The summit resumed beneath a blood-red sky.
Ominous clouds rolled in from the east, heavy with rain and charged tension. Kira stood behind Lexa at the high council table, gaze sweeping across the gathered clan leaders. Their eyes burned with suspicion, veiled disdain, and—more than anything—fear.
Not of Lexa.
Of each other.
The Coalition was whole in name only.
The killing of Gustus hadn't been publicized. But the silence surrounding it made it louder. Whispers spoke louder than truth. That Lexa had executed her own right hand. That Azgeda was plotting again. That someone had tried to kill the Commander, and someone else had stopped it.
Kira, perhaps.
A few called her Lexa's shadow now.
She didn't mind.
Shadows see what others miss.
As Lexa addressed the clans, Kira let her attention wander.
Azgeda's representative, Queen Nia's son Roan, sat like a mountain ready to break open. Tightly controlled rage, trimmed in ice. He didn't flinch under Lexa's stare—but he didn't yield to it either.
His presence alone was a message.
Kira's hand brushed her hip, where her dagger waited.
She didn't trust him.
She didn't trust anyone in this room but Lexa and Clarke.
And maybe Bellamy—though he was currently pretending to be a dull-witted bodyguard in a corner, bored half to death.
Clarke leaned toward her at one point, whispering, "You're fidgeting."
Kira arched a brow. "I'm watching."
"You always say that."
"I'm always right."
Clarke smiled faintly. "Careful. You're starting to sound like me."
Kira turned back to the council. "That's the real danger here."
The summit broke for a meal. A staged truce. Delegates wandered toward the great hall, where food and drink were laid out in overwhelming quantities.
Lexa lingered on the terrace, gaze following the stormclouds.
"You ever notice," Kira said, stepping beside her, "that it always rains before something terrible happens?"
Lexa tilted her head. "Superstition."
"No," Kira said. "Pattern."
Lexa's eyes drifted toward the dining hall. "They hate each other."
"They're pretending not to."
"That's worse."
"I know," Kira said. "That's how people die."
Lexa's eyes flicked to her. "And what do we do, Kira of the Sky?"
Kira didn't hesitate. "We get ahead of the storm."
It hit at midnight.
A servant girl—barely more than sixteen—slipped poison into one of the wine carafes served to the Azgeda table.
Two delegates collapsed before the third even tasted it.
Screams followed. Panic. Weapons were drawn. Accusations flung like knives.
Azgeda warriors surged forward.
Lexa stood instantly, voice sharp: "Stand down!"
They didn't.
Until Kira moved.
She didn't shout.
She didn't threaten.
She simply stepped in front of Lexa and drew her blade.
That was enough.
The room went still again.
Bellamy tackled the servant girl before she could flee.
"She's terrified," he muttered, pinning her down.
Clarke ran over to examine the fallen—already too late. The poison had eaten through their insides like acid. They hadn't stood a chance.
Indra and Linnea secured the area, pushing back anyone who looked ready to test Lexa's restraint.
Titus hovered near the Flamekeeper's chair, visibly disturbed.
But it was Lexa who asked the most important question.
"Who sent you?"
The girl whimpered.
Kira knelt in front of her. "Tell the truth, or I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever say."
She wasn't bluffing.
The girl blinked up at her, tears on her cheeks.
And said a name.
Not one they expected.
"Skaikru."
The world spun sideways.
Clarke flinched. Bellamy swore. Titus narrowed his eyes.
And Lexa?
Lexa simply asked: "Why?"
"They said... they said Azgeda was planning to betray the summit. That they'd kill the Commander. That... that I had to stop them before it started. Or everyone would die."
Kira's jaw clenched.
"She's been played," she muttered. "She's a pawn."
"But whose?" Clarke said.
"Exactly."
Lexa straightened. "Lock her up. Question her again later."
Kira rose to her feet, eyes sharp. "If someone's pinning this on Skaikru, we know two things."
"Tell me," Lexa said.
"One: it wasn't Skaikru."
"And two?"
"They want you to kill Clarke."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Lexa didn't even flinch. "That won't happen."
"No," Kira agreed. "But the clans won't believe you if someone dies on Azgeda's side and Skaikru walks away untouched."
Clarke stared between them. "So what do we do?"
Lexa's eyes narrowed. "We bleed."
The next morning, Kira took the wound.
A thin, shallow slash across her shoulder—symbolic punishment for Skaikru's alleged betrayal.
She stood in the center of the gathering hall, surrounded by clan leaders.
Lexa performed the ritual herself.
She didn't speak when she cut.
But her hands were steady.
The message was clear: justice has been served.
Behind her, Bellamy muttered curses under his breath.
Clarke watched with wide eyes, horror written all over her face.
Lexa didn't look up.
Kira didn't flinch.
And the blood that dripped to the stone floor was not a betrayal.
It was a promise.
That night, Lexa came to Kira's quarters.
Not to talk.
Not to strategize.
But to sit beside her, quietly.
She stared at the bandage over Kira's shoulder.
"It should've been me."
Kira met her gaze. "No. It had to be me. You're the Commander. I'm just the shadow."
"You're not just anything."
Kira's throat tightened.
"You're mine," Lexa said softly. "Even if I can't say it in front of them. Even if this world tries to burn it out of me."
She reached for Kira's hand, fingers lacing with hers.
"I will not lose you too."
Kira leaned into her touch.
"Then hold on," she whispered. "Because I'm going to find the person who started this. And when I do, I won't be merciful."
Lexa nodded once.
And kissed her.
Soft. Gentle. But real.
The storm broke outside.
But inside, for the first time in days—
There was quiet.
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