Chapter Eight
**John Murphy's POV**
John Murphy, or just Murphy, because who the hell cared about first names anymore, was having the worst luck of his life.
First, he'd almost been hanged for some bullshit he didn't even do.
Then, when he tried getting justice, he got beaten up and banished.
Talk about bullshit. The assholes who banished him in the first place were the ones who put him in that situation to begin with.
And now? Now he was tied up, being dragged through the woods to some Grounder asshole named Tristan who wanted "a word."
He was starting to miss his sky cell.
---
Murphy was thrown roughly to the ground in front of a very large Grounder covered in metal plates with intricate designs etched into the surface.
The man just looked down at him with contemplation before speaking.
"When word came that a group of people fell from the sky and attacked the Trikru clan with missiles, it seemed... stupid." Tristan's voice was measured, thoughtful. "That a group of people would attack a much larger force with no chance of winning. Then to go and attack the one person even the Mountain Men would never touch? I considered insanity or stupidity, but I believe I am left with ignorance."
Murphy stayed quiet, watching him carefully.
Tristan continued. "As it stands, I received word that our wayward son has been returned. Which is good news for you."
Murphy had no idea what that meant, but if it was good news, he'd take it.
"For now, you *will* tell me everything I wish to know. I'm sure a boy as smart as yourself would be more than willing to be helpful to a friend."
Tristan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"We are friends, aren't we? Because as a friend, I could have you set free and given food and water. But if you are not my friend... well, then I would believe we would need you losing a few fingers, or more, to learn. So, what will it be? Tell me everything I want to know about your little camp as a friend, or as an enemy. But you *will* tell me everything."
Murphy didn't even hesitate.
"Yeah, sure. We're friends. What do you want to know?"
He wasn't going to risk his neck for those asshats who'd left him for dead.
---
They talked for hours.
Tristan was patient, which was weird, but better than him being all stabby, Murphy guessed.
He asked about the camp's defenses, about their numbers, about their weapons, about their leaders and who made decisions. Then he asked me about where I came from what it was like living there, I had a good time laying into Jaha and the rest of those shitheads in charge up there.
I told him everything.
Bellamy's paranoia, Clarke's need to fix everything the kids who had no idea what they were doing the lack of supplies. The didn't know anything about the stupid flares they'd shot into the sky to signal the Ark.
He told Tristan that he was kicked out before the others had captured the grounder they'd had chained up, apparently, which made Tristan's expression shift slightly, and how he knew nothing about any random old guy coming to get him.
Tristan actually smiled at that part.
Food and water were brought to Murphy halfway through. Real food, not the crap they'd been scraping together at camp. He ate like he hadn't seen a meal in days, because he hadn't.
At the end, Tristan asked one question that threw Murphy completely.
"So. What will you do now?"
Murphy blinked. "What?"
"Your people don't want you back. You have no friends here." Tristan gestured around the camp. "What will you do?"
Murphy had no idea how to answer that.
Tristan clarified. "I know of a trader. She's traveling with us for a while to aid in moving supplies for someone. I could introduce you, it would allow you purpose, maybe even a fresh start."
He reached down and cut the ropes around Murphy's wrists.
Murphy stared at his freed hands, half expecting this to be some kind of trick.
"You were banished from your clan before the attack on our people," Tristan said. "So according to our law, you are not involved. You will be free to leave. But you will get no further help beyond the introduction. You are still banished, and until your clan takes you back, no one else but a trader can take you in."
Tristan stood.
"You will find her at the edge of camp with the carts. Her name is Emori. And it would be a good idea not to mention her hand, that is, if you wish to keep breathing."
Then the guy just left.
Murphy stayed put for a while, expecting... well, anything really.
An ambush, a knife in the back, something.
But nothing happened.
So, he got up and walked out of the tent.
---
Walking through the camp, Murphy was more surprised that people were actively ignoring him.
No one stared, no one threatened, they just... went about their business like he wasn't even there.
He was only stopped once.
A man grabbed him, not roughly, just firmly, and told him that Tristan had ordered him to wear a locked bracelet with a keyhole but no key.
The bracelet was supposed to represent "a banished" or whatever the hell that was. The key would be delivered to their leader. If Murphy was ever caught not wearing the bracelet without proof of being allowed back in, he could be killed by anyone who found him.
Murphy really was missing his sky cell right now.
The man locked the bracelet around Murphy's wrist, cold metal, surprisingly well-made, and walked away without another word.
Murphy looked down at it.
*Great. A permanent reminder that I'm unwanted everywhere. *
---
Meeting Emori was... interesting.
Hell, you could almost say it was love at first knife to throat.
Murphy had found the carts at the edge of camp like Tristan said. A woman was loading supplies, small, wiry, with dark hair and sharp eyes that tracked him the second he got close.
"You lost?" she asked, not looking up from her work.
"Tristan sent me. Said you might need help with—"
She had a knife at his throat before he could finish the sentence.
"Tristan sent you," she repeated, voice flat. "Why?"
"Because I'm banished and apparently, you're the only one who'll take in strays."
She studied him for a long moment, the blade steady against his skin.
Then she lowered it.
"You try anything, I'll gut you and leave you for the Reapers. Clear?"
"Crystal, what's a reaper?"
"Good and pray to the Sage you never find out." She shoved a crate toward him. "Start loading," as she tried to tuck her misshaped hand away."
Murphy glanced down and saw it, her right hand, deformed, fingers fused together in a way that clearly wasn't natural.
He looked back up and met her eyes.
"Where to beautiful?" He asked with a grin.
The corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
"You might be useful after all, the cart behind you."
---
Hours later, Murphy was still loading carts, muscles aching, hands blistered, but weirdly... not hating it.
Emori didn't talk much, but when she did, she was sharp. Funny, even. She didn't trust him, he could see that, but she wasn't actively trying to kill him either.
Which was honestly the best treatment he'd gotten all week.
"So," Emori said as they finished securing the last crate. "You really piss off your people that bad, or are you just naturally unlikable?"
Murphy snorted. "Bit of both, probably."
"Honest, hmm, I can work with that."
She tossed him a waterskin, he caught it and drank, the cool water a relief after hours of work.
"We leave soon, Tristan is eager to meet with the Sage, I have to say I'm a bit nervous myself." Emori said. "Heading back toward your camp, then to pick up supplies, then looping back through three villages then the Capital before winter. It's hard work, dangerous sometimes, well for people like me anyway. But you keep up, don't steal from me, and don't get us killed, you'll have food and a place to sleep."
Murphy considered that.
A purpose. A fresh start. No one trying to hang him or beat the shit out of him.
"Yeah," he said. "Alright. I'm in."
Emori nodded. "Good. Now get some rest, we move out soon, you can sit in the wagon for the first half but after that you walk, and I don't slow down for anyone."
She walked off toward one of the tents, leaving Murphy standing alone by the carts.
He looked down at the bracelet on his wrist, the mark of the banished.
Then he looked at the camp around him, at the possibility of something that wasn't just survival.
*Maybe, * he thought, *this is the worst luck turning into the best. *
Or maybe he was just tired and delirious.
Either way, he'd find out tomorrow.
He found a spot near the carts, lay down, and for the first time in days, actually slept.