath the hardened soldier’s shell was a sharp, dry wit and a calm, grounded presence. He was something rare—steady.

Lexa’s attention shifted to Miti and Mona, who were approaching a tall, elegant woman in a deep purple tunic and a crown that glinted under the sun. The queen. At her side stood two teenage girls, both clearly royal by posture and bearing. Mona’s sisters.

Miti greeted his wife with a nod, and she offered a much cooler one in return. Lexa and Clarke followed behind as Miti gestured toward them. “Commander. Clarke. May I introduce my wife, Queen Marwa, and our daughters, Natasha and Mila.”

Lexa stepped forward, extending her hand with measured poise. “A pleasure to meet you, Queen Marwa. And you both,” she added, nodding to Natasha and Mila.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, curious and bold. Mila offered a more cautious smile. Lexa studied them both—Natasha especially. A black princess with a sharp gaze. Fitting.

Queen Marwa’s lips tightened into the semblance of a smile, but she said nothing. That silence spoke volumes. Lexa saw it for what it was—a statement. She didn’t miss the way the queen’s eyes lingered on her, then shifted with quiet disapproval to Clarke.

“This is Clarke,” Lexa said evenly, sliding her hand into Clarke’s and holding it with pride. “My wife.”

There was a beat of stillness. Marwa nodded to Clarke—brief, cool, and laced with the kind of curiosity reserved for the unexpected. A white woman with ice-blue eyes. An anomaly. A disruption.

Lexa’s grip tightened slightly. She had no interest in being tolerated.

And Clarke? Clarke simply smiled.

“Let’s be honest with each other,” Lexa said suddenly, her voice calm but firm. “You do not agree with our ways, just as we do not always agree with yours. But I can still respect you… and I hope you will offer the same in return. Your Majesty,” she added, pointedly using the title, recalling how Nia had demanded it. This queen… wasn’t so different. The same cold certainty. The same quiet pride. The same willingness to place her own image above the good of her people.

But she was Mona’s mother. So Lexa held her tongue.

Marwa gave a small nod, her smile cold, unreadable.

“Come,” Miti said quickly, cutting through the tension with a forced cheerfulness as he gestured toward a small shuttle bus parked nearby. “Let me show you around. If you’re willing.”

“That would be nice,” Lexa replied with a nod. “We’d be glad to see your city.”

The group began to board the bus, the heavy silence gradually giving way to the sound of shifting bags and settling bodies. Marwa and her daughters moved to the back, quiet and composed, taking their seats like royalty on parade. Miti watched them go, then turned to help the rest of the group aboard, smiling with visible relief that the worst of the frost had passed—for now.

“Mom…” Clarke turned in her seat, glancing at Abby just behind them. “I can’t believe you came. How did—?”

“What kind of question is that?” Abby cut her off, eyes wide. “Of course I came! First of all, I wanted to be here when you landed. And second—what if something went wrong? What if you got hurt? Any of you?”

She shook her head. “And besides, this place gives me the creeps. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful, and yes, very advanced—no one’s eating rats for dinner, I’ll give them that. But you’ll see… they’re very religious.”

“We’ve been here before, Mom. It wasn’t that bad,” Lexa offered, twisting slightly in her seat.

“It’s not in your face,” Abby agreed, “but it’s there. I’ve been poking around a bit—call it scouting. People are careful. Repressed. There are churches on every corner. In the hospital, the doctors actually stop for mandatory prayer sessions. Sound familiar? Because to me it feels like ALIE 2.0—only with hymns and incense.”

She exhaled, eyes settling back on Clarke. “So yes, I’m very glad I came.”

“Technically…” Becca said from her seat, voice calm, “the Flame is ALIE 2.0. And I’ll say this—after the bombs, everyone had to find a way to cope. I can’t say religion is worse than conclaves or blood must have blood.”

Abby pointed a finger at her, eyes narrowing. “You. Oh, you. When you were just a voice in a lab… or that creepy robot hobbling around—I held my tongue. But now that you’re flesh and blood again—which, by the way, you are going to explain in detail…”

Her voice sharpened. “How could you do this to them? That chip—Clarke told me what Lexa went through. Dead commanders whispering in her mind, no privacy, no peace—an actual nightmare. Torture. You’re a scientist. A doctor. How do you sleep at night knowing you—”

“Mom,” Lexa cut in gently. “Shhh. Not now. We’ll talk later. Please.”

Becca sighed, eyes fixed out the window. “No, Heda. She’s right. Abby has every reason to be angry.” Her voice softened. “If I had known what the Flame would become… what it would do… I never would’ve let anyone else carry it. It degraded. It twisted. And it became something… monstrous.”

She turned slightly, meeting Lexa’s gaze.

“I should’ve shut it down the moment I realized. I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“Wait—stop!” Ontari suddenly shouted. “Stop! Let me out!”

The bus braked abruptly, pulling over as Abby was by Ontari’s side in seconds. “What happened, sweetie?”

Ontari was pointing ahead, eyes wide with wonder. Out of the thick woods, a small herd of elephants emerged, including a baby, its ears flapping as it followed the others.

Miti stood up, smiling. “I take it there are no elephants where you come from. Come—don’t worry. They’re quite peaceful.”

He turned to Lexa. “Commander, may I trouble you for some of your… pastries?”

Lexa narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Fine. One box.”

Abby shot Clarke a look. What is with her attitude?

Clarke grinned. “Someone developed a space addiction. To animal crackers.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “Do you even know what’s in those things? You want microplastics in your brain?”

Lexa shrugged and tapped the scar on her neck. “Had plastic in my brain. Didn’t kill me.”

“It was silicone, actually,” Becca muttered with a sigh.

Miti reached into one of Lexa’s crates and retrieved a box. “Come, everyone.”

But Ontari was already sprinting toward the elephants, giggling with glee, clutching a stolen box of crackers from Lexa’s stash, completely unconcerned with the chaos behind her.

“Well… that’s something,” Clarke muttered, eyeing the herd. “I just hope they eat the crackers and not the muppet.”

Before anyone could react, Mona was already sprinting after Ontari, who had skipped far ahead—excited, loud, and very much waving her stolen box of animal crackers like an offering to the gods.

Only, the mama elephant didn’t take kindly to it.

The massive matriarch shifted in front of her calf, ears flaring, trunk curling low, a deep warning trumpet slicing through the air.

“Liza! Down!” Mona shouted, voice sharp with alarm. “Now! On your knees!”

Ontari froze, staring at her like she’d lost her mind.

Mona didn’t wait. She lunged, tackling her just as the elephant began to stomp forward. She pinned her down in the tall grass. “Shh! Stay still, idiot. Hands up, head down. Do not move.”

“Why—”

“Because if you twitch wrong, we’re getting trampled. And those tusks? They’ll go where the sun don’t shine—and without lube. Now shut up, do exactly like I do, and give me those damn crackers!”

Ontari handed over her precious stash with a huff, mimicking Mona’s position—knees down, hands up, head lowered. Mona murmured softly in Afrikaans, her voice calm and steady as she held out the now-open box of crackers like a peace offering.

Ontari risked a glance back.

Abby looked pale, clutching her chest like a heart attack was incoming.
Miti, of course, seemed amused—like this was an afternoon at the zoo.
Lexa was poised to fight the elephant.
Clarke was ready to tackle Lexa to stop her.
And Dazza? Dazza looked two seconds away from marching over and smacking all three of them upside the head.

Then something foul hit Ontari’s nose. A heavy, earthy stench.

Before she could react, something wet brushed her cheek. Her head snapped sideways—right into a wrinkled, mud-slick trunk.

She blinked. “Ewww.”

“Stay… still,” Mona hissed, reaching into the box and carefully holding out a cracker in her palm.

The elephant hesitated… then leaned in, plucking the treat gently with its trunk and bringing it to its mouth.

“That is so cool,” Ontari breathed. “I wish Moss could do that.”

“Your dog can shoot down missiles,” Mona muttered. “I’d say that’s something special.”

“Fair,” Ontari whispered, eyes still wide with awe.

“Now shh.” Mona rose slowly, lifting a few more crackers in her palm. She took a cautious step forward. Then another.

“Give me one!” Ontari whispered loudly, scrambling up to follow.

Mona handed her a cracker without looking. “Do exactly as I do. And no matter what—don’t you dare approach the calf. Let it come to you.”

Ontari nodded, unusually solemn, clutching the treat with reverence.

Mona stepped forward slowly, palm out. Two more elephants ambled over, trunks swaying as they gently took the snacks from her hand. Ontari watched, beaming, as the smallest one—curious and fearless—trotted right up to her. Its tiny trunk reached out and plucked the cracker from her hand.

A soft chuckle rumbled from behind. “We may approach now,” Miti said, watching the exchange with pride.

The rest of the group began to walk over, slowly and carefully, as the elephants welcomed them into their space.

“They smell,” Raven muttered, wrinkling her nose. “Terrible.”

“So does Ark soap,” Ronen offered with a smirk.

“It’s too hot here…” Echo sighed, wiping sweat from her brow.

“Well… you are a spoiled bunch,” Queen Marwa said coolly, striding ahead with practiced grace.

“She isn’t wrong,” Dazza murmured, falling into step beside her. “Not at all,” she added, glancing at Lexa—who was very pointedly pretending she hadn’t just snuck one of the animal crackers Miti had handed out for the elephants.

