𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝘅

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

I think I won.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Since the shock of the Griever encounter, I was banned from running the next day, and Alby woke me up at the crack of dawn bombarding me with questions about my memory — not exactly the way I wanted to start my day. The questions overwhelmed me in my dreary state, and I had to snap at Alby multiple times to slow down, to which he'd grumble but comply. Alby's finally done with his interrogation, receiving all the information he needs from me. I find it pointless to withhold more than I already have from them, it's all going to surface in the end one way or another.

"Am I free to go, your highness?" I ask Alby dryly.

Alby grunts, "Remember who ya talkin' to, Greenie."

"My humblest apologies."

He rolls his eyes and trudges away from me, muttering under his breath. I flip off his retreating figure with my middle finger with a smirk. The usual musty scent of the boys fills my nose, and I gag slightly, wishing that we had some air freshener around here. I should definitely request that in the box tomorrow. Why are Newt and Minho the only one's here with decent hygiene?

As yesterday's events replay in my head, guilt presses against my chest, pushing me deep into the ground. I wish it would just swallow me whole. It's my fault Ben's in pain right now, all because I couldn't pull myself together in time. If I could go back in time an relive that moment, I'd be the one pulling Ben along, and I'd be the one pulled back. Maybe if I was then the Glade would be back to normal, not plagued with emptiness like it is right now. Everyone's worried sick about him... it's rare that anyone would survive after getting stung. Ben was quiet at first, and quite distant from most of the Gladers, but to those of us who he was close with, his absence feels like a missing piece in our mismatched jigsaw.

Although my entire body is stiff, as though I was trudging through sticky fudge, my muscles loosen as I cross the Glade, the grass licking at my ankles. The harmonious tweets of the birds wipe the worrisome thoughts of Ben from my head, like chalk off a blackboard. It's the most relief I've felt in a while. My muscles are incredibly sore from yesterday, my head pounding as I yank open the metal door and step through into the dark room. My eyes land on Minho; his figure is hunched over scraps of paper.

"Hey, Minho." I walk in and close the door loudly behind me. He stays transfixed. It's like he hasn't even registered me. "Hi, Thea. How are you doing this morning?" I say sarcastically, casting a dry look at Minho, who doesn't look up. "Oh, thank you for asking, Minho, I'm doing just great."

Minho's eyebrows furrow as he studies the slips of paper and notes under him, not bothering to acknowledge my existence. Awfully nice of him. "How's Ben doing today?" I continue. "Oh, well, as you can guess, not that good—"

"Shut up, Thea!" he yells, his voice echoing around the damp room. The fury on his face takes me by surprise, his anger radiating off of him as he glares at me.

I roll my eyes, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of his hammock this morning. Keep your undies on, mate."

Minho relaxes, sighing and dragging a hand wearily down his face. "I didn't wake up. I was here all night. The patterns changed a lot. I'll show you when we're out tomorrow."