“Okay, then,” he said slowly. “See you tomorrow?”

Instead of kissing her on the cheek, Wells surprised Clarke by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. His lips pressed against hers, and for a moment, she forgot about everything except the warmth of his body. But by the time she’d closed the door, the tingle of Wells’s touch on her skin had been replaced by a prickle of dread.

Her parents were sitting on the couch. Their heads turned to her. “Clarke.” Her mother rose to her feet, smiling. “Was that Wells with you outside? Does he want to join us for din—”

“No,” Clarke said, more sharply than she’d meant to. “Can you sit down? I need to talk to you.” She crossed the room and settled on a chair facing her parents, trembling as two violent forces waged war for control of her body: burning fury and desperate hope. She needed her parents to admit what they’d done to justify her anger, but she also prayed they’d have a good excuse. “I figured out the password,” she said simply. “I’ve been in the lab.”

Her mother’s eyes widened as she sank back onto the couch. Then she took a deep breath, and for a moment, Clarke hoped she’d try to explain, that she had the words to make it all better. But then she whispered the phrase Clarke had been dreading. “I’m sorry.”

Her father took his wife’s hand, his eyes on Clarke. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly. “I know it’s… shocking. But they don’t feel any pain. We make sure of that.”

“How could you?” The question felt flimsy, incapable of supporting the weight of her accusation, but she couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “You’re experimenting on people. On children.” Saying it aloud made her stomach churn. Bile crept up her throat.

Her mother closed her eyes. “We didn’t have a choice,” she said softly. “We’ve spent years trying to test radiation levels in other ways—you know that. When we reported back to the Vice Chancellor there was no way to gather conclusive evidence without human studies, we thought he understood it was a dead end. But then he insisted that we…” Her voice cracked. Clarke didn’t need her to finish the sentence. “We had no choice,” she repeated desperately.

“We always have a choice,” Clarke said, trembling. “You could have said no. I would have let them kill me before I agreed to that.”

“But he didn’t threaten to kill us.” Her father’s voice was infuriatingly quiet.

“Then what the hell are you doing this for?” Clarke asked shrilly.

“He said he would kill you.usiv [ou

The birdsong trailed off, leaving a charged silence in its wake, as if the music had seeped into the stillness, imbuing the air with melody. “Wow,” Wells said softly. “That was amazing.” He was still facing the trees, but he’d extended his arm toward her, as if reaching through time to hold the hand of the girl who used to love him.

The spell was broken. Clarke stiffened and, without a word, headed back toward the infirmary.

It was dark inside the tent. Clarke almost tripped as she stepped in, making a mental note to change the bandages on one boy’s leg, fix the sloppy stitches she’d given the girl with the gash on her thigh. She’d finally found a container with real bandages and surgical thread, but there wasn’t going to be much more she could do if they didn’t find the actual medicine chest. It hadn’t turned up in the wreckage, most likely thrown from the dropship during the crash and destroyed.

Thalia was lying on one of the cots. She was still asleep, and the newest bandage seemed to be holding up. Clarke had already changed the wrappings three times since she’d found Thalia after the crash, blood pouring out of an ugly gash in her side.

The memory of stitching up the wound made Clarke’s stomach churn, and she hoped that her friend remembered even less. Thalia had passed out from the pain and had been fading in and out of consciousness ever since. Clarke knelt down and brushed a strand of damp hair back from her friend’s brow.

“Hi,” she whispered as Thalia’s eyes fluttered open. “How are you feeling?”

The injured girl forced a smile that seemed to drain the energy from the rest of her body. “I’m just great,” Thalia said, but then winced, the pain flashing in her eyes.

“You used to be a much better liar.”

“I never lied.” Her voice was hoarse but still full of mock indignation. “I just told the guard that I had a neck problem and needed an extra pillow.”

“And then convinced him that black-market whiskey would keep you from singing in your ‘sleep,’ ” Clarke added with a smile.

“Yeah.… It’s too bad Lise wasn’t willing to play along.”

“Or that you can’t carry a tune to save your life.”

“That’s what made it so great!” Thalia protested. “The night guard would’ve done anything to shut me up at that point.”

Clarke shook her head with a smile. “And you say that Phoenix girls are lunatics.” She gestured toward the thin blanket draped over Thalia. “May I?”

Thalia nodded, and Clarke pulled it back, trying to keep her face neutral as she unwrapped the bandage. The skin around the wound was red and swollen, and pus was forming in the gaps between the stitches. The wound itself wasn’t the problem, Clarke knew. While it looked bad, it was the kind of injury they wouldn’t bat an eye at in the medical center. The infection was the real threat.

“That bad?” Thalia asked quietly.

“Nah, you look great,” Clarke said, the lie falling smoothly from her lips. Her eyes slid involuntarily toward the empty cot where a boy who died the day before had spent his final hours.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Thalia said quietly.

“I know.” Clarke sighed. “I just wished he hadn’t been alone.”

“He wasn’t. Wells was here.”

“What?” Clarke asked, confused.

“He came to check on him a few times. I think the first time he came into the tent, he was looking for you, but once he saw how badly that boy was hurt…”

“Really?” Clarke asked, not quite sure whether to trust the observations of a girl who’d spent most of the past day unconscious.

“It was definitely him,” another voice called. Clarke looked over and saw Octavia sitting up, a playful smile on her face. “It’s not every day Wells Jaha comes and sits by your bed.”

Clarke looked at her in disbelief. “How do you even know Wells?”

“He visited the care center with his father a few years ago. The girls were talking about it for weeks. He’s kind of a supernova.”

Clarke smiled at the Walden slang as Octavia continued. “I asked him if he remembered me. He said he did, but he’s too much of a gentleman to say no.” Octavia gave an exaggerated sigh and placed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Alas. My one chance at love.”

“Hey, what about me?” A boy Clarke had thought was asleep shot Octavia an injured look, and she blew him a kiss.

Clarke just shook her head and turned back to Thalia, her eyes traveling from her friend’s face back to the infected wound.

“That’s not a good sign, is it?” Thalia asked quietly, fatigue beginning to tug at the ragged edges of her voice.

“It could be worse.”

“Your lying skills are slipping as well. What’s going on?” She managed to raise an eyebrow. “Is love making you soft?”

Clarke stiffened and snatched her hand back from Thalia’s blanket. “Are your injuries making you delirious?” She glanced over her shoulder and was relieved to see Octavia absorbed in conversation with the Arcadian boy. “You knowwhat he did to me.” She paused as her stomach churned with revulsion. “What he did to my parents.”

“Of course I know.” Thalia looked at Clarke with a mixture of frustration and pity. “But I also know what he risked to come here.” She smiled. “He loves you, Clarke. The kind of love most people spend their whole lives looking for.”