Wells leveled his gaze at Bellamy. “She’s tied up. She’s not going to hurt anyone.”

The condescension in his voice was enough to make Bellamy’s blood boil. “We don’t know anything about these people!” he shot back. “What kind of mutations they’ve undergone. Remember the two-headed deer?”

Wells shook his head. “She’s a human being, Bellamy, not some kind of monster.”

Bellamy snorted and turned to the girl. She was staring at them, wide-eyed, her gaze flitting back and forth between Wells and Bellamy. “Well, I’d still feel more comfortable if I kept an eye on her personally,” he said, trying to sound relaxed. He knew Wells wouldn’t let him stay in here if he thought he was going to hurt her.

“Fine.” Wells shot one final look at Clarke before turning back to Bellamy. “But leave her alone for now. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

When Wells left, Bellamy walked to the other side of the cabin and lowered himself to the ground next to Clarke. The Earthborn girl had shifted on her cot so she was facing the other wall, but Bellamy could tell from the tension in her shoulders that she was aware of his every move.

Good, he thought. Let her worry about what he might do next. The more terrified she became, the better the chances she’d tell them where to find Octavia. Bellamy was going to rescue his sister, no matter what it took. He’d spent the past fifteen years risking his life to keep her safe, and he had no intention of stopping now.

Bellamy loved Remembrance Day. Not because he particularly enjoyed listening to the care center tutors drone on about how lucky they all were that their ancestors had made it off Earth. If Bellamy’s great-great-grandfather had known that his descendants would have the privilege of cleaning bathrooms in a floating can filled with recirculated air, he probably would have been like, “You know what, guys, I’m good here.” No, Bellamy looked forward to Remembrance Day because the storage decks were nearly empty, which made it an ideal time for scavenging.

He slipped behind an outdated generator that had been shoved carelessly against a wall. Spots like this could conceal valuable stuff for decades. Last Remembrance Day, he’d found an actual pocketknife inside a grate on C deck. Bellamy grinned as his fingers closed around something soft and pulled out a piece of pink fabric. A scarf? He shook it out, ignoring the dust motes. It was a small blanket, with a trim of darker pink. Bellamy folded it carefully and slid it inside his jacket.

As he made his way back to the care center, Bellamy toyed with the idea of giving his find to Octavia. She’d recently been moved from the small bedroom where the five- and six-year-olds slept to the larger dorm for older girls. While she liked being thought of as a big kid, the dorm was still frightening to her, and a pretty blanket would go a long way toward making the new space feel like home.

But as he readjusted the blanket under his arm and felt the soft wool against his skin, he knew it was too valuable to keep. Life in the care center was difficult. Although food was meant to be distributed evenly, the orphans had developed an elaborate system based on bribes and intimidation. Without him, Octavia would never get enough to eat. Bellamy was a good scavenger, and he traded everything he found for ration points, or to bribe the kitchen staff for extra food. Over the past few years, he’d done a pretty good job of making sure Octavia had enough to eat. She never got that feral, hungry glint in her eye so common in the care center.

He slipped in through the rarely used service entrance and hid the blanket in his usual spot, a grate in the wall too low for anyone to notice. He’d come back for it tonight and trade it on the black market. The dim, narrow hallways were deserted, which meant that everyone was still shoved into the cramped gathering room for Remembrance Day, being force-fed fun facts about radiation poisoning and the Cataclysm.

Bellamy turned the corner. To his surprise, there were noises coming from the girls’ dorm, high-pitched laughter that wasn’t quite loud enough to mask the sound of—was that crying? He picked up his speed, and burst inside without knocking. The long room was mostly empty, but there were a few older girls standing in a circle, so absorbed with whatever they were doing that they failed to notice his arrival.

A tall blond girl was holding something in the air, giggling as a smaller hand stretched out in a futile attempt to grab it. Octavia. Even in the dim light, Bellamy caught sight of her tearstained cheeks and huge eyes through the gaps between her tormentors’ bodies.

They had her red ribbon, the one Octavia wore every day in her dark hair. “Give it back,” she pleaded, in a trembling voice that made Bellamy’s heart cramp.

“Why?” one of the older girls taunted. “It makes you look like an idiot. Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” the third girl said. “We’re doing you a favor. Now people aren’t going to ask, ‘Who’s the weird little kid with the ugly ribbon?’ ”

The girl holding the ornament made a show of examining it. “I don’t even think it’s a real ribbon. I bet it came off a garbage bag or something.”

Her friend giggled. “I bet that’s why she smells like the recycling deck.”

“And you’re going to smell like a rotting corpse when they finally find you,” Bellamy interrupted, striding forward and snatching the ribbon out of the blond girl’s hand. He shoved them out of the way and knelt down next to Octavia. “Are you okay?” He reached out to wipe away her tears.

She nodded with a sniffle. He handed her the ribbon, which she clutched in a tiny fist, as if it was a living thing that could escape.

Bellamy rose and, keeping a hand on his sister’s shoulder, turned to face the girls. His voice was tight. “If I hear one word about you bothering her again, you’ll wish you’d been floated.”

Two of the girls exchanged nervous glances, but the blond only raised her eyebrows and smirked. “She’s not even supposed to be here. She’s a waste of oxygen who was only born because of your stupid slutty mother. And your sister”—she said the word like it was something disgusting—“is going to turn out just like her.”

Bellamy’s muscles reacted before his brain did. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d grabbed the girl by the throat and shoved her against the wall. “If you ever talk to my sister again, if you do so much as look at her, I will kill you,” he hissed. He squeezed her neck tighter, overcome with a sudden and terrifying desire to shut her up for good.

In the distance, he heard someone cry out. He released the girl and staggered backward just as a pair of arms wrapped around him and dragged him away.

It wasn’t the first time Bellamy had been sent to the director’s office, although he’d never shouted quite so many obscenities en route. The minder who’d grabbed Bellamy shoved him into a chair and told him to wait there for the director. “Stay away from this one,” the man said, addressing a girl in the chair across from Bellamy.

Bellamy scowled as the minder waved his hand in front of the scanner, waited for the door to open, and strode back out. Part of him wanted to make a run for it now. Did trying to choke that piece of space trash who’d been bullying his sister count as an Infraction? He’d already had so many warnings, it was only a matter of time before the director wrote a report that landed him in Confinement. But he wouldn’t last more than a few days as an outlaw, and then who would take care of Octavia after he was captured? Better he stay here and try to make his case.

He looked up at the girl. She was about his age, but he’d never seen her before; she had to be a new arrival. She was sitting with her feet tucked under her while she fiddled nervously with the buttons on her sweater. Her wavy blond hair was neat and shiny, and he felt an unexpected pang of pity as he imagined her getting dressed in her room for the last time, carefully arranging her hair for the trip to this hellhole.

“So what did you do?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. Her voice was slightly hoarse, as though it had been a long time since she’d spoken—or like she’d recently been crying. He wondered how she’d wound up here, if her parents had died or perhaps committed Infractions and been floated.

There was no point in lying. “I attacked a girl,” he said in the light, careless tone he generally used when discussing his various indiscretions. The girl’s eyes flickered, and suddenly, he wanted to explain. “She was hurting my sister.”