𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Welcome to the Keepers,
Greenie.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

It's the next day, and I spent last night sat with Chuck by the dying embers of a small campfire set up, making questionable jokes about the Gladers. Despite the happy facade that Chuck portrays, he's more down than usually lately, so I persuaded Frypan to let us toast some marshmallows on the fire.

While the other Runners are done for the day, Minho, Ben and I decide to stay a little longer. I rest my hands on the table and study each route and section as precisely as I can, trying to create a mental image of what this path would look like in the actual maze. Everywhere is mapped. Everywhere.

And they've found no exit. But, that doesn't mean it's not there. Maybe we just haven't looked in the right place.

"These random letters are makin' me jacked," Minho grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. There are eight sections to the maze, each opening in a complex pattern, revealing letters to us — however it's no use at all. We can't get the letters to spell a shucking thing.

"What d'ya think they are?" Ben asks me.

"Not sure," I reply. I stare at the mismatched letters from each section, frowning as I try to decipher them, but my mind is clouded — blurry. It's almost as if I know the answer, yet something is stopping me from remembering it. "They just look like a jumble of letters to me."

Minho curses and sits down on a small stool, putting his head in his hands. "And all those sorry shanks are sat there thinkin' there's a way out."

I rest my chin on my hands, my eyes scanning over the maze, trying to find any place that doesn't look complete. Sweat trails down my neck, the salty liquid tickling my skin as more beads start to form and wet my shirt. I'm not sure what's out there, but whatever it is can't be as bad as staying in the Glade forever.

My mind goes back to the epiphany I'd had the other day — what if we were all being tested on? The word W.C.K.D was on the rim of the testing tube. They were testing Grievers, weren't they? The cogs in my mind spin as piece by piece, everything falls into place. What are they testing us for? It's got to have something to do with escaping. Maybe that's the goal of this sick game W.C.K.D are making us play.

"D'ya think we should tell everyone the truth?" Ben asks thoughtfully.

"No," I answer. "Because it's not the truth. The Grievers have to come from somewhere, right?"

"Already tried it."

"I get that," I reply impatiently to Minho. "What I'm saying is there is an escape. The Griever's way in is our way out."

"We've searched the entire place—"

"I can see that, funnily enough. That doesn't mean our exit isn't here. Just 'cause you can't see it, it doesn't mean it's not there."

With an ear splitting scream, the metal doors scrape open to reveal Gally, a deep frown on his face, arching his brows even higher than they would be usually. Ben and I move to cover up the model of the maze, obscuring it from Gally's view. No one but the Runners are allowed to see what's in this room, so why on earth is Gally here? He's more hellbent on following the rules than Alby and Newt combined.

"Newt's with the Med-jacks," he says simply.

"Why?" Minho and I say at the same time.

Gally shrugs. "I dunno. Stupid shank shucked up when he was in the garden."