Not that anyone was fooled.

Queen Marwa stepped beside Mona, her presence sharp enough to make her daughter tense. Her mother had always been a good woman—kind, even—but unyielding. Too unyielding.

“So… that narrow-eyed boy is why your father flew to space?” she asked in Afrikaans, her tone clipped. “Underwhelming.”

Mona sighed, hoping silence might avert a diplomatic disaster.

“Is he worth more than your family? Than your birthright?” Marwa pressed.

“My birthright?” Mona replied, voice quiet but steady. “The one where I’m expected to marry my stiff-necked cousin to become… you? I’ll pass. And I’m not choosing him over anyone. You are.”

Marwa’s posture tightened. “You’ve never spoken to me like this.”

“I know,” Mona said calmly. “But I know my place now, Mother. And it isn’t here. Not in this… cult.”

“Have you no fear of God?” Marwa asked, her voice edged with disbelief.

“None,” Mona said. “But I do have love for Him. And gratitude. More than I can say.”

Marwa sighed. “That’s… a start, I suppose.” Then, to Mona’s surprise, she slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Mona flinched, caught off guard.

“I hate your choices,” Marwa said quietly. “Almost as much as I love you. Don’t ever doubt either of those things. Just… don’t disappear. Yes?”

Mona let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. It was hard not to cry—but then she caught sight of Monty, gently and cautiously patting the side of an elephant, his eyes wide with wonder.

And somehow… that made it easier.

“He is cute… for a pagan white boy,” Marwa said with a sly smile. “I’d hate to see Simba eat him tonight.”

“You and Papa… it’s like you share a mind,” Mona replied.

Marwa sighed. “No, sweetie. We share a soul.”

“As do we,” Mona said softly.

“Pagans do not have a soul, dear,” Marwa chuckled.

“That’s just mean, Momi,” Mona said, leaning into her side.

Marwa arched a brow. “Have you ever known me to be kind?”

Mona looked up at her, serious. “Many times.”

****

“This… is where you live?” Clarke asked, eyes wide as she took in the massive estate rising before them. It was lit up like something out of a dream—sleek, elegant, with flawless landscaping and the kind of grandeur that didn’t feel real.

Mona shrugged casually. “Been in my family for decades. Told you—I’m a princess. It’s not just good looks and an inflated ego.”

They’d just stepped off the little bus that brought them from the edge of the city. Tonight, at Miti’s insistence, they were staying here—at the royal palace.

It had been a long day. A royal tour of Joha, courtesy of her father and some truly determined hospitality. And what a tour it had been.

On the Ark, clothes were recycled through generations—threadbare, synthetic, and usually itchy enough to cause actual rashes. In Polis, tailors and armor-makers filled the markets, crafting by hand with the materials they had.

But today, Clarke saw something else—something she’d only ever seen in one of the old movies they’d salvaged from the Ark. A place of legend. A thing of beauty.

A shopping mall.

And not just any mall—a massive, sparkling, fully-stocked temple of color, fashion, and noise. It was unmistakably African in style, with bold prints and vibrant life, but it still had that glimmer of old-world marvel that Clarke had only dreamed about.

She knew two things in that moment.

One—ALIE was going down. No machine was going to rob them of this kind of future.

And two—she glanced at Lexa, who was standing still, jaw dropped at the sight of the palace before them—

They were going to build one in Polis.

Someday.

“Please, come,” Miti said, guiding them forward with Marwa’s hand in his. She had softened, just a little—enough to compliment Dazza’s necklace, saying it reminded her of one she’d seen as a child… though she couldn’t remember where or when.

Now, it was time for dinner.

“This place has air conditioning,” Raven pointed out, gesturing at the massive compressors humming outside.

Mona huffed. “What did you expect? It’s a palace.”

They followed Miti to the grand doors, Natasha and Mila trailing behind their parents like shadows—obedient, poised, perfectly composed.

Monty couldn’t help but smile. He’d caught both girls sneaking glances at Mona throughout the day, their expressions a mix of awe and envy. Little princesses playing dress-up. Oh, their poor parents.

Miti reached for the doors and pulled them open—

And immediately froze.

“Oh shit…” he muttered under his breath. He’d forgotten one tiny detail.

The lion.

Simba, the family’s not-so-little guardian, was sprawled across the marble floor in the entryway like he owned the damn place. Because he did.

Everyone halted behind Miti as the beast raised his massive head, blinked slowly… and yawned, teeth like daggers flashing in the dim entry lights.

Clarke took a step back. Lexa instinctively reached for a knife she wasn’t carrying. Ontari whispered, “Can I pet him?”

“No,” Mona, Miti, and Marwa all said at once.

Simba rumbled and stood, padding toward the door with an earth-shaking grace.

Miti cleared his throat. “Well… at least he’s awake to greet the guests.”

Simba suddenly perked up the moment he spotted Mona. With a low rumble of excitement, he bounded forward and, in just a few strides, tackled her to the ground like an overgrown puppy.

Flat on her back with a lion sprawled over her, Mona grunted and shoved at him. “Not in front of the guests, you overgrown cat,” she muttered, wrestling him down with practiced ease.

She turned her head toward the stunned group—and one very concerned Monty—and smirked.
“What? You all drink that faywoda stuff and live to tell about it. I have a pet lion.”

Simba let out a satisfied growl and she smacked his flank. “Shh. Go to your house.”

With a dramatic huff, Simba obediently trotted off to a large cushioned bed in the corner, curled up, and immediately began licking his paw like none of it ever happened.

“Let’s go,” Mona said, standing up and brushing herself off. She glanced at Ontari, her tone suddenly sharp. “And don’t you dare touch him. Maybe later—with me or my sisters only—if you value your life. Got it?”

Ontari didn’t pout this time. She wasn’t afraid of the lion, not really. But Abby’s lethal glare from behind her? That was another matter entirely.

“A troublemaker, this one…” Queen Marwa mused, eyeing Ontari with a cool smile. “Perhaps you’d do well to leave her here with me for a while. Might do her some good to learn a bit of discipline.”

Ontari sighed dramatically. “Sorry, Your Majesty. Hard pass.”

Clarke, standing off to the side, casually slipped her hand into Lexa’s, whispering just loud enough:
“How bad do you think it would be—diplomatically—if I killed the queen in her own palace?”

Lexa didn’t answer. But the twitch of her lips was answer enough.

“Please, come,” Miti said, leading them into a vast, ornate dining room with a table long enough to seat a small army. The table was already set—platters of grilled meats, exotic fruits, and dishes that looked both unfamiliar and delicious.

“Sit, please,” Queen Marwa added, already taking her place at one end of the table. Miti settled in at the opposite end, while Natasha and Mila flanked their mother.

“Choose any seat you like,” Marwa said with a polite smile, gesturing to the open chairs.

One by one, everyone found their place, the atmosphere a mix of formality and curiosity as they settled in for the royal meal.

“Please join us in prayer before we eat,” Miti said, folding his hands and meeting Marwa’s gaze across the table.

“God… we thank You for…” he began, voice steady.

Around the table, nearly everyone shifted awkwardly in their seats—unsure whether to bow their heads or stare at the polished plates. Then Dazza joined in, head bowed, hands clasped.

“Show some respect,” she hissed just loud enough for Lexa to hear.

Lexa sighed softly and folded her hands.

“…for the food we are about to eat… for the hands that prepared it… and for the blessings we continue to receive,” Miti finished.

“Amen,” Marwa whispered. The girls echoed her. Then, she, Mona, Natasha, and Mila stood and began serving—cutting meat, offering fruit, passing plates.

Lexa watched, her brow lifting slightly. She had hosted her share of formal dinners, and none without an army of servants. Even here, in a palace, there were no staff. No guards. No visible security.

“You have no personal guard?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Miti glanced up as Natasha placed a generous cut of meat on Clarke’s plate.

“Guards?” he repeated, amused. “For what?”

“Security,” Clarke added, watching him curiously. “Assassination attempts? Protection?”

Miti chuckled, shaking his head. “Commander, I assure you—I can handle myself. And frankly, I don’t think anyone wants me dead.”

“And your family?” Clarke pressed, still stunned.

Miti shrugged. “We have Simba. And my wife’s charming personality.”

Marwa didn’t even look up—she simply smirked, slicing fruit with unnerving precision.

“If things are so… peaceful,” Lexa asked, her tone measured, “why do you have an army?”

It wasn’t an accusation—more a quiet observation. She remembered their first visit well. Soldiers in uniform. A general in polished boots. Missiles stored beneath hangars. It hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Relics of the old world, really,” Marwa replied smoothly, sipping from her glass. “Unrest is born from scarcity. From fear. It’s been over a decade since the last real crime—aside from the occasional speeding ticket. And even that’s rare.”

She glanced around the table, voice calm but firm.

“Our enemy now is human suffering. Disease. Poverty. Loneliness. That is what our forces battle. We all fight for the same side.”

Abby blinked, momentarily thrown. Huh, she thought. Maybe this religion thing wasn’t so terrible after all.

