“Clarke!” She turned to see Felix signaling for her. “We need your help over here.”

She hurried over and found him kneeling next to a young girl with long, tangled, strawberry-blond hair. Felix had tried to bandage her arm, but it was already soaked through with blood. “It won’t stop,” he whispered, his face pale. “You need to do something.”

“I got it,” Clarke said. “You keep moving.”

She unwrapped the bandaged and surveyed the wound. “Am I going to die?” the girl whispered hoarsely.

Clarke shook her head and smiled. “Nope. No way I’m going to let that happen. Not before you get the chance to explore Earth!” She reached into her kit and pulled out the antiseptic, praying that she’d find some more at the crash site. She was almost out. “Guess what I saw the other day?” she said, trying to distract the girl as she prepared to stitch the deep gash in her arm. “A real live rabbit.”

“Really?” The girl turned her head to the side, as if expecting to see one hop out from behind a pile of wreckage.

Ten minutes later, the girl was being led away by Wells, freeing Clarke to deal with the more seriously injured. It was distressing to see so many people in pain, but the intense focus it required provided a welcome relief from her thoughts.

Clarke had spent the past few days in a haze, each new development or revelation proving more bewildering than the last. She had gotten back together with Bellamy, who had somehow found a way to forgive her for what she had done to Lilly. Then they had rescued Octavia from Sasha’s faction of Earthborns—who in turn had rescued Octavia from the violent splinter group.

But the thing that made Clarke’s head spin most of all was the discovery that her parents were alive. And on Earth. She kept thinking she was dreaming and that the joy and relief bubbling in her chest would suddenly sharpen into aching sorrow all over again. But the parents she had mourned for a year hadn’t been executed and floated into space. They had somehow made their way to Earth and even lived with Sasha’s family before heading off on their own. Now she just had to figure out how to track them, which seemed impossible in a thousand ways. But sitting still and doing nothing wasn’t an option either. As soon as she’d done all she could for these survivors, she’d be making her plans to leave.

“This one’s not breathing,” Eric said with a grimace as Clarke approached.

She crouched down and brought her hand to the man’s neck. His skin was still warm, but there wasn’t even the faintest whisper of a pulse. Clarke pressed her lips together, then lowered her ear to the man’s chest, praying for a heartbeat. But there was nothing but silence. “There’s nothing we can do for him,” Clarke said, trying not to meet Eric’s eyes. She didn’t want to see the horror in his face. And she didn’t want him to see the helplessness in hers.

She looked down at the man again, seeing his face properly for the first time. Clarke gasped as an invisible hand punched through her sternum and wrapped its fingers around her heart. It was her old biology tutor, Mr. Peters, the one who gave Clarke access to the ship’s restricted archive center when she was only ten so she could look at photos of elephants.

“You okay?” Eric asked.

Clarke nodded, trying to blink away the tears threatening to blur her vision. Had Mr. Peters lasted long enough for a glimpse at the night sky? Had he been able to see the moon reflecting off the water, or catch the scent of trees in the wind? Or had he died without ever setting eyes on the planet he’d spent his whole life revering from afar?

“We should leave the bodies here for now,” she said, turning away. “It’s more important to deal with the injured.” Clarke left Eric and carefully stepped over a pile of twisted, red-hot metal in order to make her way toward a man lying on his side. He wore a coat that had once been white but was now covered with dust, soot… and a slowly expanding patch of blood. His eyes were shut, and his mouth twisted in defiance of his pain. Clarke let out a low gasp as she took in his tall, lanky frame and shoulder-length gray hair. It was Dr. Lahiri, her former mentor and one of her father’s oldest friends. The last time she’d seen him was when he’d come to her cell, and she’d accused him of betraying her parents. He called her a traitor in response, and before she could think better of it, she’d actually socked him in the face.

The rage that had consumed her that day felt strangely distant now. Although her parents had certainly been betrayed, they were alive. And Clarke knew there were people far more accountable than Dr. Lahiri—like Vice Chancellor Rhodes, the man who’d ordered her parents to perform the monstrous radiation trials in the first place.

Clarke crouched down and placed her hand near his elbow. “Dr. Lahiri,” she said in what she hoped was a confidence-inspiring tone. “Can you hear me? It’s Clarke.”

His eyes sputtered open, and he stared at her for a long moment, as though unable to tell if she were real or a hallucination. When he finally spoke, it was through a clenched jaw, as if any extraneous movement would push him past the limit of bearable pain. “Clarke… you’re alive.”

“Yes, despite your best efforts,” she said, smiling so he’d know she was mostly joking. “Let me see what’s going on here, okay?”

He nodded slightly, then shut his eyes and winced. Clarke gently opened his coat, palpating his abdomen, ribs, and chest. He grimaced when she reached his collarbone. She carefully opened his eyes and checked his pupils, and ran her hands over his scalp to check for any contusions she’d missed.