[ The humming comes to Bellamy's mind before his mother's face fully forms. It's all muted; it comes across his thoughts muffled and obscured. Bellamy's walls hold. The memory of Aurora Blake has become something that Bellamy often manages to keep shielded, as much as he's able.

It occurs to him that he might not have enough memories of song to get Gildor through the entire planet. They'll have to hope for either a swift end to all of this, or less enclosed parties full of sweet-smelling alcohol. Bellamy has faint hopes that at the end of the hunt this mission will be able to be decided one way or another, but even he is aware that would be too good to be true. ]

I can do that for you, [ Bellamy answers him. ] I have a lot of memories of people singing, but some of the music...it was preserved from before the bombs dropped. Clarke might know more songs than I do.

[ There's only the faintest trace of bitterness. The upper class on the Ark had access to a lot of things workers like Bellamy didn't. But he's offering this to help, not to unload his own bitterness onto Gildor. ]