“We always assumed there were others,” Miti said, leaning back slightly. “It was impossible—and unlikely—that we were all that’s left. And many years ago… when Marwa and I were just children… during my father’s time—may his soul rest in peace—we found a shipwreck on the coast. Bodies had washed ashore. No survivors… or none we ever found. They were white, like most of you. Dressed in white.”

Marwa tilted her head thoughtfully. “That’s where I saw a necklace like yours, Dazza. One of them was wearing it.”

Dazza froze. Her entire posture shifted. Eyes locked on Marwa, her breath caught in her throat.

“Did you find anything else?” she asked, voice trembling. “Any other artifacts?”

“I don’t know,” Miti admitted. “I was just a child. My father handled it. If anything was recovered… and it held value… it would be in the safe.”

Dazza blinked slowly, like she was grounding herself—trying to keep her soul from spinning out of her body.

Lexa glanced at Clarke, sensing the gravity in Dazza’s silence. Neither of them had ever seen her rattled like this.

“Would you… check, please?” Dazza asked, barely above a whisper.

Miti studied her, then nodded. “Of course. Seems the Lord has brought you here for more than just politics and leisure.”

Dazza exhaled through her nose, eyes steady but fierce.

No shit, she thought. Maybe one day I’ll teach these people how to live their faith instead of just screaming it.

“Let’s finish the meal, get you all settled in, and then we’ll see if we can find anything,” Miti said gently, looking at Dazza. “Alright, young lady? It seems to be very important to you.”

Dazza offered a small smile, composed but still visibly shaken. “Thank you, Chief. I appreciate it. Very much.”

Across the table, Ontari frowned at a long, smooth yellow fruit on her plate. “What’s this?” she asked, poking it like it might bite her. “Looks like a yellow cucumber.”

“It’s a banana,” Mona said with a grin. “Try it.”

Ontari wrinkled her nose. “It looks weird.”

Mona rolled her eyes and peeled one herself. “Here. Try it. And grow up.”

Ontari hesitated, took a bite—then immediately stuffed the rest into her mouth, chewing with unbothered delight.

Marwa watched, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You truly are an interesting one,” she said. “What’s your story, child?”

Ontari sighed, her eyes drifting toward Simba as he lay curled on his mat in the corner—so much like the one in Nia’s chambers. “I was raised by a queen,” she said simply.

“And this queen… did not teach you table manners?” Marwa asked, a touch amused, sipping her drink with perfect poise. “Sounds like a brute of a queen… if not.”

The room went still.

Those who knew Ontari’s past glanced uneasily between her and Marwa. The air tensed.

“Momi…” Mona started cautiously.

But Ontari raised a hand, stopping her. Her voice was calm, steady—too steady. “Oh no, Your Majesty. She taught me manners. Etiquette. Discipline.”

Lexa stood up quickly, alarm in her posture. “Muppet… sit down. She has no idea. Stop.”

But Ontari didn’t stop.

Instead, she picked up her plate and walked with eerie calm to where Simba was lounging. She set her food beside his bowl, dropped to her knees, and began eating from the plate like an obedient pet.

Gasps echoed around the table.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Abby said sharply, standing up.

But Simba growled low in his throat, placing himself between Ontari and anyone who dared approach. He licked her face affectionately, then cleaned the plate beside her.

Clarke clapped a hand over her mouth but failed to contain herself—laughter burst out of her in a startled, guilty fit.

It broke the tension just enough for Lexa to sit back down and cover her face with one hand. “Gods help us…” she muttered.

Ontari sat upright, wiped her face, and looked directly at Marwa. “Some manners are meant to be unlearned.” Then she calmly returned to her seat like nothing had happened.

Mona reached over and squeezed her hand under the table. Ontari squeezed back—hard.

Marwa stood up without a word, her long robes whispering against the marble floor as she made her way around the table. She stopped in front of Ontari, who tensed slightly but didn’t flinch.

Gently, Marwa cupped Ontari’s cheek in her hand, her voice softer than anyone had yet heard it.

“I’m sorry, child,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Not… all queens are alike.”

Then, without breaking her gaze, she reached for a banana from the centerpiece, peeled it with practiced grace, bit off the tip—and proceeded to shamelessly stuff the rest into her mouth with an exaggerated flourish.

Natasha and Mila stared, completely bewildered. Clarke blinked. Echo choked on her drink.

Mona, however, just smiled—especially at the utterly smitten look on her father’s face as he watched his wife.

“Still the most dangerous woman in this house,” Mona muttered under her breath.

The rest of the evening passed in warmth and laughter, with friendly chatter carrying softly between sips of wine and bites of unfamiliar but delicious dishes. Miti shared what little intel he had about ALIE—mostly that the cyber intrusions detected while they were off-world had been weak, lacking the computational strength to do any real damage. Lexa and Becca exchanged a look: troubling, but not urgent.

At last, Miti rose and clasped his hands together.

“You have another journey ahead tomorrow,” he said, voice calm but firm. “So allow me to show you to your quarters for the night. Come. Follow me, please.”

They rose from the long table and followed him through the estate, the sheer size of it enough to make even the former Ark residents raise their eyebrows. The ceilings soared, the walls gleamed, and somewhere in the middle of it all, a massive, over-the-top fountain gurgled and glittered under strategically placed lights.

Becca muttered under her breath, “My mansion was cooler than this.”

“Hm,” Raven replied, dry as ever. “Was. Pretty sure the muppet’s dog turned it into beach sand. Along with the rest of the island.”

Finally, Miti stopped at a richly adorned hallway, lined with tall doors and gilded light fixtures. The walls were carved with intricate patterns, each doorway framed like a piece of art.

“Here you are,” Miti said, with a sweeping gesture.

They were… absurdly luxurious.

“Who pays for all this, Mona?” Clarke asked quietly, glancing down the ornate hallway. “The people?”

Mona smiled, shaking her head. “Of course not. My father earned his wealth long before he became chief. The mall we visited today? He and a few friends built it from the ground up. He only took on the role after my grandfather passed.”

Marwa stepped forward, her posture regal but her tone gentler now. “Come,” she said, gesturing to Ontari and Echo. “Let me show you to your quarters.”

She led them down a different corridor to a private suite tucked behind carved wooden doors. When she opened them, Ontari froze. One entire wall was a giant, glowing aquarium—alive with vibrant fish, darting and drifting in slow, dreamlike patterns.

Ontari’s eyes went wide. She stepped forward slowly, breath caught, hand lightly pressed to the glass.

Marwa watched her reaction, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “I’m sorry again,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier.”

At the doorway, Abby lingered, arms crossed. She watched the exchange in silence—relieved, strangely. For all of Ontari’s walls and outbursts, something was shifting. The past wasn’t being swallowed or ignored anymore.

It was being released.

Abby smiled to herself as she stepped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her. “Oh, this muppet,” she murmured. Ontari, somehow, had managed to soften even the stern African queen. She’d have to talk to her later—about lions, about boundaries… but for now, it could wait.

Time to check out her own so-called “bronze level” guest suite.

She stretched her arms above her head as she made her way to the room Miti had pointed out earlier. She opened the door—then blinked.

“This is… not a room,” she muttered. “It’s an apartment.”

Spacious, elegant, and polished. There was a kitchenette, plush seating, a bedroom tucked around the corner—oh, and in the center of the bathroom, a sunken tub with bubbles already forming.

A… what was it called again in that movie?

“Jikizzi,” she whispered with a laugh.

She sighed deeply. Zik had stayed behind, holding down the fort—his last day as Lexa’s stand-in. She wished he could see this. See what the world could have been. Maybe what it still might be.

Beyond all the ceremony, the rigid tradition, the prayer schedules and rehearsed propriety… these people weren’t so different. Even the queen.

Abby could see it. Beneath the armor and judgment, Marwa was something rare in this world.

A good mother.

****

Dazza sat in the mahogany-paneled office, sunk into the most comfortable chair she had ever laid eyes—or body—on. It reclined. It swiveled. It cradled her in a way that made her contemplate committing high treason. Knock the chief out, drag the chair to Polis, and let her little angels figure out what… creative uses it might have.

But no. She needed Miti. And more importantly—she liked him. She’d caught a whiff of his soul earlier. Clean. Grounded. A man who led with confidence and responsibility, not ego. A rarity.

The chief returned, holding a small cloth bag marked in one of the native dialects. He opened it gently and emptied the contents onto the polished desk.

Dazza blinked.

A necklace. Like hers. But different—white, black, and grey stones instead of red, green, and blue. Then, a flat metal plate etched with symbols—an alphabet she had never seen before. Foreign. Geometric. Hypnotic.

“That’s… it?” she asked, still staring.

“No,” Miti said, setting something else down. A small globe.

Dazza leaned forward, her fingers brushing over the surface.

It wasn’t Earth.

The oceans were all wrong. The landmasses… she didn’t recognize any. But the coloration—icy, stark, familiar—sent a chill through her. She’d seen a glimpse of this in one of the key’s ancestral memories. Or maybe… in a dream.

Bardo.

What the hell?

She turned the globe slowly in her palm, eyes narrowing. What was this doing here?

“Do you want these?” Miti asked. “I have no use for them.”

Dazza nodded, carefully gathering the items.

“What are they?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” she murmured with a smile. “I really do.”

Tonight, maybe she would take the key again.

It was time to find out.

