Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thomas had to get out. His body chanted with the pace of a run. Shallow fast breaths, half up, half down, in time with the helicopter jerks. Limbs ready to spring, coiled around Newt so he might ground himself. His wet cheek pressed to Newt’s neck, knees knocking onto the metal floor.

The whir of the helicopter blades drowned out all other sounds, so the gladers were silent. Apparently, they were being rescued.

Thomas got jostled again, and he assumed that they were still in the air. But the blades quieted, and the doors slammed open, flooding the area with a rush of wind.

A man in a combat suit jumped in. “Let’s go!”

The man shouted at them to move, run faster, and Thomas found himself stumbling onto shifty sand. The desert was in chaos - gunshots, screaming, sand bikes roaring with beaming headlights. Shadows flickered over the frenzy, the air hazy from the swirling dust.

Thomas dashed forward, refusing to look back. He already knew which gladers made it, and he didn’t want a reminder of which ones didn’t - didn’t because of him.

“Get those kids inside!”

As the gladers stumbled across the desert, the guards circled them, rapid firing gunshots at shapes writhing through the sandstorm. These creatures screeched, piercing sounds that the wind threw right at Thomas.

Shouting and gunfire echoed, engines roared, but finally, a large building materialized from the dust. A halo of light poured from its door.

Newt was tossed through it by a guard, sparking Thomas’s attention. He sprinted inside and grabbed Newt around the waist, running hands along his middle.

As the doors slid closed, the guards outside continued the fight, shooting and shouting at the creatures in the distance. But finally, the doors boomed shut. An orange lever clicked into place, sealing the thick steel.

Thomas’s ears rang with the sudden stillness. The air in this building was unmoving, cold in an empty, artificial way. He breathed it in as he caught his breath, and the other gladers did the same. Winston and Teresa slouched forward, resting their hands on their knees.

Thomas moved his gaze over Newt, assessing his health. He seemed tired, but healthy.

“I’m okay,” Newt panted. “Are you?”

Thomas nodded shakily. With the reassurance, his breaths slowed. He stepped back from Newt to observe the area.

The building appeared to be a compound, or a warehouse of sorts. High ceilings, bare with exposed beam work, echoed the muddled noises of machinery and workers running around. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so many adults. The gladers, in their nervous huddle, were ignored.

Thomas hadn’t realized it at first, but his fist was entirely tense, yet numb. He opened his palm, freeing Chuck’s wooden dove. It had indented into his skin, forming red lines where the beak and wings had poked him.

But it was whole, unbroken despite Thomas’s immense grip, and he sighed in relief. He slid the dove deep into his pocket, protectively pulling the fabric over it.

“What were those things?” Minho asked.

Frypan shook his head. “I don’t think I care to know.”

One man did stroll up to them.

He was middle aged, with scraggly gray hair. The leather jacket he wore was unzipped, its misshapen collar hanging around a high turtleneck. When he paused before them, his sharp gaze darted over them like he was analyzing something shiny.

“You kids doing alright? Sorry about the fuss, we had a bit of a swarm,” he said, growing a smile.

“Who are you?” Thomas asked.

“I’m the reason you’re all still alive,” the man replied. “And it’s my intention to keep you that way. You can call me Mr. Janson.”

Janson jerked back to the path. He strolled down it purposefully, quickly. Thomas and the group rushed to follow, passing through machinery and metalworkers, avoiding the flying sparks.

“I run this place,” Janson explained. “For us, it is a sanctuary, safe from the horrors of the outside world. You should think of it as a way-station, a home between homes.”

Thomas perked up. “You’re taking us home?”

“A home of sorts,” Janson replied. “Sadly, there wouldn’t be much left of where you came from. But we do have a place for you, a refuge outside the Scorch. Where Wicked where never find you again.”

Right. The maze was run by that woman, who shot herself in the head - Ava Paige. Those memories had been completely drowned by everything else.

“Why are you helping us?” Minho asked.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Let’s just say the world is in a very precarious situation, and we're all hanging on by a very thin thread. The fact that you kids can survive the Flare virus makes you the best chance of humanity’s continued survival. This also makes you a target, as you no doubt have noticed.”

Janson walked up to another metal door, which he swiped open with his key card.

“But first,” Janson said, “Let’s do something about that smell.”

After walking through a white hallway, buzzing with fluorescent lights, Janson brought the gladers to a shower room. Thomas immediately grinned and prepared to run inside, but Janson stopped him.

A doctor approached. She wore a white coat and blue gloves, and her coiled hair was tied neatly away.

“Janson, is this all of them?”

“Dr. Crawford,” Janson greeted. “Yes, it is. I suspect you’re here for Teresa?”

Dr. Crawford smiled. “Indeed, I am.” Her eyes found Teresa, who stood apprehensively behind Minho. “Come with me, miss. And Janson, have them ready for check-up in twenty minutes.”

Teresa threw a confused glance at Thomas, but he could do nothing but return the same look. He watched Teresa disappear around the corner with Dr. Crawford.

“Is it ‘cause she’s a girl?” Winston teased.

“That’s none of your concern,” Janson replied curtly. He used his keycard to open the door, and gestured for them to enter. “Shower quickly, I’ll be back in twenty.”

Behind them, the door shut and locked automatically.

The waiting room for the showers had fresh clothing and towels. A clean, light fragrance hovered throughout the humid air. The showers themselves were divided by tiles and thick curtains - far nicer than the ones in the glade.

Frypan and Minho whooped in delight, snatching their towels and jumping into the showers.

Thomas chose a gray shirt with long-sleeves to wear afterwards. He dropped off his runner’s pack in the corner, and got into a shower stall.

The water ran hot, hotter than it did in the glade. Thomas took a moment to simply let it cascade over his body.

Placing his hands on the shower wall, Thomas sagged forward. He hung his head and stared vacantly down at his feet. As the water puddled around his toes, it turned pink with blood, some from the bites in his cheek, and some from Chuck, whose wound had stained his hands and his old shirt.

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about it. He was already weary, like a flash flood had swept through his body, leaving him grasping for pieces.

When Thomas actually finished cleaning himself, he shut off the water and dried off. He simply stood there, with just the towel around his waist.

The steam blanketed his limbs, making his blinks heavy. His muscles slackened, and didn’t obey his brain’s weak commands to leave the stall. Outside, Minho, Winston, and Frypan chatted.

“Tommy,” Newt whispered. “Can I come in?”

Thomas dragged the curtain aside. Newt was already dressed in a comfortable blue shirt and pants.

“What’s going on?” Newt asked, curtain falling shut behind him. He held Thomas’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over bruised knuckles. “I know you’re not doing great right now, but we can still talk. Y’know, for the two minutes we get before Janson barges in here.”

Thomas gave a half smile, but it faded quickly. “I just don’t wanna move anymore.”

At that, Newt’s expression twisted into deep concern, even more than when he held Thomas in the helicopter.

“Well, besides the fact that Janson is never gonna let you do that, I need you present.” Newt grabbed a new towel and reached up, rubbing it through Thomas’s dripping hair. “At least back in the glade, I had some time to process my grief. But this? It’s completely new. So I get it.”

Newt’s voice dropped lower, curling around his words warmly. “But if there’s anythin’ I know about you, it’s that you’re the best of all of us at handlin’ uncertainty.”

Thomas closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Okay.”

Newt finished by drying Thomas’s shoulders. “Where do you think Teresa’s gone off to?”

Thomas shrugged and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Not sure. Janson could’ve just said that she can’t shower here with us boys, and that’s why she’s gone. But he didn’t, and now I’m suspicious.”

“That’s my curious greenie,” Newt said, smiling softly. “Here, let’s get you dressed before Janson comes back.”

Newt handed him the clothes. The clean, dry fabric carried hints of warmth from Newt’s touch.

Well, it was probably just the humidity. Either way, as Thomas passed the soft fabric over his head, his chest lightened.

But before Newt could step out, Thomas grabbed his hand. The instant that Newt turned, Thomas shared a kiss with him. Not one of lust, but of sincere appreciation. Insistent, yet soft, Thomas poured his love into it, and Newt pressed back just as sweetly.

They didn’t gasp when the kiss ended. Rather, their breaths were even and calm. Their noses were the last to separate.

Thomas stepped out with Newt, joining up with the others in the front area.

“He kinda looks like a rat, doesn’t he?” Minho said.

“Who, Janson?” Thomas asked.

Minho, Winston, and Frypan burst into laughter.

“See? He doesn’t even need the context,” Frypan cackled.

“It’s definitely those shifty eyes,” Winston said. “He’s a rat… a Ratman.”

The door unlocked and opened, and Janson himself stood expectantly on the other side.

“Let’s go, kids. It’s testing time,” Janson commanded, eyes darting between them.

The gladers couldn’t restrain their giggles as they followed him.

When walking into the medical center, the first word that came to Thomas’s mind was blue.

It was odd, the walls should’ve been white, but the bluish lighting masked them. There were navy examination tables, blue medical gloves - and the color did nothing to calm him.

The exam tables were angled systematically in the center, leaving the patients no place to hide from the doctors weaving throughout the room. Bags of liquid were held up by steel poles, with thin tubes snaking around them. The needles, resting primly on metal trays, flashed the light back into Thomas’s eyes.

A sterile, chemically scent occupied the air. Was he supposed to feel safe breathing it in? Thomas almost preferred the Scorch’s air - similarly dry, but at least it had some warmth to it.

Dr. Crawford spoke to the other doctors in hushed voices. Thomas listened with a perked ear, hoping to gain information about Teresa. If he could interrupt them and ask about her, he would do that too.

The gladers were each directed to an exam table, and Thomas made sure to get one beside Newt. He hopped up onto it, letting his legs swing below him.

A doctor came up to Newt. First, she tied something tightly around his bicep, and then she cleaned the inside of his elbow with a wipe. This was followed by a syringe, which extracted bright red blood. To make matters worse, Newt’s eyes didn’t leave the process; he watched with curious attention.

