Words keep dying on her lips. There's so much that she wants to say, that she needs to say, but they're stuck. It's too hard to get air into her lungs, let along exhale long enough to say what she needs to say.

Bellamy can't die. Not like this. Not when she needs him still.

Then the world is blurring, going dark and then righting itself again just in time for her to hear Monty say the words that she has memorized by now. Clarke's hands are shaking, tension spilling into her movements.

"You're alive," she says, whisper soft and half-choked as she stares at Bellamy, whole once more. "We're not doing that again."