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All she could do was hear his screams, Clarke had to get out of there. One more second of doing nothing, listening to Murphy's rants while Jackson could be dying, and she'd snap the chains herself. Screw him. Screw the Eclipse.
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The voices were too much. But she had to do it, for all of them, she had to. Death follows her everywhere. Follows Wanheda everywhere.
Or
Before anyone can stop her, Clarke is alone with a knife and 140 years of guilt whispering in her ear. Just when she needs him most, Bellamy isn't there for her.
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