Thomas cringed and averted his gaze.

Minho also didn’t appear particularly comfortable with the blood extraction. Winston and Frypan had already finished getting their blood taken, and were now receiving an injection of some strange blue concoction. A doctor described it as a ‘cocktail of essential nutrients.’

But finally, Dr. Crawford spoke to another doctor nearby to Thomas. Relieved for the distraction, Thomas latched onto the words.

“She says it’s unnecessary, now. We’ll obtain the serum later,” Dr. Crawford murmured.

“But what about the immediate samples?”

“Due to the time constraints, we’ve been instructed to do it just for the most promising…”

“Thomas?”

Another doctor appeared. He carried a tray with a syringe and a disinfecting wipe. Thomas glanced to the side, and saw Dr. Crawford leave his vicinity.

Thomas sighed in defeat.

When the blood sampling was finally done, Thomas rubbed his arm. His heart was still thumping in his chest. But now he was just sitting there, so the beats thudded, and thudded, disproportionate and awkward.

Thomas slipped a hand into his pocket, bringing out Chuck’s wooden dove. He toyed with it carefully, using the texture to ground himself. It was about the size of his thumb, so it fit nicely in his palm. The wings were spread, and one had a little hole. Maybe Chuck was going to make it into a necklace.

The dove was made with young wood, so it had a light color. Muted and off-white like a real dove. Except the base of a wing, where it connected to the body. That was stained in red.

In reality, the stain was the remnants of Chuck’s dying grasp as he passed it to Thomas. But Chuck wouldn’t want the bird’s fate to end there. So Thomas decided it was like an injury, as if someone tried to cut the wing off - but the dove survived.

At that moment, Janson beelined towards Thomas.

“Thomas!” Janson greeted, with obviously fake sincerity. As his gaze darted over Thomas, he kept pausing for seconds too long - seemingly minor actions, but still off-putting.

When Jansons’s eyes lingered on the dove, Thomas fumbled to hide it back in his pocket.

Janson quickly plastered on a smile. “Come, I need to chat with you briefly.”

Thomas hopped off the exam table. He strolled out with Janson, but he glanced back at Newt in concern. Newt didn’t seem pleased that another one of the gladers was being taken away, alone. Neither was Thomas.

Janson led Thomas into a room, which was really more of a concrete box. It only held a single table, with two chairs opposite each other.

Thomas sat in one of them. Janson mirrored him.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Janson said. “I was just hoping we’d get a moment to chat in private. I won’t take up too much of your time. I really only have one question.”

Thomas stared blankly at him.

“What do you remember about Wicked?” Janson asked, carefully folding his hands in front of him. “You’re not in trouble, I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” Thomas replied curtly.

“Who’s side are you on.”

Suddenly, Thomas felt offended. “I remember I used to work with Wicked, and that they sent me into the maze. I remember watching my friends die in front of me, from their side.”

Now that he was speaking it out loud, Thomas realized that his memory had severe gaps. In fragments, he remembered working with Teresa, and watching the gladers’ statistics, but he had no recollection of the one event that was most important to him - the one that was most influential to Newt.

“Interesting,” Janson commented. “You say that you worked for Wicked, but they sent you into the maze. Why do you think they did that?”

“I don’t know, maybe you should’ve asked them before you killed them all,” Thomas retorted.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Janson said, and then he stood up from the chair.

“That’s it?”

Dismissively, Janson replied, “Yeah, you’ve told me all I need to know.”

As Janson reached for the door handle, he added, “By the way, you and your friends have been cleared to join the others. Soon, you’ll be moving onto greener pastures.”

“Others?” Thomas asked.

Janson ignored him and held the door open, expectantly waiting for Thomas to follow.

Despite the number of guards that she passed, Teresa felt alone. Her footsteps echoed in the dingy, fluorescent hallways. Dr. Crawford used her keycard to go through a few doors, until they finally entered one titled ‘LAB WING.’

Teresa was hit with a refreshingly clean scent. Calm light brightened the white walls. She instantly liked this area much more than the other hallways - and especially more than the Scorch. She passed several doors marked in triangle signs, which stated ‘RESEARCH PERSONNEL ONLY.’

Finally, they went into a small room. In the center was a recliner, settled below a large machine. Attached to the machine, and hovering above the chair, was a bowl shaped contraption. Clearly meant to fit her head.

“Have a seat there, and sit with your neck on the support,” Dr. Crawford said.

Teresa obeyed, and Dr. Crawford lowered the bowl-thingy onto her head. She moved to stand behind a computer table.

“What’s going on?” Teresa asked.

Dr. Crawford smiled kindly. “We’re restoring your memories.”

Her memories? Teresa already felt like she knew more than the others. She was apprehensive of the result of knowing even more.

“This process will only take about ten minutes,” Dr. Crawford said. “All I need you to do is remain still, got it?”

Teresa nodded.

The machine made a soft humming sound. Teresa sort of expected everything to start flooding back, but nothing happened. She still only had her familiar connection with Thomas, recognition of the maze puzzle, and all the new memories she’d made.

Teresa studied Dr. Crawford. She looked to be about middle aged, but on the younger side. Teresa felt like she should be scared of the doctor, but with her round face and warm expression, Teresa found herself feeling comfortable.

Eventually, the humming stopped. Dr. Crawford removed the contraption around Teresa’s head, and pulled up another chair in front of her. As she sat, she hid the contents of her clipboard from view.

“Alright, I’m just going to have you answer some questions to assess your memory,” Dr. Crawford said. “First, what is your name, and how old are you?”

“Teresa, eighteen.”

“Can you tell me the name of your mother?”

Tersa furrowed her brow, unable to come up with the answer. She shook her head.

“Can you tell me what she looked like?” Dr. Crawford asked.

Suddenly, Teresa understood. Her mother had gotten the Flare, losing herself to the depths of her own mind. Teresa couldn’t remember her mother, because her mother left her well before she died. The screaming, the black veins, the blood-

“I can’t!” Teresa exclaimed. “She... she was infected. That’s all I know. Can we move on?”

Dr. Crawford nodded. “Can you tell me the name of one of your friends?”

Teresa exhaled shakily. “Newt.”

“Tell me another name.”

Teresa looked at the doctor, confused. “Thomas.”

“What does he look like?”

Teresa huffed. “Brown hair, brown eyes. Always seems somewhat confused.”

“What do you remember about working with him?”

“Um…” Teresa paused. “Not much. I remember a lab, and a classroom.”

“Were there any animals in the lab?”

“Yeah, actually. I worked with rats.”

“Who else important did you work with, besides Thomas?”

Teresa stared downwards, thinking. She had a name, but did it make sense? “Ava Paige, I think. But she’s dead now, isn’t she?”

“What do you remember about Dr. Paige?”

Teresa was realizing that, with specific questions, she could actually recall details. So the memory restoration did do something. She just needed some prompting.

“She… she taught me things. Taught me how to run an experiment, and about the human body,” Teresa replied.

“Alright, thank you for your patience, and your responses,” Dr. Crawford said. “I’ll take you to see Dr. Paige, now.”

“What?”

Dr. Crawford walked them over to an elevator, which took them up only one floor. They approached an office door, its mahogany wood polished to a shine.

Dr. Crawford knocked twice before opening it. She motioned for Teresa to follow, who did, albeit slightly terrified and confused.

“Hello, Dr. Paige,” Dr. Crawford greeted. “Teresa’s memory restoration was very successful.”

Teresa disagreed, but she remained silent.

Ava Paige’s office was neat. Beige shelves lined the sides, holding the sole decor of a framed certificate, which reflected the window light. An ivy plant - vivid with unnatural green - hung from a ceiling corner, above the command desk.

And in front was a slim couch, which Ava Paige herself was perched in.

“Thank you, Dr. Crawford,” Ava Paige said warmly. “Teresa, welcome back from the Maze Trials.”

In her crisp white suit, Ava Paige looked almost exactly as she did in the video. Her poised, lifted posture extended up through the lines of her strawberry blonde bun. She rested manicured hands atop crossed legs. In person, her red lipstick seemed soft, and the corners of her eyes crinkled faintly. Her face carried the gentle wrinkles of someone who’d gained real life wisdom.

Ava Paige’s pristine suit was all sharp lines - even the careful bends of her elbows didn’t disrupt them. The suit maintained an air of calculation that was absent in the white lab coats.

The raggedness of Teresa’s own appearance suddenly dawned on her. With her wind-swept hair and dingy blue shirt, she was still imprinted in the remnants of the escape.

Dr. Crawford slipped out of the room, and Ava Paige motioned to the chair across from her. Teresa hesitated, sitting slowly.

“You faked it?” Teresa asked. “Why? Why lie?”

Ava Paige replied, “Everything I do is to ensure the completion - the successful completion - of our trials. You did an excellent job getting them out.”

“You wanted me to do that? Is that why I remembered more things than everyone else?”

“That’s right,” Ava Paige affirmed. “It was also because I couldn’t bear to part with all the knowledge that you have so meticulously gathered.”

Confused, Teresa tilted her head.

Ava Paige’s lips curved into a warm, yet measured smile. “You were excellent in your classes, Teresa, and even better in the lab. Thomas too - you were both very persistent. Although, he was never quite as passionate.”

“So why am I here now?”

“We still need you, Teresa. You were a key part in the development of the grief serum. Remember how it cured the griever stings? Those stings are an altered version of the Flare. What you accomplished makes us one step closer to the true cure.”

“So even though the Maze Trials are done, we still don’t have a cure?”

“Unfortunately, we do not,” Ava Paige replied. “But it’s at our fingertips. Our current version of the cure, the serum, can delay the infection’s advancement. We’ve found that its effect is stronger from immunes who went through the trials. We’re proceeding with the second phase, the Scorch Trials, with the goal of creating the cure once and for all.”

Teresa supposed that getting the cure was good, but the Scorch? More inhumane experiments? In disbelief, Teresa asked, “You’re sending us out there?”

