Oh, God.
She doesn't get it.
What just happened?
She is in a white room. It's neat, clean, pure.
One day ago, she would have given anything to live in this room. Now, she would give anything to get out.
She needs to find them.
She has already stopped pounding at the door, trying to scream at Monty. It's obvious that the doors are soundproof.
Her inquisitive mind should be spinning with questions: what's the quarantine for? Is this why they didn't land on Mount Weather in the first place? Who are these people? How did they get this technology? It's not, though.
She needs to find them. She needs to fix this.
She needs to know if Bellamy is dead.
If she killed him.
He can't be. She can't be responsible for his charred skeleton.
She can't add his to the skeletons clicking around in her closet.
She sinks to the floor.
Oh, God.
They can't be dead.
They can't be dead.
They can't be dead.
He can't be dead.
Clarke repeats it until the words blur together, losing all hope in them.