𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

There is no saving
them now.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"You're wrong," Thomas interjects, his voice shroud in denial.

I retort immediately, as though by my snapping tone I could completely erase the lies from his brain. "No, he's not. I've ran that route — hell, I was there yesterday. They should have been back before Hank and I."

There's a long pause before Newt speaks. "She's right, Tommy. That's why we can't go out. We can't afford to make things worse than they already bloody are. The doors close in two minutes."

I want to utter a remark about not needing a reminder of the time, however I clamp my mouth shut. Being snarky benefits no one — not even Chuck, who, in opposition to always chattering and finding my comment humorous, stays hauntingly silent.

Newt casts a glance at Thomas before his downcast eyes lift to mine. Eyes filled with tears. That's when I know he's given up. But before I can utter a single phrase, Newt turns his back to us, walking without purpose other than to stay away from the Doors.

His dejected stature tells me he won't care for any company now, even when said company is me. I can't fault him for that.

"Were you close to them?" Thomas asks Chuck, as if Alby and Minho were already dead. That alone is enough to make me want to punch him.

Chuck replies quietly. "Not really."

Thomas turns to me, fully knowing my answer before words even leave my mouth.

"Of sorts."

A loud rumble echoes throughout the Glade, startling me from my thoughts and sending a metaphorical pain tearing through me. The mere notion of the two of them in the Maze overnight troubles me deeply. When I survived, it was a one off — I'd only encountered a couple of Grievers. I'd had luck on my side that night.

Problem is, Minho always says he never believes in luck.

The grinding of stone against stone splits the air in two, and I immediately jolt to a start, Chuck and Thomas not far behind. We dash together towards the Door, the sparks emitting from it flying sky high.

We wait.

It's almost as agonising as the screeching of the Doors.

A shadow forms down at the end of the Maze, and Thomas takes a fearful step back before halting. Through my panic, I see Minho.

He's dragging an unconscious Alby.

Minho's head lurches upwards to meet Thomas's, his eyes wide with terror. It mirrors the exact moment I experienced a month ago. When I bolted into the Maze to save him. Except this time, I know better. This time, I know I cannot go back into the Maze. I cannot help Minho. Regretfully, I've learnt to obey the rules of the Glade, them becoming second nature to me; something they were not when I first arrived.

"They got him!" Minho yells, his voice strained and cracking. A Griever? I thought we made sure it was dead!

Minho struggles with Alby on his back, his legs shaking under the weight of their combined body mass. I fight every urge in my body to rush in and help them. But the Doors are already halfway closed. There is no saving them now.

"Newt!" Thomas shrieks. I don't need to turn around to look to know that Newt is racing back towards us. "They're coming! I can see 'em!"

"Minho, come on!" I holler, prompting other Gladers to do the same. Their voices echo louder than the Doors. However, Minho stumbles, and the cries intensify as Alby slips from his back.