“Yes, in a week. But you will not be participating in the Scorch Trials.”

“What? Aren’t I immune?”

“You are, as are the others, but you’re also a key part of our team. You’re better on this side of the operation.”

“That’s not fair,” Teresa scoffed. “I don’t want to leave them.”

Ava Paige's smile softened sympathetically. “I understand, but science isn’t fair. It’s practical. Perhaps now is a good time to tell you that subject A5, Newt, is not immune.”

Teresa’s heart dropped. Her breath caught as she whispered, “What?”

“I know you are quite close with him,” Ava Paige said. “You wouldn’t want to be in the position where, in the likely event that he gets infected during the trials, you couldn’t do anything to help him, would you?”

The picture of black blood flashed across Teresa’s mind. She saw everything. Spiraling violet veins, creeping up pale arms. Scrawling hands tearing at bed sheets, ripping the tucked corners into pieces. A bowl of soup smashing into a wall, ceramic fragments exploding with the liquid. A groan, a wail, a plea. Empty eye sockets, shredded and black and bleeding, the corners crinkled like a smile.

A door slammed.

Teresa startled. Her hands trembled, and she tucked them underneath her thighs. She shook her head, keeping her voice low and steady. “No… I guess not.”

Ava Paige smiled warmly. “I’m glad you understand. We need you now, more than ever. More people suffer and die each day - including our own scientists, several of whom we had to terminate because they contracted the Flare. The cure is the solution to all this, and we are so close. Thanks to you.”

Teresa’s stomach churned, but she nodded slowly. Ava Paige simply gazed back, that small smile lingering at her lips.

The door shut behind her, and Teresa was left in silence in her dorm. It had a single bed and a private bathroom. She sighed, resigning herself to finally take a shower.

Teresa stood under the warm water, contemplating the day’s events. The amount of information she learned was overwhelming. She didn’t know how to feel yet.

If Teresa had worked with Thomas before the maze, why wasn’t he with her now? Teresa racked her new memories. She recalled feeling angry, frustrated - betrayed, in a way, at something Thomas did.

But she couldn’t care about that, not now. She desperately wished to see him, and Newt, and the others.

Newt being non-immune was devastating, but he wasn’t in immediate danger yet. And Ava Paige said they were close to finding a cure. Maybe it wouldn’t ever matter.

Teresa snatched the shampoo bar and vigorously scrubbed her scalp.

Chapter Text

Teenage chatter overran Thomas as he entered the cafeteria.

Well, not really. They weren’t looking at him. Or were they? They were all huddled around rectangular lunch tables, leaning in and laughing with their groups. The few who weren’t seated strolled right to their seats, like they were informally assigned. Already knowing when to grab the dinner trays, and where to go.

Thomas scanned the crowd, but he couldn't find his friends. As he stood there, awkward hands hanging at his sides, he considered turning right back (after all, Janson had just dropped him off and left). But thankfully, Minho popped up from the crowd and jogged over.

Exhaling in relief, Thomas stepped further to meet him. Of course, Minho instantly clocked his frazzled state. “I literally waved twice. You’re such a dumb shank." But his smirk was overtaken by a genuine grin. “We weren’t the only maze. Come on!”

Thomas followed Minho to their table, and sat between him and Newt.

Newt smiled, pulling a sandwich tray closer to Thomas. “This’s for you.”

Thomas squeezed his hand.

As Thomas ate, he listened to Winston and Frypan. They were chatting with an unfamiliar boy who sat across from them.

Winston said, “We just got here an hour ago.”

“We’ve only been here for a day,” the boy replied. He threw a glance over his shoulder, then learned forward conspiratorially. “But that kid over there, he’s been here for a week.”

The boy in question sat alone at a corner table, in the shadows. A hood masked pale skin, and his gaze skirted around in quiet observance. His fingers were crossed on the table, held close to his chest.

“They say his maze was nothing but girls.”

Frypan and Newt hummed in surprise.

“Did you shanks also have grievers?” Frypan asked.

The boy stared at Frypan, confused. “You mean the maze creatures? The stingers?”

As Frypan and the boy hashed out their vocabulary differences, Thomas glanced around the cafeteria. Boys and girls alike were eating, drinking, and chattering. The silverware clinked in time with their carefree laughter.

Thomas did not feel the same. Although this rebel group gave them freedom from the maze, he was still suspicious of them. Just as he was surveilled in the maze via the beetle blades, these guards were omnipresent. All grown men with intimidating frames, shoulders broadened by their uniforms. They lined the room's edges, conversing with the other guards, as if they couldn’t be bothered with their baby-sitting job. But Thomas didn’t miss the guns on their belts.

Coupled with Janson’s cocky caginess, and Teresa’s absence, Thomas wasn’t exactly comfortable. His leg bounced, and it kept bumping Newt’s.

Newt laid a hand on Thomas’s thigh - not pushing, just a steady presence as Thomas vibrated with energy. Newt was much more relaxed, chatting with Minho, and asking questions to the boys across from him.

“Alright everyone! Quiet down,” Janson called. He appeared by the doorway, and a hush fell over the crowd. He straightened a piece of paper in his hands. “If I call your name, join me up front. It is your turn to go to the refuge.”

Whispers energized the room.

Janson called out names from his list. When they were selected, the kid would leap into the air and high-five their friends. Eventually, a group of about twelve was gathered.

“Alright, that is all.” Janson declared. There were several disappointed groans in response. “Don’t get discouraged, there’s always tomorrow. Your time will come.” Janson exited, and the selected kids rushed after him.

Thomas watched them turn right, in the same direction that Teresa had gone a few hours earlier. The guards milling around the doors paid no attention. If he could just…

And Thomas’s feet carried him towards the door. As he strolled, he ran a careless hand through his hair, averting his gaze everywhere except the guards. He got close, close enough to step out the door-

A guard yanked his arm back. Thomas stumbled to regain his balance.

The guard faced him, quirking a brow. “Where do you think you’re going, kid?”

Thomas disregarded the question. “Is she okay?”

“And why would I know who she is?”

“My friend,” Thomas said. He shook his head, and pushed forward. “I really need to-”

Newt shouldered his way between Thomas and the guard, apologizing profusely. “We were just going, I’m so sorry-”

With the guards ushering him around all day and Janson’s interrogation, Thomas was already strung high. But Janson appearing in the door, putting his hands on Newt, and shoving him?

In shock, Thomas couldn’t react before Newt stumbled, and he might’ve fallen if not for Minho’s appearance. Thomas leapt in front of them, blocking Janson from making any more moves.

“What the hell, man?” Thomas spat. He darted his gaze around, looking for something, anything- a weakness, a place to run, someone to fight, Thomas didn’t care. As his glare snapped back to Janson, he clenched his fists.

Janson stood back, leaning on one leg, his chin tilted up a few obnoxious degrees. He had zero reasons to get involved - let alone touch Newt. Anyone with a brain could see that Newt was just diffusing things, just trying to protect Thomas.

Behind Thomas, Newt murmured assurances about his leg’s status to Minho.

Newt had been the original target, but Janson wasn't acknowledging him. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on Thomas. Janson’s lips twitched into a smirk, as if he understood more about Thomas than Thomas did himself. And he relished it.

“Let me be clear,” Janson said. “You go when your name is called. No sooner, no later. Unless, of course, I change my mind entirely.”

Several guards flanked Janson, enclosing Thomas into a ring of combat suits. They stared him down, practically goading him into running. One had his hand on a gun. The others crossed their muscley arms across their chests. Equipped with only his trembling fists and a meekly thin shirt, Thomas had nothing.

And like a dove with broken wings, he deflated.

“What we do with Teresa is not your problem,” Janson reminded him.

A guard stepped forward, jerking his head to the door. “Let’s go, all of you.”

Thomas dragged his feet as he followed the guards back to the dorm. He walked with his head down, fuming, and Minho nudged his shoulder.

“What is it with you and running through doors that people tell you to avoid?” Minho asked.

Thomas scoffed.

The dorm was dim, to say the least. Not literally - the lighting was fluorescent yellow. It was more about the absence of windows, and the blatant prison vibe. Metal bunk beds lined the concrete walls. In the back, there was a bathroom door and a sink. Beside them, the shelves held steel water bottles and crisply folded hand towels. As if some commodities could make up for the situation.

“I call top bunk!” Frypan cheered. He rushed to a ladder, but before he could climb it, Minho darted by and threw himself onto the bunk.

“Too slow,” Minho teased.

Frypan smiled, shaking his head. He clambered up a different one, and Winston flopped onto the bed underneath Frypan’s. He tucked his arms behind his head, and let out a long sigh.

“I could get used to this,” Winston said.

“It’s not bad,” Newt commented.

When the door shut behind them, the lock clicked in pace. This irked something inside Thomas. He’d just proven the controlling nature of these people. Couldn’t everyone have a little more urgency?

Thomas whirled around to Newt. “What do you mean ‘it’s not bad’? Janson hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” Newt replied, narrowing his gaze. “I’m not gonna pretend to like it, or agree with how he went about that. But I also know that you were about to wreak havoc, for no reason.”

Thomas shook his head. “No, it’s more than that- more than him abusing his stupid ‘security power.’ He knows something, and he’s targeting me.”

Newt had the audacity to grin. “Hold it, Tommy. He targeted me, because he thought I was the one startin’ shit.” He jabbed a finger into Thomas’s chest. “But it was actually you, so you drew all that attention to yourself. Standin’ there like a shuckin’ rabid dog at a window. What do you expect?”

“He knows Teresa’s name,” Thomas countered.

“Why wouldn’t he know her? She’s clearly somethin’ special to ‘em.”

“Exactly!”

Newt softened. He swayed closer, placing his arms over Thomas’s shoulders. “Hey, if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that she can take care of herself. Don’t worry about it, alright? Now come.”

Newt tugged Thomas to a bunk. He couldn’t bring himself to resist. After Newt crawled onto it, Thomas collapsed down with his back to the room. They faced each other on their sides.