Chapter Text

Clarke sat quietly in the jump seat beside Lexa, gazing out the small window as they sliced through the upper atmosphere at 55,000 feet. Raven had mentioned the altitude earlier—just before falling into an uncharacteristic silence. Even she, the eternal engine of sarcasm and fire, had gone still. Thoughtful. Wary.

The jet hummed around them, sleek and powerful, cutting across the Atlantic like a blade. The sun was just starting to rise, the horizon painted in hues of amber and steel blue, a surreal reminder that their world—so recently full of wonder—was still burning beneath the clouds.

Their quick trip to Becca’s island, a science expedition turned cosmic odyssey, had unfolded into something mythic. And their brief respite in Africa—warm, magical, human—already felt like a dream. Now it was over. Cut short by the grim return of reality.

Zik’s transmission had come at dawn. Multiple suicide bombings overnight. One of them just outside the Tower.

The chipped had begun to evolve.

No longer just blank-eyed drones needing to be jacked into the network, ALIE’s followers were adapting. Blending in. Learning. The AI had lost Becca’s lab—her main server cache—but she was compensating with something far worse: desperation. And with desperation came cruelty.

Now, among them on the jet’s floor, nestled between a crate of emergency supplies and the ever-present stockpile of Lexa’s animal crackers, lay the prototype processor. Their hope. A last-ditch salvation designed to sever ALIE’s growing grip without frying the minds of her victims.

They weren’t even thinking about the fact that the jet itself was being piloted by Moss remotely from the top of Polis Tower, while simultaneously scanning the electromagnetic spectrum for any hint of ALIE’s signature. It didn’t matter. If the new messengers were hard-coded—pre-programmed instead of live-linked—there’d be no signals to trace. No hacks to intercept.

Only silence. And smiling faces. Until they exploded.

Emerson’s squad sat alert, weapons loose and ready. Every warrior had standing orders now: watch for anything… anyone… strange. But how do you detect something that no longer looks like a threat? How do you stop an enemy that’s stopped announcing its presence?

Clarke reached over and took Lexa’s hand without a word. The jet soared on through the morning light, carrying with it the weight of peace lost and the terrible necessity of war reborn.

But at least now, they knew what they were fighting for. The brief pause in the storm had offered a glimpse of what could exist beyond survival—freedom, joy, progress. For the first time, they weren’t just trying to save the world. They were preparing to build one. And now, they understood the difference.

Lexa exhaled slowly, her gaze shifting to Dazza. The guardian, usually the calm center of every storm, was clearly off balance. Something had shaken her. Something deep. But Lexa knew better than to press. Dazza would speak when she was ready—when the time was right. Until then, whatever burden she carried would remain her own.

Still, Lexa allowed herself a quiet breath of peace. It was good to be going home. Good to know what home could be—if they dared, if they fought, if they chose to hope.

She looked around the cabin at their strange, ragtag family. All survivors. All believers, in their own way. And for the first time, Lexa didn’t feel like she had to carry it all alone.

For the first time, she didn’t want to.

Lexa glanced toward the pilot seats. Becca sat in one—focused, steady, clearly capable of taking over if necessary. And in the other was Ontari, gripping the controls with a grin, clearly just pretending to fly. Lexa smiled softly at the sight, then at the glint of Ontari’s newest treasure: a dazzling necklace, its thick gold vine encrusted with precious gems, shaped like a palm tree.

“Something to remember us by,” Queen Marwa had said that morning as she stood beside Miti, bidding them farewell.

As Mona later explained, that necklace was a family heirloom—passed down through generations of royalty. It was worth a small fortune, both in wealth and meaning. And yet, it now hung around the neck of the unruliest guest they’d brought.

Mona was still in quiet awe. Her mother—so proud, so rigid—had once vowed never to give that necklace to anyone outside the bloodline. And yet, in one spontaneous gesture, she had handed it to a girl she had once insulted. A girl who, by sheer defiance and unshakable identity, had somehow brought back a version of Marwa Mona hadn’t seen since childhood—the mother who was kind, open, and willing to embrace the unfamiliar.

If Clarke was to be believed, Ontari had performed a similar miracle on Abby. The hardened leader, the calculating doctor, had softened. Let down her walls. Taken the muppet in as something more than a nuisance—becoming a protective, maternal presence who now looked at Becca with unmistakable disdain for the pain Lexa and her predecessors had endured.

Maybe it was just Ontari’s way. Where she went, walls came down.

“How’s the arm?” Becca asked, crouching beside Bruno, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against a stack of crates. Emerson and the rest of the squad were sprawled nearby, catching what rest they could mid-flight.

Bruno flexed his fingers slowly, attempting to curl them into a fist. He almost managed it. “Not bad,” he said with a shrug. “For someone whose arm was ripped off by a mind-controlled mutant gorilla.”

Becca gave a small nod. “Good. Just keep doing the exercises I showed you. The nerve damage was catastrophic, but with time… you’ll hold a sword again. Or flowers. For your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have one, Pramheda,” Bruno chuckled.

Becca rolled her eyes and tilted her head toward Lexa. “That’s her department. She’s the matchmaker around here.”

Lexa offered a soft smile but said nothing. The closer they drew to Polis, the more the weight of the crown settled on her shoulders again. A day ago she might’ve offered a witty retort or a sarcastic jab. Now, the smile was the best she could give—and it was enough. Bruno returned it with a grin of his own.

He never imagined he’d end up on a squad like this, let alone led by a reformed mountain man. When Emerson had been assigned as his commanding officer, Bruno had nearly refused outright. But now? He didn’t regret a second of it. Emerson had proven himself—brave, loyal, surprisingly steady.

And because of that choice, Bruno had been to space. Walked the African continent. Seen animals that looked like mythical beasts and come home with a duffle bag stuffed full of the most incredible clothes, courtesy of something called a mall. Paid for, of course, by the chief himself.

Losing an arm? Worth it. The stories alone would skyrocket him to legend status back home.

“Such a shame,” Abby muttered nearby, arms crossed, still eyeing him with faint awe. “That you destroyed the lab.”

To her, this was a medical miracle. The surgical unit had not just reattached the arm—it had rebuilt it from the inside out. Something beyond even her capabilities. Something bordering on magic.

“Don’t worry, Abby,” Becca said softly, her voice gentler than usual. “I got the schematics. Every blueprint. Everything that was in that lab… I brought it with me.”

Abby said nothing. But something in her gaze shifted—if only a little.

“We’re landing soon,” Becca called over her shoulder as she settled into the pilot’s seat. The jet dipped downward, slicing cleanly through the thick cloud layer. “About ten minutes out.”

She glanced sideways at Ontari. “Tell your dog to let me fly.”

Ontari grabbed the radio. “Moss—transfer control to pilot one.”

The plane jolted slightly as Becca took over. Smoothly, but noticeably.

“How do you even know how to fly?” Ontari asked, half awed, half envious.

Becca smirked. “I learned when I was about your age. I had… many interests back then. Spaceflight, engineering, languages. If you want to fly a rocket, you need to start with a plane.”

“Can you teach me?” Ontari asked without hesitation, wide-eyed.

Becca smiled warmly. “With pleasure. Right after this nightmare is over.”

Just ahead, it appeared—tall and ancient, wrapped in mist and storm clouds—the Polis tower. Cracked, weathered, nothing like the gleaming skyline of Joha. No polished floors, no fountains, no elevators. Just stone and steel, holding up centuries of grit, war, and memory.

And yet, it was home.

“And… we’re back,” Clarke whispered, her voice a mix of nostalgia and resolve.

There would be no time to rest. They needed to install the new processor, sync it to Moss, and pray it would be enough. But that would take the AI offline during the transition, leaving them vulnerable.

They looked out over the familiar forests and the scattered lights of the city. Becca slowed the descent, bringing them in low from the north. The plane hovered momentarily over the field before thudding onto the ground—not exactly a graceful landing.

“Sorry,” Becca muttered, unbothered. “Bit rusty. It’s been a century, give or take, since I flew one of these. All things considered? Not bad.”

The ramp began to lower, and a cool breeze rolled in, cutting the dry African heat from their skin. Echo breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering closed. “Finally. Air that doesn’t taste like metal or sand.”

Then they heard it—neighing, hooves clattering. A dozen horses surrounded the plane.

Lexa turned at the voice that rose above the noise. Familiar. Grounded. Warm.

“Heda.”

Lexa smiled.

Abby smiled too.

“Zik,” she said, almost in unison with Lexa.

He sat tall on horseback, armored and calm, his expression unreadable—until he saw Abby. Then it softened, just a little. Just enough.

They were home. And the fight wasn’t over.

But they weren’t fighting it alone.

“Come,” Lexa said, taking Clarke’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

Clarke smiled. Lexa wasn’t wrong. For all its flaws and baggage, this was their home. Their people. And now, they were here to destroy the AI that wanted to trap them all in its so-called City of Light—a virtual prison disguised as paradise.

No. That wasn’t going to happen. They would—

“Moss!” a shriek rang out behind them.

Of course.

Ontari came sprinting down the ramp and across the field toward the robodog standing alert in the distance.

“Hey!” she called, running up. “Moss! How are you? I missed you so much! I saw elephants! A lion! And I still like you the best!”

She dropped to a crouch and cradled its metallic face in her palms.

Moss’s optics whirled to focus on her.

