"What's even left?" Clarke wonders aloud, knowing all too well what option is left. They've tried everything else short of teleporting or sliding through the vents, neither of which are particularly reasonable at the moment if ever.

This is not a scenario in which everyone lives.

Her stomach aches at that realization. She's never felt quite so doomed, not even as she was preparing to slide the knife between Finn's ribs. That, at least, was an act of kindness in its way.

Eyes moving from camera to camera, she waits, processing on borrowed time. Emerson's absence is an illusion. He'll be back. He'll be successful.

Then it lands on the screen that must be killing Bellamy. "Octavia, what is she doing?"