The pillow was cool beneath Thomas’s cheek, and he let himself sink into it. The sheets rustled as Newt shifted his socked feet. Their breaths ghosted across the bed, warming the space between their noses. Thomas brushed a blonde lock away from Newt’s forehead. His eyes, normally big and wise, drifted shut.

Thomas sighed. “I don’t like this place.”

“I know, I get it, ‘cause Teresa’s gone,” Newt murmured.

“Yeah, and I don’t trust all the guards. And the Ratman-”

“He’s a bastard, yeah,” Newt replied. “But the guards are there for our protection. We were Wicked property, remember? We’ve got a target on our backs. If you provoke ‘em, that’s on you.”

“I guess,” Thomas whispered.

“Come on, then.” Newt carded his fingers through Thomas’s hair, skimming them over his neck, cascading shivers across his skin. “We escaped the bloody maze today. You’ve done so much already. Get some rest.”

Minho called from his bunk, “If I hear one lick of suspicious flirting keeping me up tonight, I’ll smother Thomas’ shuckface with a pillow.”

“What if Newt’s the one that’s flirting?” Thomas asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Minho replied.

Thomas shut his eyes and attempted to sleep. The lights turned off, yet still, he couldn’t. Newt eventually switched sides, and so Thomas held him, cuddled against his back. He tried to zone out, but his own breaths distracted him as they echoed off the pillow. To prevent fidgeting, he tensed his arms around Newt.

Thomas

Did he make that up?

A whisper. “Thomas?”

Thomas remained rigid, ears perked.

“Down here,” the voice said again.

Thomas untangled himself from Newt, rolled over, and hovered his head over the bed’s edge. The thudding of his heartbeat pushed against the mattress.

The voice said, “I’m not gonna kill you.”

Thomas figured that sleep would be impossible if he couldn’t stop this whispering. He peeked under the bed.

A pair of eyes met his. It was the hooded boy from the cafeteria, poking his head out the floor vent. The night light’s glow painted his face shadow.

The boy placed his finger on his lips, shushing, before disappearing under the vent. Quietly, to avoid waking Newt, Thomas followed.

Once in the steel shafts, he crouched down. If he lifted his neck too much, his head would touch the ceiling, but it was wide enough to crawl. The boy, crawling away from Thomas, motioned for him to follow. Thomas shuffled behind him, making hollow sounds that thudded down the shafts. Cold from the metal seeped onto his palms and knees. Occasionally, clear light from the hallways slivered through the vents, making Thomas feel a bit ridiculous for traveling like this.

Thomas whispered to himself, “What the hell am I doing?”

“Shh,” the boy responded. He crouched over a vent, and gestured for Thomas to approach him. “Come here. Watch.”

Thomas crawled over and peered through the slits. Through them, he saw Dr. Crawford approach a door. Another doctor followed, rolling a large bag. But from its shape, the bag was more akin to a casket. The wheels glided over the tile, silently elevating the body bag. A screen on the head side reported medical information.

For a moment, Thomas feared it was Teresa.

With her keycard, Dr. Crawford opened the door and went inside. The other doctor rolled the body bag in after her. The angle prevented Thomas from seeing inside, and the door sealed before he could decipher anything.

Thomas asked, “What the hell was that?”

“They bring in new ones every night, like clockwork,” the hooded boy said. “Once they go through there, they don’t come back out. I don’t think anybody ever leaves this place.”

“Why’d you show me this?”

“‘Cause maybe the others will listen to you. Something’s off here, and I know you think so too. I saw your little stunt in the cafeteria.”

“The others said that you’ve been here for a week. Doesn’t that give you some credibility?”

“Everyone loves it here,” the boy replied. “Compared to the maze, this is paradise. At least, it seems like it.”

Thomas stared at the door. “I feel like it’s my friend that’s in the bag.”

“Was their name called today?”

“No. Teresa escaped with us from the maze. But they took her somewhere, basically right when we got here.”

“I’ll look around, ask around, but don’t expect me to come up with anything.”

Thomas asked, “What’s your name?”

“Aris. And you’re… Thomas, right?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Aris shrugged. “Janson probably said it at some point.”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway below them. Thomas and Aris watched with rapt attention for the newcomer.

It was Teresa. Alone, she strolled without hurry, looking around for something. A keycard hung around the lanyard on her neck. Briefly, her gaze lingered on the door, but then she moved closer to the vent. When she was right beneath it, Thomas whispered to her.

“Teresa!”

Teresa froze.

“Up here.”

Teresa scrutinized upwards. “Thomas?”

“Yeah. Where are they keeping you?”

Teresa glanced around. “They’re not really keeping me anywhere. I’m in a dorm a few hallways over. What-”

Thomas hissed, “Are there security cameras down there?”

Teresa’s gaze flickered around the ceiling. “No. How-”

The body bag door clicked open. Teresa darted away from the vent.

Dr. Crawford stepped out, and the door sealed behind her. “Teresa? What are you doing here? This is a restricted area.”

“Hi, sorry! I just wanted to ask you something,” Teresa replied, pleasant and innocent.

“Alright,” Dr. Crawford sighed. “Let’s get you back to your bunk. What is it?”

“I just wanted to know when I start…”

The two strolled down the hallway, and Aris crawled in that same direction to trail them. Thomas started to follow, but Aris stopped him.

“It’ll be quicker and quieter if it’s just me. I’ll find out where she’s staying,” he promised. Then Aris shuffled around the corner and left.

As Thomas watched him go, he was surprised to realize how much he already trusted Aris. The boy was mysterious, but he provided new information - and a method of secret transportation. On top of that, Thomas found Teresa alive and well.

Although tight, the vents were strangely peaceful. He felt safe here, safe from the watch of the guards and the prodding of the doctors. To top it off, the freedom of movement exhilarated him. Eager to report what he’d found, Thomas turned back. He bursted with the new knowledge about the door and Teresa. Newt would be so relieved to find out about her.

There were two forks in the road, but Thomas knew the way. When he arrived, he stood with a hunch to peek across the dorm floor. The nightlight was the only thing illuminating the room. Minho’s boots laid haphazardly at the base of the bunk ladder, confirming that Thomas was in the right location.

Thomas crawled from under the bed and rolled onto his knees.

And came face to face with his boyfriend.

“What the bloody hell were you doing?”

Even in the limited light, Thomas could see Newt’s chest heaving as he sat rigid on the bed. The blanket pooled around his waist, but the veins in his hands strained where he gripped it.

“I-” Thomas paused. “The vents. The mysterious kid from the cafeteria, Aris, found me, and we saw-”

“I don’t bloody want to hear that,” Newt snapped. “Last thing I remember, we were sleepin’ peacefully. So imagine my surprise when you’ve vanished off the face of the planet, despite the locked door.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas mumbled. “I got carried away.”

Newt’s lip trembled. “After everythin’ we went through today, and yesterday, I thought- well, I don't know what I thought!”

Seeing Newt like this induced physical pain inside Thomas’s chest. He crawled onto the bed and wrapped Newt in his arms. Newt tucked his face into Thomas’s neck, clutching his shirt, as Thomas buried a hand in his hair.

Thomas spoke softly into Newt’s ear. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Don’t care. Wake me next time.”

“I will,” Thomas murmured, words spilling out like honey. “I’m sorry, angel. I love you.”

“I hate you,” Newt replied, tightening his grip on Thomas.

“I know.”

Thomas guided them to lay flat. Newt maintained his hold on him, and eventually drifted to sleep. As the day’s events finally caught up to Thomas, he did the same.

His dreams flashed like punches to the gut. Gally’s angry, bruised face, to a smiling Newt. The distorted mouth of a griever. Teresa’s body in a white bag. Chuck’s bleeding heart. A dove stumbling to land on his arm, wings tinged in red.

Chapter Text

That morning, Thomas awoke to a gentle hand caressing his cheek. Newt gazed softly at him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Thomas dared to assume that Newt had forgiven him. And so, he grinned and leaned forward for a kiss. Newt allowed it for a few seconds, before retracting and placing his fingers onto Thomas’s lips. “I could be enjoyin’ this as our first real wake up together, but no. You have some explainin’ to do.”

Thomas glared at him playfully. But Newt was right. Thomas had stressed him out needlessly.

“Long story short, I saw Teresa. But the others should hear it, too,” Thomas muttered.

Newt’s eyes widened, and he nodded.

Thomas knew that he had to speak to Aris again somehow. To get into the body bag room, they’d need a keycard. He would hopefully catch Aris during mealtime and devise a plan. If he couldn’t because the guards were too close, well… Thomas would figure it out. And after hearing about the room, Newt and the others might help too.

The yellow lights turned on - a fake sun to force them awake - and the others were still stirring.

In the meantime, Thomas took advantage of his proximity to Newt. He draped an arm over his waist, nuzzling the hollow of his throat.

Newt chuckled, “You’re takin’ all the room.”

The wall was almost pressed up against Newt’s back, as Thomas had shuffled forward so much. Really, the bed was designed for one person. But Thomas didn’t think he could ever feel ‘too close’ to Newt. So, he merely responded with a nonchalant hum. He and Newt almost drifted back to sleep, but a shark knock on the door prevented that.

“Ten minutes, kids!” The guard continued down the hallway, rapping on the doors.

Thomas groaned and pulled away from Newt. They both sat up, swinging their legs off the bed. The others did the same, rubbing their eyes and yawning.

“Tommy here has something to say,” Newt prompted.

Thomas didn’t wait. “Okay, so, just stick with me. Remember the mysterious kid from the cafeteria? He showed up last night, in the vents. He took me to see something weird.”

“You traveled in the vents?” Frypan asked.

“Yeah, ‘course!” Thomas replied. “He showed me this door, where Dr. Crawford wheeled in a body.”

Newt asked, “Who was in it?”

“I couldn’t see. It was covered up,” Thomas said sheepishly. “But get this, Teresa walked into the hallway. I spoke to her through the vent, and she said that she’s staying in a dorm.” He stopped speaking, and the hanging space felt dramatic.