“I missed you too, Mrs. President,” he replied. “I am glad you are back. Safe. And I am honored to be compared to organic beings.”

Clarke turned to Abby with a soft smile. “Mom… I’m glad we adopted her. Makes life… lively. And colorful.”

Abby stepped up behind her and Lexa, wrapping her arms around both of them. “You all do.”

Lexa exhaled, a quiet sigh. She was going to need to have a conversation with Abby soon—about protocol. Here, at home, she was Heda. There were lines that needed to be respected.

But there was no time for that now.

Moss suddenly moved—fast, impossibly fast for a half-ton mechanical unit—barreling forward and slamming Ontari out of the way. Its guns snapped out, locked onto something, and everyone’s heads turned in unison toward the threat.

A child. No older than twelve. Standing thirty feet away, swathed in a thick coat now shredded with bullet holes, already darkened by spreading blood.

“GET DOWN NOW!” Moss roared. “NOW!”

“What are you—” Ontari blinked in shock, stumbling back. She thought Moss was on their side. Thought they’d freed him from ALIE. Now he was shooting kids?

“GET DOWN!” Moss barked again, launching forward with feral speed just as—

BOOM.

The explosion hit like a thunderclap. Clarke barely had time to react before Lexa tackled her to the ground, shielding her from the blast. Smoke rolled across the landing field in a wave of debris and dust.

Clarke blinked, coughing. The ringing in her ears was deafening. But as the smoke began to clear, she sat up, dazed.

The child was gone—too far for anyone to reach in time.

Too close to do anything but die.

“Anyone hurt?!” Abby shouted, standing up and brushing herself off, eyes scanning through the smoke.

“Over here!” one of the soldiers called out, voice panicked. “Over here!”

Abby sprinted toward him and dropped to her knees. A warrior lay sprawled on the ground, body torn open by the blast. She pressed her fingers to his neck, hoping—but she already knew.

No pulse.

She exhaled sharply and shook her head.

Lexa approached, her jaw tight as she looked down at the fallen warrior. “Divo…” she murmured. “He was one of the good ones.” Her throat clenched. “Even if he almost conspired with Dazza to sneak me out of the conclave when I was a kid.” She blinked hard, straightening. “He had a wife. A family. One of my most loyal.”

Then, she turned, sharply—eyes blazing.

“Nerd squad,” she said, voice commanding. “End this. Now. Get the processor to the bunker and start building the kill virus.”

She turned her attention to Raven. “And Raven? I need a way to identify these suicide bombers before Moss goes offline. I don’t care how—figure it out.”

And despite the grief tightening around her heart, she couldn’t help but feel a sliver of pride at being able to speak their language—tech and all—without the flame burning in her neck. She was still Heda. Still in command. And this time, she was going to win.

“Can I have a knife… please?” Mona asked quietly.

Lexa’s head snapped in her direction. Mona was crouched beside Divo’s horse—bloodied, its sides heaving. The mare had taken the brunt of the blast along with its rider, likely saving lives. But now, it was suffering—torn open, broken, dying slow.

Without hesitation, Lexa handed over her dagger.

Mona gently placed her hand on the horse’s muzzle, murmuring something soft and sorrowful, a prayer, maybe—then, without flinching, slid the blade clean across the carotid. The horse jerked once… then stilled.

She stood and returned the blade to Lexa, her hand steady but her eyes distant.

Suddenly, the other horses whinnied and reared, their hooves stamping nervously—sensing something. But Moss didn’t react.

Out of the treeline, silent and sure, a panther emerged.

It padded toward Mona, sleek and dark, a living shadow gliding across the field. Lexa’s hand twitched toward her weapon. Abby tensed. Clarke stepped forward instinctively.

But Mona didn’t move.

“Oh…” she whispered, recognizing it.

The panther was the same one she’d freed on Becca’s island, the same one Moss had carried out of the collapsing lab. The one ALIE had tried to control.

It stopped in front of her, towering and calm, and nudged her side with its head like an affectionate hound.

Mona smiled softly, resting both hands on its massive head.

“Hello, my friend,” she murmured.

And somehow, after everything they’d seen—the lion, the elephant, -this didn’t surprise anyone anymore. Of course Mona had a panther. Of course it had come back to her.

“Looks like he’s coming with us,” Clarke said, approaching Mona and the panther, watching as it fell into step beside her like a shadow. “Where to now? Nowhere seems safe anymore…”

“You need to meet with the ambassadors,” Zik said, still brushing dirt and ash from his coat. “They’re flipping out. Gaia and I have been trying to keep them calm, but with ALIE’s new tactics… they’re panicking. The people too. They need to see their Heda. They need to know we can stop this.”

Lexa nodded once. “Come. Hodnes,” she said, reaching for Clarke’s hand. “You and Kush are coming with me,” she added, looking to Mona. “And… Simba’s cousin,” she finished dryly, gesturing to the panther. “I am going to formally introduce the new African princess and her deputy. You will have a seat on the council. Represent your people.”

She turned to one of the guards. “Prepare the pyre. I’ll return after the meeting. Inform Divo’s family. They are to be honored. His wages paid for as long as they live.”

Two horses were brought forward. Lexa mounted one and extended a hand, pulling Clarke up behind her. Mona and Kush took the second, riding with effortless grace.

Clarke glanced back over her shoulder. “Coming, bodyguard?”

Dazza gave a nod and mounted silently. Something in her was still rattled—whatever had shaken her this morning hadn’t let go. And Dazza, of all people, didn’t get shaken. Not like this.

“Install the processor,” Lexa said, glancing toward the crates. “Get the computer running. Then we prepare. ALIE won’t go down without a fight.”

Her gaze lingered on the small blackened crater where the child had stood—where the explosion had torn through earth and flesh and faith. Her jaw tightened.

“She’s already started.”

They trotted toward the city gates, guards fanning out around them. Lexa exhaled slowly. No more weed, no more lounging around in pajamas, carefree and weightless. That brief taste of stillness was behind her now. She also finally understood why the Sky People always looked a little… soft. Gravity on the Ark had been less than Earth’s. Up there, life was lighter in more ways than one.

As they entered Polis, the city greeted them with familiar scents—roasting meat, smoke, life lived close to the ground. People cheered from the narrow streets. Children ran behind the horses laughing, shouting for their Heda and Wanheda. The flame atop the tower glowed red now, signaling that the commander was in residence. Home. Burden and all.

The panther trotted beside Mona, entirely unbothered by the terrified looks it received from passersby. Regal. Untouchable.

“How do you just…” Clarke glanced over her shoulder at Mona. “Make animals like that calm? Docile?”

“They fear humans,” Mona answered simply. “They sense our pride. Our belief in superiority.” She glanced down at the panther. “But I see them as equals. Truly. And they feel that. So… humility,” she said with a faint smile. “That’s how I do it.”

Clarke sighed. She’d never thought of it that way—never questioned the belief that humans ruled the Earth, that animals were either food or threat. But to be fair, she’d never even seen a real animal before they came down from the Ark.

They reached the base of the tower. Lexa dismounted first and helped Clarke down. Mona, Kush, and Dazza followed, the panther trotting calmly behind them.

“He needs a name,” Dazza said, glancing at the sleek creature.

“Don,” Mona offered. “In my language, darkness is donker. So… Don.”

“I like it,” Clarke said with a soft smile. “Don… can I pet him?”

Mona nodded. “Slow. Easy. Humble.”

Clarke crouched, meeting Don’s eyes, and extended her hand. She placed it gently on his face, closing her eyes. She felt it—life, pure and powerful. Fluid and defiant. Beautiful in its stubbornness.

They were the same, her and Don. Just two pieces in a much larger cycle.

Don let out a low purr and licked her cheek. Clarke chuckled, wiping it with her sleeve, still smiling.

They rode the elevator up to the throne room, and Lexa instinctively straightened her back. It took effort now—real effort—to step back into the role of Heda. After everything she’d experienced, after the space-bound days of floating in zero gravity with animal crackers, and the whirlwind immersion into Africa—a continent alive with color, noise, and the wild luxury of malls—it felt almost surreal.

She still wasn’t over that store Clarke had fallen in love with. Sahara, it was called. Gleaming floors, mannequins dressed in styles she’d never imagined, shelves perfectly stocked by size, and fitting rooms with doors. It was one of the few shops that sold clothes for women that weren’t robes or dresses, and apparently, it catered mostly to married women seeking privacy in their choices. Well… she and Clarke were married. And so Lexa had indulged. Gone wild, even. Pants in different sizes? That fit? That wasn’t just armor or utility? It was a revelation.

And their last night in that palace… Clarke in that massive, bubbling bathtub. The way they touched, laughed, tangled together in sheets softer than anything Polis had ever known. Lexa glanced at Clarke now, standing beside her. That night had been something else entirely. Not a performance. Not a duty. Just… them.

But now, the elevator chimed, and they stepped into the throne room. And Lexa remembered who she needed to be again. Not a girl wrapped in silk sheets or browsing foreign fashion with her wife. No—Heda.

She could do it. She was made for this. Lexa, the girl, had grown up for this very purpose.

But something had shifted.

Now, being Heda wasn’t her identity.

It was just another skill. Like speaking Trigedasleng. Like mastering the glaive. Like playing pool on the Ark.

