Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— TEN MINUTES LATER, CLEO WATCHED A SMALL GROUP LEAVE THE CAMP IN SEARCH OF MOUNT WEATHER. Afterward, she sunk into the group of unsupervised delinquents. Bellamy Blake took control of the group almost immediately, launching himself into a self-righteous speech that seemed to resonate with most of the kids.
The unprivileged outnumbered the privileged a hundred to one, and she knew that if she wanted to survive and stay under the radar, she'd be best standing by Bellamy's side.
But a fire had been lit in her stomach and she couldn't force herself to go against her own people. She couldn't join the wrong side just because the crowd did, she had to stand her ground and make them focus on the bigger picture – their survival. Cleo didn't have time to play politics when their lives were on the line.
She found Wells on the lower floor of the dropship, a grimace of pain crossing his handsome features. A bright, white roll of medical tape was gripped in his hands tightly as he struggled to wrap his ankle.
"Need a hand?" Cleo asked, approaching his side. "I'm first-aid trained and certified."
Her light tone made Wells show her an appreciative smile, shaking her head. "No. Cleo Wendell hasn't taken care of me yet and I refuse to fall victim to our saving grace," he teased.
A groan left her lips at the nickname as she sat by his side, her big eyes observing his fingers. They traveled from his ankle up to his face, worry creeping into her bones. "Oh, Wells. How did you end up here?" She watched him meet her eyes. "It's not safe for you down here, you know? Bellamy's riling up the kids out there, saying it's us versus them."
His analytical eyes moved from side to side like he was reading a book before he gave her a sure smile. It reminded Cleo of his father's smile, the one he gave to everyone around him at all times. "I'll be fine – and you will be too. I don't think people are going to attack us."
