'Two days,' she answers softly. 'Two of the best days.'

Then there's a hesitation, but ultimately she decides to tell him the truth, because if she doesn't expect anything but scorn for it, then she can't be disappointed.

'I presume you know what I did.' Even here and now she won't breathe a word about the others involved. She owes Fever her silence, and there's no telling who else might be here. 'I was prepared for brutal retaliation from our captor. Instead I got brutal retaliation from my fellow prisoners. After that I was... in no condition to be up and about, really. It seems the injuries ultimately weren't survivable.'

Her words are flat, almost clinical, as if she's talking about someone else. Unlike most on the prison ship, Tayrey had never died and returned. In that bed in Arthur's cabin, though, she'd been in such pain that she was ready to go. Once she'd told Clarke all that she needed to - no duty left unfinished. She'd surprised herself with the strength of her assertion, afterwards, that she'd take the offer placed before her. That she wanted to come here, to this place. To live.