Clarke held her breath, watching the last grenade explode along the massive outer wall, brilliant orange searing her eyes. The sound of it made her flinch, just as the last three detonations had.

Beside her, Bellamy let out an exultant huff, while Luke rocked back onto his heels, grinning in relief. Four explosives. Four successful detonations. Now all that was left to do was invade.

Clarke poked her head above the rubble, watching the silhouettes of Felix, Jessa, and Vale hurry into the gaping hole their bombs had carved into the outer wall of the compound. Paul had stayed behind at their campsite like the coward that he was.

Luke started to rise, but Bellamy held his hand up. “Wait for Felix’s signal that the coast is clear.”

Clarke gripped the crumbling cinder blocks in front of her, staring unblinking at the spot the others had just disappeared into. She drew in an anxious breath, hearing the rat-a-tat of new gunfire rising above the groaning of the building and roar of the flames.

Please let it be us doing the firing, she prayed, her fingers tightening reluctantly around her own handgun in preparation.

Felix appeared in the distance, waving a lit torch above his head. He glanced behind him, and then quickly ducked back inside.

Bellamy hissed, “There. Let’s move.”

They sprinted across the heap of rubble where they’d taken cover. Clarke ran until her lungs burned, covering her face with her arm as they approached the plumes of smoke from the explosions. She tried not to look up at the building, somehow even more terrifying a behemoth now that it was visibly crumbling. They’d need to get in and out fast or they were going to be destroyed right along with the rest of it.

She cocked her gun and strode inside, blood pumping hard, eyes darting in every direction. Bellamy took the lead, while Luke provided cover from the side, all of them stunned by the sight of the place. It was like a bombed-out walled city. Clarke wasn’t sure how much damage was from their grenades and how much had happened long ago. But Luke’s plan to undermine the foundations of the walls was working better than anyone could have dreamed. Too well, in fact.

The walls were buckling, huge chunks falling from above, the whole thing letting out a deep metallic groan.

“You guys go find the others, before this whole thing collapses!” Clarke said, pointing in the opposite direction. “I’ll find Felix, Jessa, and Vale and head to the armory with them.”

Luke started off quickly, undoubtedly thinking of Glass’s presence somewhere in the building, but Bellamy hesitated for a pained moment before turning to join him.

Clarke braced herself and turned, weapon raised, just as a white-clad mob rounded the corner of the debris-strewn road and raced toward her. Clarke raised her gun, setting its sights on the tallest of them. But then one of the raiders turned… and Clarke nearly dropped her weapon in shock.

It was Wells.

He looked just as stunned by the sight of her, but he recovered fast and covered the space between them in five quick strides, pulling her in for a quick hug.

“You’re all right!” she said, stepping away for a relieved look at him.

“I am,” he replied, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Eric?” she asked.

He pointed behind him at the tall one she’d nearly shot. “He’s fine.”

“Graham?”

Wells shook his head, pain sparking in his eyes.

Clarke peered over his shoulder at the group of raiders behind him. “Are they…?”

“They’re with us,” Wells said. “Or they want to be. I can explain everything.”

A rumble sounded from above. Clarke peered up to see a thick crack creeping down the wall face. She grabbed Wells’s elbow and yanked him away from it.

“Explain outside,” Clarke shouted over the din. “We need to get out of here before the whole thing collapses.”

They raced outside through the hole their grenades had made. As they put distance between themselves and the crumbling walls, Wells filled Clarke in on how he’d rallied the other recruits—they’d been prepared to riot at some sort of mass gathering this morning, but then the first grenade went off and all hell broke loose.

“What was the plan?” he asked her as they turned and watched the entrance to the Stone collapse. “You guys were going to blow down the structure with us inside?”

Clarke winced. “No, it was just supposed to knock down the outer walls. We just wanted to get in so we could rescue you all. But we didn’t anticipate how much damage there had already been to the foundations.”

Wells stared back at the building, his face grim. “We knocked out the people guarding us and managed to escape, but the girls are still in there. I think the rest of the Protectors headed to their armory. They’re not going to give this place up easily, Clarke. We need to be prepared for a fight.”

Clarke grinned. “Oh, we are. If they’re headed to the armory, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

She jogged to the perimeter of the forest, Wells following behind her. There, hidden under the brush, were all the weapons they’d stolen.

Wells’s eyes widened; then he shouted for all the other guys to come over. One by one, they each grabbed a gun and armed themselves. If the Protectors wanted a fight, they’d be ready for them.

Wells looked back at the fortress, his eyes determined. “We need to help the girls get out of there. Let’s go around to the west side of the building—there’s an entrance there. If it’s still guarded, we can fight our way in.”

Clarke bit back a smile. The Wells she knew—the confident leader—was finally back. “Lead the way.”