“Anything else?” Minho asked.

“Uh, no,” Thomas said. “Dr. Crawford interrupted. But I know- I do know that Teresa is staying in some restricted area.”

The gladers were silent as they processed the information.

“I'm glad she’s doing alright. But I don’t think there’s anythin’ we can do about it at the moment,” Newt reasoned.

“Yeah,” Winston said. “We barely know anything about this place. As long as she’s alive, I mean, what else is there to do?”

“Break out?” Thomas suggested. Was it not obvious? Did they hear any of his words? “Can any of you even stand Janson?”

“No, but these people did save us from Wicked,” Minho said.

“I don’t think they saved us,” Thomas replied. His words rushed out in desperation. “What about the guards?”

“To be honest, I don’t have too much of an issue with that. You’re the one who’s beefing with ‘em,” Frypan joked.

Newt nodded. “Someone’s gotta keep things in order.”

They didn’t understand, they weren’t listening. “I saw a body bag,” Thomas pressed, hands gesticulating his words. “I know that can’t be good!”

“But was it really a body bag?” Newt asked. He sighed and stood up from the bed, stretching his arms up. “Let’s just ride out the day, gather the information that we can. Our names probably won’t be called anyway, since we just got in.”

Newt was technically right, but Thomas didn’t like it. He wanted a plan that was more urgent. Why wouldn’t they just take his word? This place was a prison. Was a dorm bed really that valuable?

“I’m thinking about breakfast already. I haven’t eaten anything other than Fry’s food for years,” Winston said.

Frypan laughed, “I never heard you complainin’.”

“No, it was good. I’m just saying, a little variety would be nice.”

Thinking that Minho could be talked into something, Thomas stepped over to his bunk. He hopped up and grabbed the railing on the top to hang freely. Minho glanced over the edge, and Thomas tilted his head back to talk.

“So what do you think?” Thomas asked.

Minho shrugged. “Sorry shank, but I agree with Newt. If Teresa’s doing fine, I’m in no hurry to leave here.”

This frustrated Thomas, but he only nodded. He’d simply have to gather more proof and convince him. Even if Teresa was fine, they wouldn’t be - not if they let themselves get strung up in that room. Instead of circling back the argument, Thomas decided to do something else.

“How many pull-ups do you think I can do?” Thomas asked.

Minho smirked. “None,” he replied, prying Thomas’s fingers off the railing.

Thomas yelped as he lost his grip, and he dropped back onto the ground, narrowly avoiding the bottom bunk.

Thomas glared up at him. “Dumbass.”

“Slinthead,” Minho shot back.

Thomas left him and walked to Newt at the sink, who was drying his face with a hand towel. Thomas hugged him from behind, observing them in the mirror.

They both carried grayness under their eyes, and their hair was mused from sleep. But as Newt ran his hands over Thomas’s arms, his thoughts of their current problems drifted away. Not the locked doors, not the body bag, not Teresa, none of that mattered to him in those still seconds.

Everything would work out - because Thomas would make it so. He pressed a rough kiss to the skin behind Newt’s ear.

After breakfast, the gladers were escorted to some kind of library. More maze kids kept coming in behind them, and each time, the door would shut and automatically lock. Newt was noticing that a lot now.

The library was nothing like Newt had ever seen. It was all games, all play, and nothing functional. Like shelves of books, tables with games, and bean bags. A door and a window on the wall revealed access to a gym.

Janson was nowhere to be seen. There were only two guards hanging out in one corner, so Newt pulled Thomas towards the bean bags in the opposite corner. They laid down, shoulder to shoulder, and Thomas grabbed Newt’s hand to play with. He ran fingers over knuckles, calluses, and the softer skin of his palm.

During breakfast, Thomas hadn’t paid attention to the conversation. Instead, he’d glanced around furtively, like he was about to jump away again. But he didn’t end up causing any trouble, and Newt was relieved for his calmer energy now. Also, Newt hadn’t yet seen that hooded boy from dinner, which he took as a good sign.

“Why are your hands always cold?” Thomas asked.

Newt snorted. “Because the room is chilly? Or maybe you’re just warm, I mean, I never see you stop fidgetin’.”

Thomas didn’t respond, he just relaxed further into the bean bag. Newt glanced around at the other kids. Nearby on the floor, Frypan and Winston were playing with a deck of cards, almost certainly using it wrong.

Then Newt spotted the hooded boy.

The boy - Aris - still had his hood up, head tilted downwards, and he was stalking across the room to the bookshelves. Once Thomas spotted him, he tensed, and Newt sensed them making eye contact with each other. Then Aris disappeared into the bookshelves.

Thomas leapt up, and the sudden space made Newt topple over. He flung out his arm onto the beanbag.

“I’ll be right back,” Thomas said, and before Newt could even blink, he vanished into the bookshelves.

Newt frowned as he rolled back up. He didn’t lounge - he sat straight with his feet planted on the floor. He wanted to follow Thomas. But why hadn’t he invited Newt to come with? Shouldn't Newt be meeting this mysterious “Aris”?

Thomas must be doing escape planning, that had to be it. A plan that Newt had essentially opted out of. Because why should they return to the Scorch - where they’d get caught by WCKD - when they’d been given a perfectly safe and secure compound? Clearly that didn’t matter to Thomas. But at the very least, Newt should be still aware of the escape plan.

Newt eyed the bookshelves, straining to see between the gaps, but he couldn’t make out Thomas or Aris. So he marched over and slipped into the aisle.

“What happened after you left?” Thomas was whispering.

Aris muttered, “I found her dorm. She’s in the Lab Wing, not sure why. She was pretty friendly with Dr. Crawford.”

“Teresa?” Newt asked.

Aris jumped and whirled around. He was pretty short, and as he leaned back on the shelves, he had to look up to see Newt (which he found satisfying).

As he was finally unshadowed, Newt got a real look at Aris’s face. He had eyebags, wide brown eyes, and a little gap in his front teeth. Just a scared, young boy - he wasn't some evil plotter, he was more like a greenie.

“No, it’s okay! This is Newt, my boyfriend,” Thomas said. “Newt, this is Aris. He showed me the vents.”

“I figured as much,” Newt replied, crossing his arms into a tilt. “What’re you guys scheming?”

“Um, I’m not totally sure yet,” Thomas said, anxiously tugging at his fingers. Was it because he didn't know his own plan? Or was he fudging the truth?

“We’re going back to the room tonight, gonna try to see if we can get more information,” Aris said.

Minho rounded the corner, glancing over his shoulder before he approached. As he directed his gaze right at Thomas, he took no notice of Aris shrinking back.

Minho kept his voice low as he spoke to Thomas. “They want us.”

“The guards?”

“No, the doctors. One of them found me in the gym. She said we have to go to the med wing. I told her I’d get you.”

“She say why?” Newt asked.

Minho shook his head. “And they just want me and Thomas.”

“Shit,” Thomas breathed, gripping his hair. “I can’t be supervised all day.”

“She said we’d be back before lunch,” Minho said.

Thomas nodded, and both the runners left the bookshelves, leaving Newt alone with Aris. The boy was still peering up from under his hood. Newt almost wanted to threaten him, but he knew it would be uncalled for. Thomas had the combination of wild will and stubbornness, and it wasn’t Aris’s fault that he used it.

Aris couldn’t be blamed for Thomas’s decisions, nor was Aris dangerous - but that didn’t mean their plan wasn’t. No matter how Thomas spun it, escape was risky.

Newt gave Aris a quick nod before leaving. He sat beside Frypan and Winston, but he didn’t participate in their game. He remained in his own thoughts.

Newt wasn’t sure how close Thomas was to actually breaking out, and even though he didn’t agree with it, he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop him. Through sheer impulse and will, Thomas was able to survive the maze, become a runner, and create their escape.

To do that, Thomas acted as if driven by a motor. And now, Newt could sense that same urgency within him. So if Thomas was focused on getting them out, then he most certainly was not thinking about survival. The outside conditions, Newt knew, would kill them.

Sand, biting wind, and strange creatures that needed to be gunned down - Flare victims, if he recalled Ava Paige’s video correctly. Food and water would be difficult, if not impossible, to find.

Newt decided to gather some supplies, not a lot, but just in case, to make a 'go-bag.' He had no idea what Thomas had in store, and he still would try to convince Thomas to stay. But at the very least, as a last resort, he’d help their future survival.

As nice as this facility was compared to the glade, Newt would never ever let Thomas escape on his own.

Despite the doctor’s claim, Thomas and Minho did not return for lunch. Newt, Frypan, and Winston made it back to their bunks with the runners nowhere to be found.

Newt coped by panic-packing Thomas and Minho’s old running packs. He was able to convince a guard to escort him to the shower rooms, and once there, he picked up the discarded packs. When he exited, the guard took them for inspection. The packs had no weapons, but Newt still gave the guard a subtle pout and a charming smile. After he lamented his ‘emotional keepsakes,’ the guard shrugged and returned them.

Once back in the dorm, Frypan questioned Newt as he used the sink to fill the water bottles.

“I was under the impression that we were not interested in escaping,” Frypan said.

“I know, and I still think that,” Newt replied. “But you know how Tommy is. If he somehow does come up with a breakout plan, I’m not lettin’ him go at it alone. We won’t survive without at least a little bit of plannin’.”

Newt twisted the bottle shut. As he placed it into the running pack, he glanced back at Frypan, slightly guilty. “Well, you and Winston don’t have to come.”

“If Thomas comes up with a good enough reason, I’ll go,” Frypan said.

“I second that,” Winston said. “Thomas is our resident expert on escaping, so I trust him. Even if the showers are nice, I’m no fan of the medical klunk. And the Ratman’s a freak, too.”

The buzz of a keycard signaled the opening door, and Thomas and Minho were ushered in.

“Speak of the devil,” Frypan teased.

With an exasperated groan, Thomas collapsed face-first onto his and Newt’s bunk. Minho sighed and dropped back onto his own.

