Homecoming

It worked for a moment, but the pain inevitably returned with renewed fury. He started to raise a hand to adjust his bandage and realized his wrists were bound together and attached to the wall behind him. With a groan, he twisted around to investigate, his shoulder throbbing in protest at the movement, but the pain wasn’t quite enough to overwhelm his curiosity. He’d never seen anything like these cuffs before. They were lightweight, made of a thin metal cord that looked as delicate as thread, with a slim lock binding them together. He tried to pull his hands apart, but the fiber held strong and dug into his skin. As he tugged, he felt the tension in the cord getting stronger and watched in amazement as his wrists slammed together. The metal was reacting to his movements. He held very still and slowly the cord released its grip, until he was able to wiggle his hands again.

Bellamy’s shoulder burned, and he scooted himself further up the wall, trying to find a comfortable position. Grunting with the effort, he settled in and leaned his head back. He was exhausted, but the pain made it impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

Narrow shafts of sunlight filtered through the cracks between the sheets of metal that formed the walls and roof of the cabin. He studied the angle of the light and listened carefully to the sounds outside, trying to figure out where the prison was located. The far-off thwack of an ax hitting firewood told him he was a good distance from the woodpile. A group of boys walked by, right on the other side of the wall, chatting about a Walden girl. Under their voices, he could hear water sloshing, which meant he was near the path people used to get to the stream.

Bellamy strained to identify every sound he could make out. Logs clattering together, blankets and tarps snapping as someone shook them out, a guard’s officious tone as he corrected someone’s stacking technique. But there was only one sound Bellamy wanted to hear, and he held his breath, frustration building in his chest. Octavia’s voice. He wanted—needed—to hear his sister. He would be able to tell from just a few words whether she was happy or scared, in danger or safe. But he didn’t recognize any of the voices floating across the clearing. The place was overrun with newcomers.

Bellamy didn’t even have the strength to be angry anymore. He only cared about Octavia, Clarke, and Wells. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t care if he lived or died, if he was executed or set free to live alone in the woods. But what would happen to his sister if he were killed? Who would look after her once he was gone? The hundred had formed a community, but now that Rhodes and all the others were here, all bets were off. He couldn’t be sure anyone would look out for his kid sister when they were all busy looking out for themselves. Just like everyone else had been back on the ship.

A loud thud against the side of the cabin made Bellamy jerk to the side—which sent shooting pain through his upper body. “Jesus,” he grunted. Then he heard scuffling, followed by loud voices. One familiar voice rose above the rest: It was Wells.

“Put the shackles on,” Wells said in a voice Bellamy had never heard before, low and menacing. “Do it now,” he snapped, “and don’t make a sound. If you do so much as open your mouth, I’ll shoot you.” And although it contradicted everything Bellamy knew about his half brother, it sounded like Wells meant it.

Shit, Bellamy thought. Mini-Chancellor is starting to sound like a mini–Vice Chancellor.

There was silence as, presumably, the guard complied with Wells’s order. A few seconds later, two figures burst through the cabin door—a stony-faced, iron-jawed Wells and a flushed, rapidly-breathing Clarke. They fell into the room and rushed over to him, as Bellamy’s head swam with confusion and relief. Were they actually here to rescue him? How the hell had they managed that?

Bellamy’s chest swelled with a feeling he’d never really known before—gratitude. No one had ever done anything this dangerous for him, no one had ever thought he was worth that kind of risk. He’d spent his whole life taking reckless action to protect Octavia, but no one had ever done so much as transfer him a ration point or sneak out past curfew to check on him the few times he’d gotten sick.

Yet here they were, the girl he never would’ve dared dream about back on the ship, and the brother he never knew existed, putting their lives on the line for him.

Clarke sank to her knees next to him. “Bellamy,” she said, her voice cracking as she ran her hand along his cheek. “Are you okay?” She’d never sounded so afraid, so fragile. Yet there was nothing vulnerable about a girl who’d face down a clearing full of armed guards.