They approached the building from the western side, and all was eerily quiet. The guards had abandoned this entrance. Wells shot Clarke a warning look and darted ahead to make sure the coast was clear. Then he waved her and the other men into the building.

“Which way?” she asked him, peering around the dark halls. There hadn’t been any damage to this side of the building yet, but in the distance, Clarke heard the walls continuing to fall. They wouldn’t have long.

“The girls were probably in the Heart of the Stone, so…” Wells glanced around, then nodded to their left. “This way.”

But before they could get much deeper into the building, they heard the rumbling of a crowd of people headed toward them. Clarke and the guys steadied their weapons, waiting for the raiders.

To her surprise, the approaching mob was made up of girls, all of them dressed in white dresses down to their ankles, their hair flying loose around their shoulders.

“Clarke!” one of them screamed.

Clarke blinked, dizzy, and let the front line start to pass her. “Octavia?”

And there she was, eyes bright as ever. A grateful sob rose in Clarke’s throat. She opened her arms wide and Octavia bounded into them, wrapping her in a frantic hug. These girls hadn’t needed saving—they’d already been saving themselves.

“Was that you guys?” Octavia asked, cocking her head east. She moved to give Wells a quick hug.

Clarke nodded.

A curly-haired girl standing beside Octavia glanced upward in awe, grinning. “Badass.”

“Clarke, Anna, Anna, Clarke…” Octavia waved her hand in the air. “How about we skip the rest of the introductions until after we escape?”

“Good plan,” Clarke said, starting to run beside them. “Where’s Glass?”

“I don’t know,” Octavia said, her breath growing ragged as they ran. “But she knows the plan. We’ll find her.”

Wells led them all back toward the exit, but before they could get there, Clarke felt herself yanked violently backward. Her pulse spiked straight into sharp terror.

She was yanked down to the ground. A blond woman in a gray dress stood above her, her eyes full of inhuman rage. The woman was holding a dagger high… and aiming it straight for Clarke’s neck.

A fist connected with the attacker’s face. The woman let go with a gasp, her head knocking against the rocky wall, the rest of her slumping to the ground with it. Clarke looked up to see Octavia wincing, cradling her own bloodied hand.

Anna beamed. “She’s been waiting to do that forever.”

“Is that woman one of their leaders?” Clarke asked, staggering upright. “Maybe we should take her—use her to negotiate—”

“A truce?” Wells supplied darkly.

“Why not?” Clarke swiped dirt off her cheek. “They have no weapons left. We hold all the leverage,” Clarke said, her eyes still locked on Wells.

“Fine,” Wells said. “Let’s take her.”

They’d made it ten more steps toward the exit when a sound made them stop in their tracks… a guttural, animalistic cry made by way too many voices.

Two stunned seconds later, a group of familiar figures—Bellamy, Luke, Felix, Jessa, and Vale—erupted around the corner. Their friends raced toward them, arms and legs pumping wildly. Bellamy’s eyes widened at the sight of Clarke, and then flooded with relief when they landed on Octavia, but then they narrowed as he screamed a single word.

“Run!”

Clarke turned and fled with the crowd. Outside, the sun was rising, fiery, on the horizon. And behind them, the building mirrored the colors, engulfed in actual flames. Their crowd of escapees kept sprinting until they spotted a rippling movement in the near distance. Water. They’d reached the river.

Backing up until she stood shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy, Clarke turned and recocked her gun, preparing for a last stand. A crowd of raiders came roaring out of the building. This was it.

There was no mistaking it this time—these people were their enemies. Clarke stood on the front line as a crowd of men in white, some armed with guns, others with sticks and rocks, charged forward at full speed. They were led by a trio of women in gray dresses. Which reminded Clarke…

She grabbed the gray woman who had attacked her in the hall and stepped forward, pressing her gun to the woman’s head.

“Stop,” Clarke shouted at the approaching raiders. “Or I shoot her.”

The raiders halted, the women in front looking wild-eyed.

“We have your weapons,” continued Clarke. “We have your captives. Our people. Your building is destroyed. You are outnumbered and you cannot win. But this doesn’t need to end in violence. Leave. Leave this area and leave us be, and never, ever come back.”

All the people behind her watched silently as their pursuers lowered their weapons and dropped their rocks, their faces falling slack. They looked… defeated.

But then one of the women in gray stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “No. Soren declared this our home. She said that Earth willed it. We won’t leave unless Soren says so.”

Before Clarke could reply, Anna said, “Oh god,” and pointed past her shoulder.

A lone figure in white was crawling through a blown-out window behind them, flames licking at her back.

“Is that Glass?” Clarke asked, squinting.

Everyone—raiders and rescuers and captives alike—turned to watch her approach. Glass stumbled closer, dirty and defiant.

“Soren… is dead,” Glass shouted.