Amused, Newt asked, “What, did they have you fight a griever?”

“Blood,” Thomas groaned. He lifted his elbow up, showing the white bandage.

“They sapped us for twenty minutes straight,” Minho deadpanned.

Teasingly, Newt cooed at Thomas. He sat beside him to rub his back.

“They gave us this liquid to rehydrate after, but it was so damn cold. I think they IV’d actual ice water up our veins,” Minho complained.

“I hate it,” Thomas whined, muffled by the pillow. “I’ve given them enough blood for a lifetime. I hate needles.”

“I dunno, I thought it was kinda cool,” Newt said, tracing his fingers across Thomas’s shoulder blades, watching the tension melt away.

But, Newt could acknowledge that it was strange to be giving blood twice. They already did the health tests. Why should Thomas need to get even more extracted? He didn’t like seeing his boyfriend in distress.

Minho shook his head at Newt, disapproving. “I really don’t need to hear it.”

“Thomas, I think you missed your calling as a slicer,” Winston remarked.

Thomas made a dismissive sound in response, and Newt laughed.

Teresa twisted her hair into a bun before snapping on a pair of latex gloves. She sat at a stool near a microscope. A rack of pipettes rested in front of her, each to measure a specific range of milliliters.

Dr. Crawford entered the lab and placed two tubes of blood on the table.

And just after her, heels clicking with authority, Ava Paige strolled in.

“Dr. Paige?” Teresa asked.

“Please, call me Ava. I’m glad to see you prepared,” she said, sweeping her gaze over Teresa’s lab attire. “We’re testing how well you can still make the serum.”

“I don’t think I remember anything,” Teresa admitted.

“As you encounter the equipment, I suspect it will come back to you,” Ava Paige said.

Teresa inspected one of the blood tubes. She tilted it back and forth, watching how thin it was, swishing from side to side. The cap was labeled ‘A7.’ The other was labeled ‘A2.’

“The enzyme we’re looking at can kill the grievers’ modified version of the Flare. This enzyme exists in the blood of immunes, and must be extracted,” Ava Paige explained.

Teresa glanced around the lab, spotting a boxy machine. Something in the back of her mind urged her to it, and she listened. When she got there, she opened the top. Inside, there were several slots for tubes like the one she held.

Ava Paige said, “When immunes contract the virus, it lives inside them, but is asymptomatic and non-contagious.”

“So the enzyme doesn’t kill it, just keeps it at bay?” Teresa asked, placing the two tubes opposite each other into the slots. After closing the lid, she adjusted the time dial to ten minutes, and turned the machine on.

“Correct. That’s the problem with the new serum. The enzyme only kills our manufactured version of the Flare. Not the real one.”

Teresa turned to face Ava Paige, and leaned back against the table.

Ava Paige gazed kindly at her. “So you remember centrifuging?”

“Seems like it, but it was you who prompted me.”

“A good first step,” Ava Paige declared, before turning to Dr. Crawford. “Please prepare the next materials.”

“How long does the serum work for in non-immunes?” Teresa asked.

“The maximum we’ve observed is four months, but there are many individual differences, like age. Younger people are more likely to last longer.”

Teresa nodded contemplatively. She thought about the labels on the tube.

“Whose blood was that?” Teresa asked. “Did I know them?”

Ava Paige's voice was soothing. “You don’t need to know them, Teresa.”

“But they’re both from maze A! I know for a fact that I was in there."

Ava Paige's eyes narrowed briefly, but then her expression softened. “Subject A2 is Thomas, and the other is Minho.”

Dr. Crawford returned with a vial of blue liquid, just as a buzzing sound zipped through the room. It came from Ava Paige’s walkie talkie, which she pulled from her pocket. On it, a red light flashed.

Ava Paige glanced down at the screen, and she spoke rapidly. “Dr. Crawford will supervise you for the rest of today. Good work, Teresa.” Her heels thudded as she rushed away.

Teresa checked the centrifuge timer, and there was still time left. She glanced at Dr. Crawford, who was straightening the pipettes on the table.

“So,” Teresa ventured, “Besides for my practicing, why’d you need more blood from Minho and Thomas? Is it for comparison after the Scorch Trials?”

Dr. Crawford’s hand paused. Her fingers briefly tightened around a pipette before setting it down. “Yes.”

Okay, interesting. “Come on, this is for scientific purposes. I’m asking about the variables, surely that’s important to know?” Teresa grinned, brows lifting as she watched the doctor.

A glint appeared in Dr. Crawford’s eye. “You remind me of my daughter. So inquisitive, you both are.”

Teresa blinked, surprised. “What’s her name?”

“Shai. She’s ten. Never stops asking me about my work.”

“She should help in the lab. I’ll take her as my assistant," Teresa said, smiling gently.

“That would make her happy,” Dr. Crawford admitted, but her smile faltered. “Really, I try to keep her away from all this. I work here in exchange for her safety- for both of our safety. Neither of us are immune.” Dr. Crawford stepped back from the table, gesturing for Teresa to take her place.

Teresa sat before the microscope and straightened her lab coat.

“You, however, have the blessing of your genetics. And you’re a prodigy,” Dr. Crawford said, warm and soft. After a beat of silence, she added, “A2's blood is going to be frozen in storage, alongside some of A7's. Both have very promising immune responses- especially Thomas.”

Teresa turned her head, curious. “Even though he wasn’t in the maze that long?”

Dr. Crawford shrugged. “I suppose.”

Earnest, Teresa said, “Thank you.”

Dr. Crawford gave only a faint nod. They waited in silence for a few minutes more, before Dr. Crawford retrieved the blood samples from the centrifuge. She handed them to Teresa, who lifted A2 into the light.

The blood was separated into three parts: the red blood at the base, the yellow plasma on top, and in between, a thin layer of white blood cells.

Teresa eyed the pipettes and the blue mixing liquid before her.

“Let’s make that serum,” Dr. Crawford encouraged.

After pipetting out the middle layer of tube A2, the process was repetitive and methodical. Teresa’s hands moved almost without second thought. The familiarity was eerily amazing.

But there was something about this process, something that irked Teresa. She furrowed her brow in contemplation. Clearly, she was well practiced in making the serum, and yet, a distinctly negative feeling encompassed her.

The lab... she remembered her stupid lab stool (not unlike the current one), always uncomfortable to sit in. She remembered how there were several stools in the room, but hers was the only one that was occupied. Staring longingly across the table at an empty space, an abandoned work station.

Yes… it was Thomas who worked there. Well, he was supposed to. He was gone, ignoring his duties, as per usual. She’d barely seen him lately. It was such a sudden switch, him going from a supportive brother to a distant acquaintance.

Teresa gasped. Her pipette clattered to the table, knocking into the bloody tube. The red swished with bubbles inside, threatening to spill.

Brother?

Chapter Text

Janson finished calling more names, and the cafeteria crowd was noticeably thinner. They might be getting less time here than Newt had thought.

Like the others, Newt was still eating his dinner, but Thomas already finished scarfing his down. After dropping his fork onto the empty plate, he fiddled with his hands. The bench vibrated with the motions of his leg. He darted his gaze around the room, and jerked his head around so swiftly that Newt thought he was straining his neck.

Newt was about to ask what was wrong, when Thomas spoke.

“I want to know what’s through that door.”

“We’ve been over this,” Newt muttered. “You said they were covered up, so you don’t know what you saw. It could’ve been anything.”

Thomas shook his head. “I know what I saw, they were bodies. Aris said they bring in new ones every night.”

Minho asked, “Who’s Aris?”

Thomas gestured to Aris, who sat alone at that table, his shadowed face tilted downwards.

“Well. I’m sold,” Minho quipped.

Newt placed his hand on Thomas’s thigh. “Until we know everything for certain, we should just keep our head down and try not to draw any attention to ourselves.”

There was a singular second where nothing happened.

Then Thomas slammed his fists on the table, clattering the silverware. He sprang to his feet then stormed to the exit.

Newt whipped around to watch Thomas cut through the room. But before Thomas could reach the door, a guard blocked his way.

“Hang on kid, you weren’t called.”

Thomas ignored him and continued on, twisting his shoulders to bypass the guard. “I’m just gonna be a second-”

But the guard shoved him back. Newt tensed, and he almost leapt over there himself. But he resisted, wanting to see what Thomas would do.

“I just wanna see my friend, can you let me through?” Thomas pressed.

The guard growled, “Get your ass back in that chair.”

Thomas visibly sighed, and he relaxed. Slowly, he turned back to the table, dragging his steps. Newt opened his mouth to speak to him, but before he could, Thomas sprang back to the exit.

Twisting and shouting, he collided with the guard. Newt swung his legs over the bench and rushed over as the guard sent Thomas stumbling.

Thomas spat, “What’s your problem?”

Newt wedged between them. He placed a firm hand on Thomas’s chest, pressing him back. Thomas allowed it, but his fists clenched, and his eyes blazed.

The other guards closed in on the commotion. At that moment, Minho, Frypan, and Winston joined, flanking Newt and glaring at the guards as if to ward them off.

When Janson entered, he raised his eyebrows at the scene. He instantly targeted Thomas. “What’s happening here? Thomas, I thought we could trust each other. We’re on the same team here.”

Beneath his palm, Newt could feel Thomas’s heated chest - each strained breath, each thump of his heart. Thomas mirrored Janson’s cold stare. The look was so visceral, it was almost intimate.

Thomas exhaled once, shortly. “Are we?”

Janson merely held his gaze.

“Get them to their bunks,” Janson commanded.

Much hastier than usual, the guards forced the gladers back to their dorm. They stumbled in, and the door slammed and locked behind them.

Newt turned to Thomas, crossing his arms. “You didn’t think they were just gonna let you through?”

A grin tugged at the corner of Thomas’s lip. He dug into his pocket and whipped out the guard’s keycard, flashing it up for all to see.

That sly bastard.

