Chapter Five
**Logan's POV**
Logan sat on a log a bit away from camp, next to a small fire he'd started for light more than warmth.
His underused hygiene kit was spread out beside him—an old pair of scissors, a mirror with a crack, down one side, and a straight razor that looked like it belonged in a Sweeney Todd production.
He started with the scissors, trimming his beard down to something more manageable, then switched to the razor for the final shaping. The ritual was familiar, meditative. He'd done this hundreds of times over the years, though admittedly less frequently these days.
Once he was trimmed up and no longer looking like he'd been living in a cave for a decade, he started for the river.
Not too far. Maybe a ten-minute walk.
He needed a bath anyway. And if he was lucky, he'd come back with some food for the kids.
As he walked through camp, he saw them starting to stir. Early risers getting the fires going, checking supplies, organizing themselves into the routines they'd developed over the past few days.
They had a lot to learn.
Logan nodded to a few who made eye contact, then disappeared into the tree line toward the sound of running water.
---
**Clarke's POV**
Clarke was honestly relieved.
A lot had changed since Logan literally burst into camp. Not only had it proven everything she'd been telling everyone, that survival required more than bravado, that they needed to organize. Now they actually had someone capable of teaching them. They needed him, most just didn't know how much.
Because without help, they wouldn't survive winter.
And winter was only months away.
That, and hopefully Logan could end the hostilities with the Grounders. Clarke still didn't know why they were being attacked. What had they done to deserve being hunted? Hopefully this meeting would provide answers.
She didn't trust Logan yet. I mean, how could she? He was a Grounder. He'd knocked Bellamy out and healed from a headshot like it was nothing.
But he was also the only non-hostile Grounder they had access to.
Well, not counting Lincoln. Who was... admittedly damn pretty.
Clarke caught herself and shook her head.
*Stop it. You can't be thinking about that with everything that's going on. *
She'd let her guard down around Finn and he'd turned out to be nothing but a liar. Oh, he was smooth. But now she was over men. Well, at least over him.
She didn't know Finn long enough to form any real lasting bonds. Just shared trauma and convenience, dressed up as something more meaningful.
*Forget it. All men are the same. I'll just pick a girl next time. *
She needed to find Logan. The Chancellor wanted to talk to him about the situation on the ground, and Clarke had been volunteered—voluntold, really—to track him down.
After asking around, someone finally said they'd seen Logan walking toward the river.
Clarke headed that way.
Octavia and Bellamy caught up with her partway there, both apparently wanting to talk to Logan, though clearly about different things based on the tension between them.
"He went to the river?" Octavia asked.
"That's what I heard."
"Great," Bellamy muttered. "Let's go interrupt a Grounder's bath. What could go wrong?"
Clarke shot him a look but didn't argue.
They headed toward the sound of water together.
They rounded a corner and the first thing she thought was *maybe I won't give up on men just yet* as they saw Logan coming back from the river carrying a Huge dead Snake over one shoulder. They thought Lincoln was impressive that was before they saw Logan without a shirt, water still dripping from him.
"Hey guys I found this cute little guy for breakfast" he said as he walked past. The snake looking remarkably like the snake that attacked Octavia on day one.
*Clark wipes drool*
---
**Lincoln's POV**
Lincoln made it to the old man's hut.
Logan called it a hut.
It was practically a small village.
Dozens of smaller buildings scattered across the clearing—some for storage, some for training, some whose purposes Lincoln had never quite figured out even after years of visiting. He remembered playing here as a kid, learning alongside other older students. Running through the structures, climbing, hiding, laughing.
Growing up here had come with many lessons.
Some lessons had been harder than others.
But Logan had always been patient.
Lincoln made his way to the main building where Logan kept his preserved foods and supplies. On the table, just as Logan had said, sat a plain long box.
Curious, Lincoln opened it.
His breath caught.
Logan's sword.
The old man had told him the story once—how he and his sister loved to travel, how before Praimfaya they'd gone to a land called Japan and brought home this blade. It was one of Logan's most prized possessions. A piece of the world that came before.
The thought made Lincoln's eyes burn.
*No. Logan would not cry, so I will not cry.*
Then he remembered the package Logan had given him back at the dropship.
He pulled it from his pack and opened it carefully.
Inside was a pauldron—shoulder armor—crafted with meticulous care. Damascus steel, folded and patterned to look like stars against the night sky. And on its surface, polished and proud, was Logan's symbol.
The Eagle, Globe, and Anchor.
Lincoln had heard the story. Logan said it was from his time in something called the Marine Corps, from before Praimfaya. The eagle, globe, and anchor symbolized a commitment to defending by air, land, and sea.
To wear Logan's symbol meant you had passed the Great Sage's training. It meant you were considered truly elite.
Every person who had ever held Logan's symbol was held in great regard, almost always given high positions with the Commander, trusted with important tasks, respected by warriors across all clans.
As Logan's adopted son, Lincoln had always been given respect.
But this?
This meant everyone would know he'd earned it himself. Not just because he was the son of a great man, but because he was worthy in his own right.
Lincoln replaced his old plated shoulder piece with the new pauldron, securing it carefully.
He had earned his symbol.
The greatest part, the part that made his throat tight and his vision blur despite his best efforts, was that this was Logan's way of showing absolute faith in him.
*I'm proud of you. *
That's what this meant.
Lincoln gathered the supplies Logan had set aside for him, secured his pack, and headed out.
He had a mission to complete.
---
Hours later, Lincoln was frowning.
That was the third group of Reapers he'd seen heading toward the Mountain caves.
Reapers were always bad news, Grounders twisted and broken by the Mountain Men, turned into something barely human. They traveled in packs, hunted for the Mountain, dragged people back to that nightmare place.
But three groups in one afternoon?
That was unusual. Concerning.
He'd report this to Anya when he met with her. She needed to know the Mountain was active again.
Thanks to a few scouts he'd run into along the way—Trikru warriors who recognized Logan's symbol on his shoulder and let him pass without incident, Lincoln had been able to locate Anya's camp easily.
He was only a few miles out now.
But he'd also given warnings about the Reapers to every scout he'd encountered. They needed to spread the word, get their people to safety, avoid the paths the Reapers were using.
Lincoln picked up his pace.
This time of year, it got dark quickly.
And he wanted to reach Anya's camp before nightfall.
The last thing he needed was to stumble into a Reaper pack in the dark.
Behind him, the forest grew quiet in that particular way that meant predators were near.
Lincoln kept moving, hand on his blade, Logan's symbol gleaming on his shoulder.
He had a message to deliver.
And he wasn't going to let anything stop him.