“Careful,” he said, pointing at a tangle of roots hidden by a mass of purple leaves. “The ground gets pretty uneven here.”
Wells took Octavia’s small hand and helped her climb over a fallen tree. It was strange to think that something without a pulse could die, but the soggy, peeling bark was decidedly corpse-like.
“So is it true?” Octavia asked as they began walking down the slope that led to the stream. “Did you really get yourself Confined so you could come with Clarke?”
“I suppose it is.”
She sighed wistfully. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
Wel sie itls gave her a wry smile. “Trust me, it’s not.”
“What do you mean?” Octavia asked, cocking her head to one side. In the shadows of the forest, she looked almost childlike again.
Wells glanced away, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. He wondered grimly what Octavia would say if she knew the truth.
He wasn’t the brave knight who’d come to rescue the princess. He was the reason she’d been locked away in the dungeon.
Wells glanced at his collar chip for the fourteenth time since he’d sat down two minutes earlier. The message Clarke had sent him earlier that day had sounded anxious, and she’d been acting strange for the past few weeks. Wells had barely seen her, and the few times he managed to track her down, she’d been practically twitching with nervous energy.
He couldn’t help but worry that she was about to break up with him. The only thing that kept the anxiety from burning a hole through his stomach was the knowledge that she probably wouldn’t have chosen the library to dump him. It’d be cruel to tarnish the spot they both loved best. Clarke wouldn’t do that to him.
He heard footsteps and rose to his feet as the overhead lights flickered back on. Wells had been still for so long that the library had forgotten his presence, the dim safety lights on the floor providing the only light. Clarke approached, still wearing her scrubs, which normally made him smile—he loved that she didn’t spend hours stressing over her appearance, like most girls on Phoenix—but the blue top and pants fell too loosely from her frame, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“Hey,” he said, stepping forward to kiss her lightly in greeting. She didn’t move away, but she didn’t kiss him back. “Are you okay?” he asked, even though he knew full well that she wasn’t.
“Wells,” she said, her voice breaking. She blinked back tears. His eyes widened in alarm. Clarke never cried.
“Hey,” he murmured, putting his arm around her to lead her to the couch. Her legs seemed to buckle beneath her. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Just tell me what’s going on.”
She stared at him, and he could see her urge to confide in him battling her fear. “I need you to promise me that you won’t say anything about this to anyone.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t gossip. This is real, life-or-death.”
Wells squeezed her hand. “Clarke, you know you can tell me anything.”
“I found out…” She took a breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then started again. “You know about my parents’ radiation research.” He nodded. Her parents were in charge of a massive ongoing study meant to determine when, if ever, it would be safe for humans to return to Earth. Whenever his father had spoken of an Earth mission, Wells had thought of it as a distant possibility, more of a hope than a real plan. Still, he knew how important the Griffins’ work was to the Chancellor and to the whole Colony. “They’re doing human trials,” Clarke said softarke ofly. A chill traveled down Wells’s spine, but he said nothing, just tightened his grasp on her hand. “They’re experimenting on children,” Clarke finally said, her voice barely a whisper.
Her voice was hollow, as if the thought had been circulating for so long, it no longer held any meaning. “What children?” he asked, his brain racing to understand.
“Unregistereds,” Clarke said, her tear-filled eyes flashing with sudden anger. “Children from the care center whose parents were executed for violating the population laws.” He could hear the unspoken accusation. People your father killed.
“They’re so young.…” Clarke’s voice trailed off. She sank back and seemed to shrink, as if the truth had taken some part of her with it.
Wells slid his arm behind her, but instead of recoiling as she’d done every day over the past few weeks, she leaned into him and rested her head against his chest. “They’re all so sick.” He could feel her tears seeping through his shirt. “Some of them have already died.”
“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” he murmured as he searched for something to say, anything to make her pain go away. “I’m sure your parents are doing their best to make sure it’s…” He paused. There weren’t any words that could make it better. He had to do something, to put a stop to it before the guilt and horror destroyed her. “What can I do?” he asked, his voice becoming firm.
She bolted upright and stared at him, a different kind of terror filling her eyes. “Nothing,” she said with a resolve that took him by surprise. “You have to promise me that you’ll do nothing. My parents made me swear not to tell anyone. They didn’t want to do this, Wells. It wasn’t their choice. Vice Chancellor Rhodes is making them. He threatened them.” She grabbed Wells’s hands. “Promise me you won’t say anything. I just…” She bit her lip. “I just couldn’t keep it from you anymore. I had to tell someone.”
“I promise,” he said, though his skin was growing warm with fury. The slimy bastard had no right to go around the Chancellor like that. He thought of his father, the man who had an unflinching sense of right and wrong. His father never would have approved human trials. He could put a stop to it immediately.
Clarke stared at him, searching his eyes, and then gave him a small, trembling smile that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Thank you.”
She returned her head to Wells’s chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. “I love you,” he whispered.
An hour later, after he’d walked Clarke home, Wells headed back along the observation deck alone. He needed to do something. If something didn’t change soon, the guilt would destroy her, and he refused to stand by and watch.
Wells had never broken a promise before. It was something his father had impressed upon him from an early age—a leader never goes back on his word. But then he thought of Clarke’s tears, and knew he didn’t have a choice.
He turned around and begaros, and knean walking toward his father’s office.
They filled the water jug at the stream and started to make their way back to the camp. After giving enough one-word answers, Wells had gotten Octavia to stop asking about Clarke, but now she was walking along sullenly, and he felt guilty. She was a sweet girl, and he knew she meant well. How had she wound up here?
“So,” Wells said, breaking the silence, “what could you have possibly done to end up in Confinement?”