Two Months Left

sat in my cell, humming.

That melody... the one my mother used to hum before they threw her out.

I tried to keep the mask on — the hard, unbreakable one. Seventeen years old, two months away from turning eighteen. Two months from freedom... or whatever they wanted to call it.

The metal door screeched open. Five guards stormed in, Marcus Kane leading them.

"Take her," he ordered.

I fought back, my pulse burning in my throat.

"There are two months left!" I shouted. "There must be some kind of mistake—"

The dart hit before I could finish.

Cold spread through my veins, and then... nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, it was already too late.

Straps. Steel. Breathing too fast.

Dozens of us — prisoners, criminals, kids — locked into what looked like capsules.

A screen flickered to life above us, bright enough to stab my eyes. Faces appeared — ones I recognized, ones I wished I didn't. Clarke Griffin. Her gaze found mine, and guilt poured into her like poison.

She had every reason to feel that way.

Chancellor Jaha's voice echoed over the speaker. I didn't listen.

All I caught was the part that mattered: We're going to Earth.

And for the first time in years... I smiled.

Across from me sat a boy I'd never seen before — messy, dark hair hanging over sharp eyes, worn leather jacket, ripped jeans. Trouble, written all over him.

Next to him sat Wells Jaha — the son of the man who killed my father.

Rage burned through me again. But then the boy in the leather jacket looked up.

Met my eyes.

And smiled.