She was good at it.

But it didn’t define her anymore.

She marched up to the throne as the ambassadors rose from their seats, Gaia rising as well from where she had been seated. Lexa gave her a silent nod, and Gaia stepped aside as Lexa took her place. Clarke slipped gracefully into the smaller throne beside her, and Dazza took her position just behind them, watchful and steady.

Lexa allowed herself a smirk at the sight of the ambassadors nervously eyeing Don, who sat calmly at Mona’s side—alert, sleek, and entirely uninterested in their politics.

“Two more chairs,” Lexa said with a flick of her wrist, her voice calm but commanding. “For your new colleagues.”

Attendants moved swiftly, bringing forward two additional chairs. Lexa gestured toward a space slightly separate from the existing council circle—near, but distinct.

“These are Princess Mona of New Africa and her deputy ambassador, Kush,” Lexa announced. “And their companion, Don of Becca’s Island.”

Mona gave a respectful nod as she took her seat, Kush beside her. Don sat at Mona’s feet, unbothered by the whispers now rippling across the room.

“They will represent our new allies across the sea,” Lexa continued, her voice cutting through the murmurs, “and will lend their insight and resources to our fight against the darkness that has crept into our lands—the spirit that wears the name ALIE.”

The murmuring grew louder—uneasy, anxious. The recent bombings had shaken even the most confident voices in the room. Panic simmered just below the surface.

Lexa’s gaze swept the chamber. She sat tall, composed, eyes glinting with fire and purpose.

“This council will hold. Our alliances will strengthen. And we will prevail,” she said, her voice firm.

Silence followed. But it was a silence of attention, not defiance.

The game had changed. And Lexa had made her next move.

“I want Polis shut down,” Lexa said coldly. “Every gate closed. No one in or out. We’ll take the time to fortify, to prepare. When the fight begins… we’ll need to hold Polis for one full day. That’s all the time Raven and Becca will have to craft a solution to this… thing… that plagues us. And when we begin, she’ll know. She’ll come at us with everything she has. That day… will be hell.”

Gaia blinked, the weight of it already settling on her shoulders. “Heda… should we assemble the armies?”

Lexa slowly stood. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes—those were fire and iron. “No. Each clan will defend their own borders. Help others if they can. Or run. Aside from Skaikru. They’ll stay here. They’ll defend Polis.”

Clarke’s head turned sharply. “Wait, what? Why just us?”

Lexa exhaled. “Because you’re the only ones who can use the tech. The weapons, the scanners, the sensors we’ve scavenged over the few months. Spears and swords won’t save us this time. Moss will be occupied. And we… we will have to do this ourselves.”

Clarke leaned in, her voice low and incredulous. “When exactly did you come up with this plan?”

Lexa gave her a small, smug smile. “In the movie theater.”

Clarke stared. “The what?”

Lexa nodded solemnly. “The Avengers. Especially Age of Ultron. It gave me… many ideas.”

Clarke blinked. Absolutely stunned. Never—not in a thousand years—did she think that while Lexa was lounging in pajamas, half-baked on animal crackers and ganja, moaning about foot rubs and refusing to lift a single finger… she was also designing a war plan.

The movie theater hadn’t just been her escape.

It had been her strategy room.

And the movies?

Training manuals.

“A fucking genius…” Clarke murmured, utterly smitten. To her, it was complete madness—and yet somehow it made perfect sense. They’d never once discussed strategy. Clarke had assumed they were just winging it: install the processor, link it to Moss and the Flame, and pray a kill virus could be cooked up before ALIE destroyed everything.

She was wrong.

In the haze of Lexa’s unraveling—the pajama days, the movie marathons, the endless snacks and indulgent whims—Clarke had forgotten who she was dealing with. This was Lexa. The woman who once bent armies to her will. Who knew the names of every chief’s wife in the Coalition. Who had spies watching spies and made life-or-death decisions with the same effort as choosing a side of the bed.

Lexa didn’t guess. She didn’t improvise.

She planned.

Flame or no Flame… Lexa was leadership incarnate. The difference now? She wasn’t driven by duty alone. It was care. It was love. A desire to protect something. To build something. For herself. For Clarke. For all of them.

“I try,” Lexa said with a shrug, settling back into her throne. Then she turned her gaze to Kane. “Markus. Summon your soldiers. All of them familiar with tech. I want them here by tomorrow night.”

Kane nodded.

“The rest of you,” Lexa continued, her voice now cutting through the tension like a blade, “return to your clans. Prepare to shelter. Polis will become a fortress, but we will not fight for everyone. Ravion kom Trikru will once again provide us with the tech to detect the chipped. I assume it will be ready soon.”

Mona raised her hand hesitantly. “Um… Commander? Sorry, not sure how this works. But I think it’d help if we had… a live one. A chipped. So we can study them. Sorry if I wasn’t supposed to… interrupt…”

Lexa chuckled lightly. Poor girl. Coming from a democratic state where people spoke whenever they pleased—here, there were rules. Structure. Protocol. You behave, you leave through the door or the elevator. You don’t? You get the scenic route down from the tower.

“You may speak, Ambassador,” Lexa said gently. “Do not fear. Observe… and you will learn.”

Then, she turned. “Zik. You have a mission. We need a chipped one. Alive. They must not see or hear… ALIE must not learn what we’re doing.”

Zik nodded once and turned, already mentally running through a list of fast-acting poisons that paralyze without damaging the brain. No problem. He’d deliver.

“We need to set up missile launchers and gun towers,” Lexa said calmly, her tone all business. “Becca can fly the jet… and as much as I hate to mimic Nia or the mountain, the minefield around Polis is going back up. Mona,” she turned slightly, “can you program the other robodogs to intercept missiles once Moss is offline?”

Mona shrugged. “Between me, Monty, Raven, and Becca? Yeah. We’ll figure it out.”

Lexa nodded. “Good. Also, we need to seal off the tunnels. Titus knew how to enter the city from underground, and we can’t risk infiltration from below. And we need to establish two external bases of operations—one to the east, one to the west. Fully manned. Ready for assault.”

Clarke exhaled sharply. She could hardly believe this was real. Lexa had watched a handful of action flicks—and now here she was, calmly planning a full-scale defense strategy against a mechanized AI like she’d trained her whole life for it. Then again, Clarke thought, maybe she had.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any,” the Azgeda ambassador spoke up cautiously, “to request fairer reimbursement for the scavenged tech we’ve continued to bring into the city. Without it, the coalition would be defenseless. Surely… our contributions deserve greater recognition. Perhaps an increased—”

Lexa’s head snapped toward him.

She walked down the dais slowly, deliberately. “How considerate of you,” she said smoothly. “Truly… a loyal ally.”

She paused before him, a faint smile on her lips. “Come. Let’s speak privately.”

The ambassador hesitated, but followed her through the curtain that led to the balcony behind the throne.

A moment later, a muffled commotion broke out. Screaming. Pleading. And then—a loud thud.

Gasps echoed across the room. The ambassadors turned, wide-eyed.

Lexa returned calmly, brushing dust from her sleeve. The Azgeda ambassador trailed behind her, disheveled, one eye already swelling.

“Was the new price agreeable to you, Neil?” Lexa asked, her tone light.

He nodded quickly, gaze flicking to Don, who was now licking his paw lazily near Mona’s chair.

As for what the panther had to do with negotiations—none of the diplomats dared ask.

Clarke glanced at Mona, who was blinking rapidly, clearly overwhelmed. She smiled to herself. Yep… the girl had a lot of adjusting to do. But she would. Eventually. Clarke decided, somewhat to her own surprise, that diplomacy could actually be… fun.

“We will convene again tomorrow morning,” Lexa announced, rising from her throne. “Any other matters are postponed until ALIE is dealt with.”

She reached for Clarke’s hand and strode out, Dazza close behind them, followed by Mona, Kush, and Don padding silently alongside.

Once they were out of earshot, Lexa turned to Mona. “He can’t stay in the tower. Sorry.”

Mona nodded, unsurprised. “I figured. Maybe we can build a space for him nearby? Look at him… he’s not meant for the wild. I don’t think he knows how to be… one of them. Not anymore.”

Lexa studied the panther. He was lean. Not sickly, but clearly not thriving on his own.

“Fine,” she said. “We’ll figure something out. I… like him.”

Just then, Dazza—who had been unusually quiet—exhaled audibly.

“It was meant to be,” she murmured.

Lexa gave her a sharp glance, noting the far-off look in her eyes. She filed it away—another mystery—and made a mental note to speak with her alone. Soon.

****

“She’s a thing of beauty,” Raven said, tightening a screw on the quantum computer. The processor nearly fit—just a few mismatched ports stood in the way. Nothing Mona couldn’t fix in her sleep, especially with Monty hovering nearby, already pulling tools from his belt.

But Becca’s focus was elsewhere.

The bunker hatch.

Heda’s orders.

If everything went to hell, the bunker was their last resort—a place to hide while Moss finished the job. According to Becca’s calculations, the bunker could hold most of Polis. Standing room only, sure—but alive.

She glanced at the sealed entrance. The old mechanism had rusted over, its hydraulics barely responsive. It would need work. Fast.

