The guard cleared his throat as he shifted his weight from side to side. Her memories were more oppressive than any cell walls. Even if by some miracle she was pardoned at her retrial, there'd be no real reprieve. She'd been Confined for treason, but the truth was far worse than anyone could've imagined. It wasn't death she craved, but if that was the only way to silence the voices, then she was prepared to die. They screamed from the deepest recesses of her mind. They filled the silence between her heartbeats. They called to her from the corners of her dark cell. She'd been transferred to a single after attacking a guard, but for Clarke, there was no such thing as solitary. But as she rose up onto her elbow, peeling her shirt from the sweat-soaked cot, all she felt was relief. Her eyes locked on the guard's boots, and she braced for the rush of fear, the flood of desperate panic. The door slid open, and Clarke knew it was time to die.
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