Kings // c. griffin

Chapter Eight

Isaac stared down at the fingers lying on the table, sucking on his lower lip nervously as he eyes the rough cuts on the edges and the dried blood around the edges. Clarke leaned down to pick up the knife, which was found next to Wells' fingers. The weapon looked familiar to Isaac, and he frowned at it, trying to remember where he had seen it before. "This knife was made of metal from the drop ship," Clarke realized, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?" Jasper asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Bellamy didn't answer the question; instead, he looked towards Octavia. "Who else knows about this?" he asked.

"No one, we brought it straight here," she told her brother, before glancing at Jasper to check and make sure he was okay. 

"Clarke?" Jasper asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was clutching on to his jacket as he stared at the blonde with wide eyes, waiting patiently and nervously for an answer.

"It means the grounders didn't kill Wells," Isaac spoke up roughly from his spot in the corner of the tent. Everyone looked towards him, though Isaac kept his gaze on the ground so they couldn't detect the fear in his eyes. "It was one of us."

Jasper breathed out heavily through his nose, shocked. "So there's a murderer in this camp?" he asked, looking to Clarke.

"There's more than one murderer in this camp," Bellamy told him, causing Isaac to glance at him oddly, wondering what that had meant, "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet."

Clarke had been staring at the knife for the past couple seconds, but suddenly she pulled it away from her face and stomped towards the entrance of the tent with determination a raging fire in her eyes. Isaac watched in slight awe as she set her jaw and glared at Bellamy, who had stepped in front of her path. "Get out of my way, Bellamy," she snapped, the older boy raising his eyebrows at her.

"Be smart about this," he started, "Look at what we've achieved. The wall, the patrols. Like it or not, thinking the grounders killed Wells is good for us."

Isaac snorted lightly from his spot in the corner, everyone turning to look at him. He glanced over at Clarke and Bellamy, the latter glaring at him apprehensively. "No, go on," he taunted angrily. "You wanna say something, say it." 

Isaac bit his lip in frustration, looking away and refusing to acknowledge the boy. Clarke spared him a glance before rounding on Bellamy. "You mean, good for you," she accused, voicing Isaac's thoughts aloud. "What, keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is that it?"

"Yeah, that's it," Bellamy shot back. "But it's good for all of us. Fear of the grounders is building that wall. And besides, what are you gonna do? Just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward?"

"I don't need to," Clarke sneered, pointing towards the inside of the knife. "J.M. John Murphy. The people have a right to know."

Isaac's eyes widened as he watched Clarke storm out of the tent, knowing what she was about to do. "Wait, Clarke-" he blurted, hustling after her suddenly. "Clarke wait, this isn't the right way-" he scrambled after the blonde as she stormed towards Murphy, giving him a hard shove when she met him. 

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed, and the boy looked down at her confused. 

"Whoa, what's your problem?" he asked.

"Recognize this?" Clarke sneered, holding up his knife high, for all to see. Murphy nodded, eyebrows creased. 

"Yeah, that's my knife," he said, reaching for it only for Clarke to pull it away. "Where'd you find it?"

"Where you dropped it right after you killed Wells!" Clarke snapped, and the look on Murphy's face as she said this was enough to hit Isaac in the stomach; he didn't do it.