Becca smiled. There wasn’t a soul on Earth who knew Lexa better than she did. Not even Clarke—not in the same way. Becca had been inside her mind for six years, watching her thoughts unfold, seeing how every emotion, every instinct, came wrapped in strategy. Lexa always thought. Always calculated. Even when she pretended not to.

That was part of the problem. Part of the reason Becca had insisted on taking command up in space—to give the girl a break. A chance to breathe. To live.

And live Lexa did.

Becca chuckled, remembering her strutting around the Ark in bunny-print pajama pants, raiding the snack stash, high on animal crackers and free from consequence. But even then, she never stopped thinking. Never stopped planning.

Because the moment they touched down, moments after that poor boy blew himself up, Lexa was already in motion—executing a plan she’d apparently been crafting all along.

Movie-inspired war strategies. Tactical restructuring. Contingency layers stacked like armor.

Turns out Lexa had never taken a break. She’d just learned how to mix business with pleasure.

“Damn it,” Becca muttered, crouching beside the pneumatic system of the hatch. It was completely shot—beyond repair. The internal mechanisms were warped, the fluid system leaking. She’d have to head down to Level Six and haul the replacement hardware up herself.

With a sigh, she stood and brushed off her hands. “I’ll be back,” she called to Raven, Monty, and Mona, who were still huddled over the quantum computer, working through the remaining port mismatches.

This body—ALIE’s intended vessel, now hers—came with more than a few upgrades. Strength, durability, precision. She could carry what they needed without breaking a sweat. Still, part of her wondered if she should be flaunting it less. The others hadn’t said anything… but they’d noticed.

Her mind flicked to Titus. He’d been rebuilt too, wasn’t he? Before Moss… vaporized him. But what if Moss hadn’t finished the job? Could he have survived somehow?

No. That blast was final. No one could walk away from that.

Still…

She stepped into the elevator and hit the button for Level 6, jaw tight. Some thoughts were harder to kill than people.

The elevator groaned and hissed as it descended, metal-on-metal grinding like a tired exhale. Becca rolled her eyes upward. “Gotta hand it to you, Cadogan,” she muttered. “Most of your paranoid, cult-built crap still works.” She scowled. “Except the damn bunker hatch.”

The doors parted with a pneumatic sigh, revealing Level Six—a sprawling, dimly lit warehouse stretching into shadow. Shelves lined with crates, containers, and sealed bins stood like monoliths in perfect rows, stacked floor to ceiling. This was the heart of Second Dawn’s survivalist hoarding. If you needed to build a fleet of tanks, an underground power grid, or a surgical suite, odds were it was in here.

Becca stepped off the elevator, boots echoing faintly on the concrete floor. “Now… where are those damn pneumatic assemblies?” she muttered, scanning the labeled rows. It was going to be a long night.

She turned into one aisle—and stopped cold.

There, nestled awkwardly between rusting crates of hydraulic coils and a dusty generator marked obsolete, sat something completely out of place. A sleek metallic object—tall, narrow, and pulsing with a faint blue glow. It wasn’t labeled. It wasn’t dusty. It wasn’t Second Dawn.

The beacon stood about chest-high, shaped like a thin prism, its edges beveled with razor precision. Luminous glyphs—foreign, shifting—ran vertically along its core. The metal was unlike any alloy she’d seen before: dark, almost liquid in texture, as if it was designed to reflect nothing. The light within it pulsed rhythmically—like a heartbeat.

Becca stepped closer.

It didn’t belong here.

And it definitely wasn’t human.

Becca froze, breath catching in her throat.

The symbols—those impossibly intricate, shifting glyphs etched into the core of the device—they weren’t just familiar. They were identical to the ones on the stone. Her blood ran cold.

“Shit,” she whispered. “No. No, no, no…”

Cadogan wouldn’t have left this behind. Not him. He was obsessed with the stone, obsessed with transcendence, obsessed with anything remotely tied to what he called “the beyond.” This… this beacon, or whatever it was, it would’ve consumed him. He would’ve locked it in the sanctum, studied it, worshiped it like he did everything else.

But she had never seen it here. Not a century ago. Not when she lived and worked alongside him.

He didn’t have it then.

Which meant… it came later.

But how? Who brought it? And why hide it here, buried between spare parts and ancient tech?

Suddenly, she felt it—behind her. That weight of a presence. She spun around, hand instinctively hovering near the tool at her hip.

Dazza stood there in the shadows, her eyes locked on the beacon.

“This…” Dazza said, her voice low and sure, “This is what I saw. When I took the key.”

Becca’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“I saw this,” Dazza repeated, stepping closer, her voice barely a whisper now. “Not a memory. A vision. From the key. It burned into me. I didn’t know what it was… not until now.”

Becca looked back at the device, its glow slowly intensifying.

“Well,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, “guess we’re not done with the stone after all.”

“Not even close,” Dazza said, as the beacon’s glow deepened to a low, pulsing hum—its symbols swirling faster, reacting.

Suddenly, Becca dropped to one knee, clutching the back of her neck. Pain shot like lightning down her spine. “Shit…” she gasped. “What is happening?”

Dazza didn’t flinch. “What’s supposed to happen.”

She stepped forward and calmly entered a sequence on the beacon’s console. The glow shifted—brighter, steadier—and just as suddenly as it had come, the pain in Becca’s neck vanished. She stood up, blinking. “What…? How did you…?”

“You have a chip in your neck,” Dazza said, lifting the device carefully. “Like the Flame. But not quite.”

Becca nodded slowly. “How do you know that?”

“I saw it,” Dazza said. “Last night. When I took the key.”

Becca’s eyes flicked to the beacon. “What is this thing?”

“A beacon. A tether,” Dazza replied. “Cadogan left it here to search for the Flame. To make sure that if it ever returned to this bunker… he’d know. And now… he does. Or will.”

Becca’s breath caught. “But… I never saw him with it. Not once. He only had the stone. He would’ve shown me. He trusted me. I worked with him. If he had this—”

“He didn’t have it then,” Dazza said simply, calmly. “He came back. Returned here. About two hundred years ago.”

Becca shook her head. “That’s not possible. He only left a hundred years ago. The math doesn’t work—”

Dazza shrugged. “As you said, Pramheda… time dilation is sexy.”

Becca’s eyes widened, her voice barely above a whisper. “How can you possibly know that? I said it to…”

“Dr. Benson,” Dazza finished for her. “Right before he boarded the Eligius III mission to planet Beta.”

Becca blinked, stunned. “Yes… but—how do you know that? I never told anyone.”

Dazza met her gaze, calm and steady. “I saw it. All of it.”

Becca stepped back slightly. “Who… are you?”

Dazza let out a quiet sigh, her expression softening with something like resignation. “I am Melissa’s heir. Her great-great-granddaughter.”

She paused, then added with quiet weight: “And I carry her gift.”

“Cadogan… he’ll come here,” Becca said, her voice rising with panic as she stepped back from the beacon. “He’ll want the Flame. He’ll want the final code to the Stone. He’ll doom us all—don’t you get it? We can’t let that happen—”

Dazza placed a steady hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “He will come,” she said softly. “And we will need him. Whether we want to or not. It’s the only way to destroy ALIE.”

Becca stared at her, incredulous. “You want his help?”

“No,” Dazza said. “But we may not have a choice. It’s what comes after that frightens me. I’ve seen what’s to come. Or rather, what’s left of it.”

Becca’s expression tightened. “Then we have to tell Heda. Now. He plans to take the test, doesn’t he?”

Dazza nodded gravely. “Yes. And we have to change the outcome. Reroute the future. But I can’t do it alone. I’ve been using Melissa’s journal, trying to understand the gift she left me… but it’s not enough. I need more. I need her.”

Becca’s voice dropped. “Melissa is gone. You know that.”

Dazza exhaled. “No one is ever truly gone, Becca. Not unless Cadogan gets what he wants.”

“Come,” Becca said, turning sharply. “We have to tell Lexa. She needs to—”

“Shh,” Dazza interrupted, calm and resolute. “Not yet. Not until I have the full picture. Not until my sight is complete. The more people who know the future, the harder it becomes to change it. She will be the first to know—once you’ve justified my telling you.”

Becca blinked. “Justified? What does that mean? How?”

Dazza’s eyes gleamed. “I need you… to fly the plane.”

Becca frowned. “Where are we going? And you know Moss can override the controls at any time. If Lexa sees us leave, she’ll just reroute us midair.”

“She won’t,” Dazza said simply. “Because I won’t tell her the future. I’ll ask her to trust me. And she will. I’ve been preparing her—to let go, to believe. She’s ready now. Faith,” Dazza added, her voice low, “is the only force stronger than time.”

Becca hesitated, then exhaled. “Where are we going?”

Dazza smiled. “Madison Square Garden. The place where my mother was born.”

“Wow…” Becca said with a soft smile. “The last time I was at Madison Square Garden, I was the star of the show. Gave a presentation on neurological implants.”

“Good,” Dazza replied. “Because soon, we’ll need to destroy the Flame. There’s no scenario where Cadogan gets his hands on it.”

Becca stiffened. “The Flame is the only thing keeping ALIE at bay right now. If we destroy it too soon, she’ll flood every system we’ve got.”

Dazza waved her off. “We have time. And if this trip works the way I believe it will… let’s just say I’ll be able to see Cadogan coming from a galaxy away.”