“I’m gonna find out what’s on the other side of that door,” Thomas said. “Newt, these people are hiding something. They’re not who they say they are.”

Newt pursed his lips, frustrated. He already knew that swaying Thomas would be difficult, but at this point, he’s being reckless, not even considering Newt’s words. He couldn’t just say nothing.

“No, Thomas, you don’t know that! The only thing that we do know is that they helped rescue us from Wicked. They gave us food, clothes, a proper bed… Some of us haven’t had that in a long time.”

“But-”

“Some of us longer than others,” Newt said, staring firmly into Thomas’s eyes.

At this, Thomas's shoulders loosened, and the hand with the keycard dropped down. “Look, I-”

The vent cover skidded across the floor, and Aris popped out from underneath Newt’s bed. Did it really have to be his bed?

“Hi Thomas!” Aris said. “You got the card?”

Thomas rushed to the vent and lowered his legs into it. He glanced back at Newt, eyes determined. “Maybe you guys are right, maybe I’m just being paranoid. But I’ve gotta find out for sure. Just cover for me, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He disappeared into the vent with Aris.

Newt crossed his arms again and turned to Minho.

Minho shrugged knowingly. “After that twenty minute blood session, it was only a matter of time.”

“We did say that if he gets proof, we’ll go with him. Can’t blame him for doing that now,” Frypan said.

Newt shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

Winston chuckled, “Hey, Newt, I don’t mean to be mean, but you knew exactly what you were getting into before you started dating him.”

Exasperated, Newt sighed. “You’re right. And that’s why I’m getting these bloody backpacks ready.”

He grabbed the two runner’s packs and finished shoving the water bottles inside. Each held only three, but it was better than nothing. They might not even be able to bring them, but foreplanning was always necessary.

Thomas army-crawled through the shafts. As his chest passed over the vents, he eyed the hallways below. Everything seemed normal, and he saw only one doctor.

The vent was designed to be accessed from the outside, so it required a bit of shoving to open, but they managed. It swung down, and Thomas dropped to the ground. He glanced down the hallway, seeing it empty, and motioned for Aris to follow.

After Aris dropped and swung the vent shut, Thomas swiped open the door. They ducked inside, pressing themselves against the wall. The door sealed behind them.

The room was silent and dark, mostly lit up by an eerie blue glow. Thomas and Aris avoided the central path, opting to weave through the equipment on the side. Electrical panels and shelves of glassware surrounded them.

Then Thomas discovered the source of the glow. Cylindrical glass tubes, practically the size of him, harbored grotesque creatures suspended in liquid. Griever embryos - rows and rows of them - curled up and illuminated by the neon blue light. That was incriminating evidence on its own, but Thomas shuddered and continued on.

After the pair slipped through the second door, they emerged into a sea of bodies.

A mass of teenagers hung from the ceiling, heads bowed and feet bare. Masks hooked up to their noses facilitated breathing - or something close enough to breathing. Plastic tubes inserted into their skulls and the nape of their necks extracted liquid, which dripped, drop by drop, into clear test tubes.

To avoid the main path, Thomas and Aris reluctantly wove into the group of victims. One girl stood out. Her head hung down, raven hair obscuring her face. The sickliness of her skin absorbed the blue lighting. Fear struck Thomas, and his heart pounded. Was it Teresa?

He reached up a shaking hand and brushed aside her hair.

He didn’t recognize her.

“I…” Aris spoke brokenly, confused as he stepped before the girl’s limp body. “Rachel?”

“You know her?”

Aris didn’t glance at him, only stared up in shock. Even in the dimness, Thomas could see the quivering of his lip.

“I barely remembered her, but I knew she was my best friend. I thought she died in the escape,” Aris whispered.

Thomas touched her wrist to check her pulse. It was cold.

A sense of foreboding washed over him. Slowly, dreadfully, Thomas turned to gaze at the ghosts surrounding them.

There was one boy, he was slim, the brown skin of his legs washed out. His arms were toned yet entirely limp. And those hands, lying still, looking nothing like the ones which bandaged Alby. The ones which supported Thomas during the escape.

The buzzcut kept Jeff’s face clear of hair.

Thomas’s gaze flitted around without his permission, and he swore he caught sight of familiar dark skin and a stoic brow, but he forced his gaze downward. Gasping, he flopped against a pillar, beside another boy he dared not look at.

Aris copied him from another pillar. His expression was blank with grief. For a moment, they both sat in silence.

The slamming of the door startled them. Thomas pressed himself against the pillar, and he peeked around to see Janson pace down the path. As the Ratman passed, Thomas slid around the pillar, staying out of sight.

Janson spoke at his assistant. “You sure this can’t wait?”

“She was very specific, sir. She wanted to speak with you personally.”

“As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.”

Janson and his assistant reached the back of the room, and stood in front of a glass screen. The assistant pressed on a panel, and the screen lit up. Thomas’s heart nearly stopped.

The screen presented Dr. Ava Paige, commanding her desk.

Her eyes were cold, matching the starkness of her white suit. She had her hair trapped in a rigid bun. Technically, her hair was strawberry blonde, but that felt like too nice of a descriptor. Rather, it was blonde tainted with blood - a watery color, unable to resist the residue of every child she’d sacrificed.

Thomas’s breaths picked up. His heart thumped. His hands shook where they pressed against the pillar, adrenaline spiking through his limbs. Not only had he proven that Janson lied about the “refuge,” but that this entire facility was a facade.

Janson smirked and drew his shoulders back. “Good evening, Dr. Paige. It’s lovely to hear from you.”

“Change of plans, Janson,” Ava Paige said. “I’ll be needing the immunes a little sooner than expected.”

“You’ll be pleased with the results, they’re extremely promising. Whatever you’re doing to them in there, it’s working,” Janson said, a grin playing at his lips.

Ava Paige gave him a mildly annoyed stare. “Not well enough. I just received board approval. I want all the remaining subjects sedated and prepped for harvest by tomorrow morning.”

“Dr. Paige, we are going as fast as we can.”

“Try something faster. Until I can guarantee their security, this is the best plan.”

Janson casually leaned on one leg. “Ma'am, security is my job. We are on a twenty four hour lockdown here.”

Ava Paige raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Have you found the Right Arm?”

“Not yet. We tracked them as far as the mountains.”

“So they’re still out there,” Ava Paige said. She spoke rapidly, assertively. “They’ve already hit two of our installations. They want these kids as badly as we do. I cannot afford another loss, not now, when I am so close to a cure.”

Janson cocked his head. “Might I suggest we start with the most recent arrivals?”

She rubbed her forehead, scrunching her brow in annoyance. “Just get it done.”

Janson turned to walk away.

“Janson,” Ava Paige called. Her voice was surprisingly soft. “I don’t want them to feel any pain.”

Janson nodded shortly, and the call ended. As he paced past, trailed by his assistant, Thomas and Aris slipped around the pillars. Once the door shut, they waited for another two minutes, and then they panicked.

“Recent arrivals?”

“We need to leave!”

“Shit!”

The pair dashed away from the bodies, past the griever embryos. Thomas pressed his ear to the door, and upon hearing nothing, he burst through.

The vent was too high up to grab, so Thomas kneeled down and got Aris onto his shoulders. He stood, and Aris pried the vent open. He crawled inside, and Thomas jumped, dragging himself through the opening with Aris’s help.

They shut it, and Aris said, “Let’s go!”

“Wait!” Thomas hissed. “What about Teresa?”

“Shit,” Aris muttered. “I can get her. I know where her dorm is.”

“If she’s not there, just come back. How long do you think it’ll take?”

“Maybe ten to fifteen minutes?”

“Alright, hurry. Good luck.”

Thomas shoved his arms forward to crawl back to his dorm, and Aris went the opposite direction. When Thomas reached his home vent, he threw it open. Heaving for breath, he burst into the room. “We gotta go. We gotta go, right now!”

Startled, the other gladers jumped off their bunks.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Frypan asked.

Thomas tore off a bedsheet and rushed to the door, throwing it around the handle. “They’re coming for us!”

Newt asked, “What do you mean?”

“Who?” Minho pressed.

Winston said, “Are you sure-”

“Ava!” Thomas shouted. “It’s Wicked, it’s always been Wicked!” Frantic, Thomas snapped around to grab another sheet. But Newt blocked him, bracing an arm on the door behind him.

“Thomas,” Newt demanded.

Thomas paused. They stared at each other, chests rising and falling. Newt’s dark eyes pierced right through him. He stilled the entire dorm into quietness, pacifying Thomas’s panicked breaths without even a touch.

“Calm down,” Newt said. “I need you to talk to us.”

Thomas exhaled and nodded shakily. Newt stepped back, freeing Thomas from the door.

“Ava who?” Minho asked.

“Ava Paige. She’s alive, and this facility- I was right- it’s Wicked,” Thomas explained, hands flying.

“What did you see?” Newt pressed.

“Bodies. They were bodies,” Thomas said. “Wicked is harvesting liquids from us! And I- I saw Jeff.”

Winston murmured, “That’s… not possible. He’s dead.”

Thomas had thought that too. “He wasn’t exactly alive, either.”

Newt whispered, “Was Alby…”

“No, I didn’t stick around long enough to look,” Thomas muttered. “Because the Ratman is coming for us. I overheard him talking with Ava Paige, she wants all of us sedated by tomorrow. We need to get out while we still can.”

“Okay,” Newt said, resolute. “What’s the plan?”

“We need to wait for Aris and Teresa,” Thomas said. “Then we’ll get out through the vents.”

Newt raised an eyebrow. “All the way out?”

“Um…”

The hollow banging of metal interrupted them. Aris crawled out from under the bed, followed by a very disheveled Teresa.

“Oh my god,” Teresa gasped. Her gaze flitted around to everyone, taking them in. “Newt!”

Newt hugged her, and they wrapped their arms around each other firmly.

“What the hell have you been doing?” Newt asked. As he released her, he kept his hands on her shoulders.

