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— THE SITUATION ONLY GREW DIRE WITHIN THE NEXT THREE DAYS. By then, more wristbands had come off, most of the meat was gone and most of the delinquents were tired of the constant screaming coming from the second floor of their home. It was a mixing pot of bad ingredients and Cleo was just waiting for it to explode.
Helping Jasper wasn't helping her. Every time she looked down and saw blood on her hands, she saw Penelope's blood. She remembered getting her photo taken covered in the scarlet liquid and the pink tinge of the water she had to wash herself off in. Every time he screamed in pain, it reminded her of Moira's haunting cries.
Everything about helping him made her remember the memories she had been working so hard to push away.
When she woke up from her nap, the sun was shining in her eyes. She was sleeping on the ramp of the dropship, using someone's jacket as her pillow. It had to be midday with how high the sun was in the sky and how many people were roaming about. She had spent all night watching over Jasper while Clarke took a much-needed break.
Before she could fully awake, a series of chilling cries rang through camp and Cleo sat up, suddenly alert. When she realized it was just Jasper, an exhausted sigh racked her body. She understood why the others were getting annoyed with him, nobody could have more than two minutes of peace without being interrupted.
But she knew better than to blame him. It wasn't his fault, it was nobody's fault.
Except the council.
The thought echoed through her head, resentment starting to take form in her body. Over the past three days, she had begun to realize why Bellamy was so focused on politics. He was right.
