Chapter 10: The Weight of the Past

The three of them—Clarke, Wells, and Ares—were crammed into the rusted, half-submerged car. The acid fog still roiled outside, thick and toxic, pressing against the cracked windows like a living entity. It hissed and boiled when it made contact with the surrounding plants, leaving scorched vegetation in its wake. The sickly, burning scent of the fog seeped into the car, making it hard to breathe.

Clarke sat in the backseat, her legs pulled up to her chest, hugging them tightly as she stared out the fogged-up window. Ares was in the driver's seat, eyes scanning their surroundings, as if the grounders—or something worse—might emerge from the dense fog. Wells sat beside Clarke in the cramped backseat, his posture tense, clearly uncomfortable in the confined space, but he didn't speak. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words.

The car creaked under the weight of its history. The paint was chipped, the seats torn and mildewed, but despite the disrepair, Clarke's eyes flicked around the interior, searching for any sign of supplies they could use to pass the time or defend themselves.

And then, she found it.

Beneath the torn seat cushion, her fingers brushed against something smooth. She tugged at it, and out came a bottle—a dusty, half-full bottle of whiskey. She turned it over in her hands, wiping off some of the grime before unscrewing the cap and taking a sniff. The strong scent of alcohol hit her immediately, and her lips curled in a small, bitter smile.

"Well, looks like we found something useful," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Wells glanced at the bottle but didn't say anything. Ares, his back turned to them, continued to keep watch through the windshield, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife, ever vigilant.

Clarke didn't wait for permission. She brought the bottle to her lips and took a long drink, the whiskey burning its way down her throat, the taste harsh and unfamiliar, but exactly what she needed in that moment. It was a distraction—a way to forget, even if just for a little while.

"Clarke... maybe that's not the best idea," Wells said cautiously, breaking the silence.

Clarke ignored him, taking another swig before offering the bottle to Ares. Ares, without turning around, raised a hand and shook his head. "I'm good."

She shrugged and pulled the bottle back, taking another gulp.

"Clarke, seriously," Wells tried again, his voice quieter this time. "We don't know how long we'll be stuck in here. You need to stay sharp."

Clarke's eyes snapped toward him, her gaze hard. "Sharp for what, Wells? We're trapped. There's a fog out there that'll burn us alive if we step outside. So why not take the edge off?"

Wells sighed but didn't argue further. He'd learned that when Clarke was in this mood, it was best to stay quiet. But Clarke wasn't done with him. The alcohol was loosening something inside her—a bitterness she had been holding back since they'd landed on the ground. Since before that, really.

She took another swig, the liquor making her head feel light, the burning sensation numbing the weight in her chest. "You know what I've been thinking about, Wells?"

Wells looked at her, wary. "What?"

"My dad." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the car. She stared straight ahead, but her eyes were unfocused, lost in the memories she'd tried so hard to bury. "I've been thinking about how much he trusted me. He told me things no one else knew. He trusted me with the truth about the Ark. About the systems failing. And you—" her voice faltered for a second, then regained its edge, "you were the one that told them"

Wells' eyes widened, a mix of guilt and sadness flooding his expression. "I did. I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought it would save lives, Clarke. I never wanted it to come to this."

Clarke's voice trembled with anger. "You don't get to decide who lives and dies, Wells. I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust."

"I didn't betray you, Clarke," Wells insisted, his voice firm but sorrowful. "I was trying to protect you. I didn't want you to end up like him. I thought maybe... maybe if I told them, it would change their minds."

"Change their minds?" Clarke scoffed, disbelief coloring her tone. "You think the Council cares about our lives? They don't care about us! They care about control."

Wells looked down, pain etched into his features. "I know. I should have done more. But I thought I could help, and now..." He paused, swallowing hard. "I can't take it back. I can't change what happened to your father."

"Do you even understand what you did to me?" Clarke's voice was raw, the pain bubbling to the surface. "You didn't just lose a father that day. You lost a part of who I am. I had to watch him die without even being able to say goodbye."

Wells fell silent, the truth of her words hanging heavily in the air between them. He didn't have an answer, and in that moment, he knew he had lost Clarke's trust.

The car's interior felt even smaller, the air thick with tension as the whiskey continued to course through Clarke's veins. She leaned back against the seat, her eyelids heavy as exhaustion set in, and the alcohol began to take effect.

The fog outside hissed and twisted, a constant reminder of their dire situation. Ares remained silent, his eyes trained on the fog, listening to the soft, rhythmic sound of Clarke's breathing as the night dragged on, the weight of their unspoken fears pressing down on them all.

Clarke finally leaned her head against the window, fatigue washing over her as she drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Wells, however, remained awake, staring at the bottle in his hands, lost in thought.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," he murmured to the empty air, knowing she couldn't hear him. "I wish I could take it back."

Ares kept his eyes on the fog, feeling the tension between Clarke and Wells. He understood the pain that betrayal could cause, and though he didn't fully comprehend the specifics of their shared past, he could sense that healing would take time.

As the night wore on, the fog outside roared, wild and alive, and Ares stayed alert, ready for whatever might come next.