She turned, heading toward the elevator. “Come. We’ll speak with Heda. And you… need to start figuring out how to see what cannot be seen.”

Becca hesitated. “Wait. Heda ordered me to fix the hatch. I can’t just leave—”

“Let Monty do it,” Dazza said without looking back. “It won’t come to that.”

Becca eventually followed, falling into step beside her. The elevator doors closed behind them with a hiss.

“You’re awfully calm for someone spouting doomsday,” Becca muttered.

Dazza shrugged. “It’s either that or go completely batshit. So, you know—balance.”

Becca snorted. “How do you even speak English that well?”

“My mother,” Dazza said softly. “It was her native tongue.”

“Your mother? You’re from the Mountain?” Becca asked, eyes wide.

“No!” Dazza hissed, then quickly softened. “Sorry.”

She took a breath, steadying herself. “I told you—my mother came from… well, you’ll see soon enough. And no, she wasn’t from the Mountain. She was killed by it.”

Becca nodded slowly. “Sorry. I just—”

“It’s alright,” Dazza said with a faint smile. “I know this is a lot for you. Cadogan, the test, the Flame… I was going to ease you into it. Help you adjust. But it seems the mountain man is what you’re more interested in.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “You’re… unique. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Dazza grinned. “All the time.”

The elevator doors slid open to the pre-ground level with a quiet hiss. Becca stepped out, still frowning. “What did you mean earlier? About seeing what can’t be seen?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Dazza said, already moving toward the staircase. “And maybe… if you’re open to it… you’ll see for yourself.”

She paused, glanced over her shoulder. “Now come. Tell Monty to handle the hatch. We have to go. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Becca narrowed her eyes. “For what, exactly?”

Dazza shrugged. “Not entirely sure, to be honest. But I’ll know when I see it.”

Becca walked off to find Monty, and Dazza exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting upward.

Last night had changed everything.

She’d taken the Key many times before, seen fragments of time that bent and broke across centuries. But never like this. Never with such clarity. Never with such weight.

Usually, when she journeyed, she focused on an object—something old, something tied to the threads of time. And with Miti’s discoveries—the three-ringed necklace, the strange tablet covered in impossible symbols, and the miniature globe that clearly wasn’t Earth but Bardo—she had more than enough anchors to dive deep.

And she saw too much.

She saw ALIE’s final assault… the beacon and the code it whispered… soldiers who weren’t born but conjured, bursting from the stone like phantoms. She saw Cadogan—aged, twisted by time—and she saw Lexa… bound, broken, her memories stripped away one by one, all because Becca, in another future, let vengeance win.

Dazza had learned something in her visions: sometimes you couldn’t change the outcome. But you could change the people.

As Becca returned, Dazza studied her carefully. Ontari would have to wait. This—her—was the new project. Because Becca was the key to saving Lexa’s mind from being hollowed out… and the world from being turned not just to crystal, but to nothing. Not even death—erasure. Souls dissolved. Time shattered.

It wouldn’t come to that. Not if Dazza could change the right person… at the right moment.

“Ready?” she asked quietly, as Becca came to stand beside her.

Becca nodded.

“Good,” Dazza said. “Then let’s go rewrite fate.”

****

“You realize… she’s the most tech-savvy person alive—and we’re about to face off against her own creation—and you want to leave? Without telling me where, or why?”

Lexa was pacing, her jaw clenched, voice sharp with tightly coiled frustration. Clarke, sitting quietly in the corner, knew what that meant. Lexa rarely paced unless she was trying not to scream.

“Why would I let you go?” Lexa asked, stopping abruptly. “What are you hiding from me?” Her voice didn’t rise—but it didn’t need to. The restraint in it said more than anger ever could. It felt like betrayal. Like being dismissed. Like Dazza didn’t trust her. Didn’t respect her. And Lexa hated that feeling more than anything.

Then Dazza dropped to her knees.

Lexa’s eyes went wide, stunned.

“Get up,” Clarke hissed, rising slightly. “Dazz… please…”

“I swear,” Dazza said softly, her voice calm, unwavering. “I do this for you. For us. For life. I just need you to trust me. Please.”

Lexa stood frozen for a moment, then stepped forward and lowered herself to Dazza’s level. She leaned in, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and exhaled, slow and heavy.

“Okay,” she said at last. “Be safe.”

Dazza leaned into her, held her tightly. “Thank you, Heda.”

Lexa shook her head gently. “Not Heda. Your… Strikon,” she murmured, glancing at Clarke. “Heda is… not very happy right now.”

Clarke walked over and sank down beside them. How could they not trust her—after everything? After all the nights they’d spent together, loved and adored, guided and nurtured, held through grief and celebrated through joy? Dazza had become their guardian angel in all but name, caring for them in ways Clarke hadn’t even known she needed.

If there existed a reason to question Dazza’s loyalty, Clarke hadn’t found it. And if Dazza—strong, steady, unshakable Dazza—was now asking, nearly begging?

Then there could be only one answer.

Faith.
Trust.
Hope.

Dazza hadn’t just spoken of those things. She’d taught them—lived them. Alongside a few other lessons of a more… morally flexible nature. But Clarke could live with that.

“When will you be back?” Clarke asked, her voice quiet but steady. “Do you want me to come with you? Do you need anything?”

Dazza chuckled, shaking her head. “I need you to stay here, blondie. Help Lexa. Keep her from taking herself too seriously—you know the drill.”

Clarke smiled, soft and full of memory. She did know the drill. Dazza had taught her everything about how to care for Lexa—how to hold her not with force, but with surrender. How to help her be weak, be human. Be herself.

“Okay then,” Lexa smirked, arms crossed. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Dazza grinned, leaned in, and gave her a hard pinch on the butt. Lexa hummed—half amused, half warning—but didn’t protest. Then came the kiss—slow, familiar, shared between the three of them like a whispered promise.

And then Dazza stepped back, gave them one last look, and walked out.

As if she wasn’t quite sure what version of herself would return.

Chapter Text

Dazza had always loved winter. She’d been to Azgeda more than a few times, its endless stretches of snow-covered wilderness etched into her memory—frozen rivers, silent forests, and trees crowned in white. There was something sacred in the stillness. Something safe.

Winter preserved. Beneath its icy breath, life held on—dormant, patient. Even the fish learned to hibernate.

But the landscape before her now… was not winter.

It was death.

Not the soft, preserving kind. Not the quiet peace of a frozen lake. No—this was crystalized oblivion. A sweeping graveyard of shattered life. Not paused, not waiting—erased. Forgotten.

She might have wept for Clarke. Should have. Losing Lexa had broken her in ways even the Mountain never could. But grief had no room to breathe. Clarke had maybe twenty minutes with Lexa’s body in her arms before Gem 9 rained out of the anomaly stone like falling glass.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Clarke had whispered to the one soul who ever truly understood her.

Dazza had stayed silent.

Telling her the truth—that there was no other side—would have been cruel. And pointless.

Maybe this… had been mercy. Clarke and Lexa didn’t want to live without each other. Couldn’t. Their love was too deep, too tightly woven into the fabric of their being.

And when death came for them—final, total, eternal—it was almost a relief.

Dazza hadn’t stopped it. She’d failed. And as her own body turned to crystal, her final thoughts were of them. Once her greatest joy. Now, her greatest failure.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Fifteen thousand feet,” Becca said from the pilot seat as the plane banked gently to the right.

No need to go higher. They weren’t going far.

“They must’ve figured out how to cloak,” Becca muttered, eyes scanning the terrain as the jet drifted lower. “It’s not magic—it’s science. Reflective polymers, probably using electrolysis to mimic the environment. I could probably rig some infrared goggles to spot them… or just use smoke to outline their forms.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes. “But why do we even need them? Isn’t the kill virus enough to take ALIE down? We could just destroy the stone. I’m pretty sure I know where it is—under level two, beneath that Azgeda insignia stamped into the floor.”

Dazza gave a quiet smile, watching the land shift beneath them as Becca engaged hover mode.

“The stones can’t be destroyed,” she said calmly. “Not by anything we have. You can’t destroy what doesn’t exist—not in the way we understand existence.” Her voice dipped, soft but unwavering. “And we don’t need the cloaked ones to stop ALIE. We need them to destroy what she’ll leave behind.”

Becca sighed and shook her head. “Cryptic as always. And will you please stop calling me Pramheda? I’m not leading anyone. Call me Becca. Or Doc. I like Doc.”

Dazza gave her a look—half amusement, half awe. She couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t tell her that she was a leader, whether she wanted to be or not. That she was still the smartest human to ever live. That the others followed her without even realizing it—Raven especially, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

She couldn’t say any of that. Not yet. Not without starting another cold war over bruised egos and unspoken pride.

Instead, Dazza simply said, “Alright, Doc,” and let the silence stretch as they descended.

“I don’t see anything,” Becca said, peering through the cockpit glass. “Just sand.”

“It’s here,” Dazza replied, staring down with certainty. “I feel it. Just… land.”

Below them, the desert stretched endlessly—dunes rising and falling like the rhythm of breath. No buildings. No ruins. Just wind-swept emptiness. The jet touched down softly, its engines humming low as the back ramp lowered. Dry, lifeless air spilled in.

“After you,” Becca offered, half amused, stepping aside.