“Wicked took me to work with them! Ava Paige is basically my mentor, and Tom-”

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked. Forcing her to work with them? Again? How sick must they be?

Teresa nodded. “They restored my memories. When Aris got me, I recognized him. Me, you, and Aris - we all worked together before the maze.” Briefly, with her eyes on Thomas, she seemed like she was going to speak more, but she faltered and let it go.

The gladers panned their gazes to Aris, who raised his hands in mock surrender.

“So you trust this kid?” Minho asked Thomas.

“We never would’ve gotten here without him,” Thomas replied. “We’d become just like the bodies in that room.”

“Hey,” Aris said carefully. “Wicked didn’t restore my memories, they treated me just like Thomas. My other friends didn't make it here, they were taken by a rebel group. I want to find them, but I can’t do that from in here.”

“So how exactly are we gettin’ out?” Newt urged.

“I have a plan, but you have to trust me,” Aris said. He glanced around at everyone, making sure that they were listening. “On the way here, Teresa and I saw Janson jogging down the hallway with some guards. So we really should get-”

“Fuck! Okay.” Thomas panicked, but he steadied himself. “Can we take the vents all the way to the warehouse?”

Aris shook his head. “No, they’re too small for most of you. Just follow me, I have a plan.”

Aris hopped into the vent, followed by Teresa. Everyone else did the same, the metal banging.

Meanwhile, Thomas shoved another sheet underneath the dorm door.

“Tommy!” Newt called, waiting for Thomas at the vent. A familiar backpack rested on his shoulders.

Thomas finished with the sheet and dropped in the vent behind Newt. They turned a few times, climbed up, dropped down, and eventually emerged out through a ground vent.

Thomas glanced both ways down the hallway. There was no one. He gestured for everyone to follow, but Aris stopped and shifted back to the vent. “Go to the main door without me, I’m gonna open it from the outside.”

“What?” Thomas said. “But we have the keycard.”

“You might be able to get out with it, but when they see you, they’re going to shut the place down and it won’t work. Just go!” Without waiting for an answer, Aris ducked into the vent and shut it behind him.

Thomas exhaled and turned back to the group. “Okay, okay. I think it's this way.”

They jogged down the hallway. The walls echoed the patters of their footsteps. They rounded a corner, and came face to face with a baffled Dr. Crawford.

Thomas paused. Everyone halted behind him. For a moment, he and the doctor stared at each other, unmoving.

Dr. Crawford sent Teresa a confused side-eye. “What are you kids doing up?”

No one responded.

Then Newt seized Thomas' arm, tugged him away, and they charged back down the hallway.

They turned right and approached a new door. It wasn’t the main vault door, but they still needed to get through. Thomas pressed the keycard into the slot, and it beeped open. As they rushed through, a guard appeared down the hall.

“Hey! I got ‘em!” The guard shouted, charging towards them.

“Shit!” Thomas yelped, and he cut down a right turn. He continued running, and he glanced back to see where everyone was.

Minho had stayed behind, standing beside the corner of that turn. Thomas ran back and opened his mouth to call out to him.

As Thomas feared, the guard rounded the corner. But there was no time to react.

Minho cried out, sprinted up, and slammed his knee into the guard’s chest. The guard collided against the wall with a grunt, banging his head. He slumped down and the gun clattered from his fingers.

Awed, Newt said, “Shit, Minho.”

Frpan approached and took a pistol from the guard’s holster. Thomas swept the stun gun off the ground and awkwardly rolled it in his hands. He’d never held one before, but it was warm - buzzing with energy - and he knew he could work with it.

They continued, and Thomas caught two guards by surprise, managing to stun them both. The gladers turned once more, and finally tore down the wide hallway to the warehouse. At the end, the main door waited for them.

Panting, Thomas reached the door and pressed the key card to the slot.

It flashed red. Declined. Thomas tried again, and again, but it was locked.

“Thomas! You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!” Janson called.

Thomas whipped around.

Janson stalked them from the end hallway, flanked by four guards, each wielding a large plastic shield. His steps were measured as he approached them, gradually eliminating their space.

Thomas snapped his stun gun up and stepped closer. The weight felt solid, good - finally, he had something to retaliate with. Despite the fear threatening to close his throat, he forced out a demand. “Open the door, Janson!”

“I’m trying to save your lives!” Janson yelled. He strolled carefully, his hands raised. “The maze was one thing, but you kids wouldn’t last one day out in the Scorch. If the elements won’t kill you, the cranks will.”

Thomas kept the gun raised and pointed. He pressed closer to Janson, moving himself further from the door. He could stun Janson, but the distance was far, and the guards were right there. Surely they’d react - and it’d be worse if he missed.

“Thomas, you have to believe me. I only want what’s best for you,” Janson called.

“Yeah, lemme guess,” Thomas uttered. “Wicked is good?”

“You’re not getting through that door, Thomas.”

Thomas paused, still aiming the gun at Janson. But the Ratman kept coming forward with the guards, closing in his space. The guards weren’t even in front of Janson, not even protecting him - they were purely there to prevent Thomas from running that way.

Thomas’s heart raced, and his finger tensed on the trigger. Even if he stunned Janson as a distraction, he couldn’t hit the guards, as their shields made them impenetrable. Maybe if he ran back to the group and got the pistol, he could fight.

But then there was a light chime. The sound of the opening door danced down the hallway.

Aris’s bright voice echoed off the walls. “Hey guys!”

Still staring at Janson, Thomas smirked. Janson’s face contorted from shock, to disbelief, and finally, beautiful anger - it was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. But Thomas didn’t get another moment to enjoy it.

Janson charged.

Thomas fired the gun, spamming it, forcing the guards to spring in front of Janson. As Thomas shuffled backwards, pelting them, their shields dispersed the electricity. He threw a glance back, and saw everyone successfully run through the door.

“Shut the main vault door,” Janson shouted into his walkie talkie. “Shut the main vault door!”

Thomas dropped the gun, stumbled backwards, and whipped around to dash towards the door. The distance was far, and the door dropped lower, and lower. Thomas’s calves burned from the sprint as Janson’s footsteps thundered behind him, the guards’ shouts reverberating off the walls.

His friends called to him, yelling desperate encouragement.

Thomas slid underneath the door just as it boomed shut.

Newt grabbed his arm, tugging him up, as Minho slammed a hammer into the door opener, breaking it for good. Thomas straightened, gasping for breath.

Janson appeared in the window, absolutely fuming.

Thomas’s reaction was purely instinctual.

He flipped Janson off.

Janson’s response couldn’t be heard through the thick glass, but his mouth moved with such precision that it didn’t matter.

“You little shit.”

An alarm blared in the background as the group rushed through the warehouse. When they reached the entrance, the orange lever caught Thomas’s attention. He heaved it downwards, and the doors parted.

There was no grass field, no sunlight, nothing to greet them into freedom.

Instead, whirling sand and a rush of biting wind engulfed them. Thomas threw his hand up in front of his eyes, and he could barely see anything. The light spilling from the warehouse was swiftly killed by the night, leaving a dark landscape for them to wander through.

Thomas glanced back at the group. Their chests heaved, and they stood straight, uncertainty lacing their features. Newt returned Thomas’s look, poised to leave, but he was waiting for something. They all waited, hesitant and scared.

The alarm, blaring over and over, rocked Thomas’s head.

But his heart thrummed faster.

“Let’s go!” Thomas shouted. He turned, ignored the shock of cold air, and jogged into the storm.

When the gladers sprang into action, and the wind rushed through Thomas’s lungs, he felt a spark of adrenaline. He shouted encouragement, and they ran together, deep into the night.

Chapter Text

The wind lashed, hurling sand around them. Newt squinted to protect his eyes - it wasn’t like he could see much in the darkness, anyways. He interlocked his hand with Thomas’s as they charged across the sand.

The gladers heaved their way up a dune and collapsed behind the top. Newt rolled onto his belly, and he gasped, the biting air difficult to breathe.

Back at the compound, light poured from the door, just as the guards began their search. Their sand bikes roared to life, and flashlights beamed through the night. Guards on foot ran in each direction.

“Let’s go!” Thomas shouted over the wind.

The gladers stumbled down the slope and continued running. Ankles bending on the sand, Newt fumbled his steps towards a mass of shadowy concrete. He reached it and peered through a teetering doorway. Inside, it was dark, but sheltered.

“In here!” Newt called, and the gladers all piled in.

The sand spilled downwards, and they slipped until it leveled out. To fight the pitch darkness, Newt flicked on his flashlight. The guard that Minho knocked out had it strapped to his back – now Newt was glad to have seen it.

The light illuminated a decrepit room - but that was a generous term to describe it, really. The area was defined by crumbling cement walls, and the sand spilling in from outside. Beyond where the spilling sand ended, an eerie hallway awaited them. Outside, the wind howled across the Scorch.

Newt shuddered, part from the atmosphere, and part from the cold. His thin long-sleeve did little to protect him.

Frypan spoke into the stillness, and his voice wavered slightly. “Ever heard of the buddy system?”

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Thomas muttered.

“Don’t slink off without us, Aris,” Minho said.

“Very funny,” Aris deadpanned.

Minho turned on his own flashlight - one Newt had found back in the dorm - warming the area up even more.

“Hold on,” Teresa said. “Before we go anywhere, I need an explanation. Thomas, what’s going on?”

Thomas turned to Teresa, who seemed very confused. Newt respectfully shined the light on the ground to not blind them.

“You said you were working with Paige, right?” Thomas said. “They lied to us, they told us Wicked was gone. But that was Wicked. They’re harvesting us for something, a serum, blood, I don’t know. But we had to get out.”

Teresa furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, harvesting? You mean blood sampling?”

“No.” Thomas shook his head. “They sedated a bunch of them, hung them from the ceiling.”

“Sedated the maze kids?” Teresa hissed.

“Yes!”

“That doesn’t make sense…”

“Okay, let’s sort this out later,” Newt said. “We need a plan.”

“Wait!” Teresa exclaimed. Her gaze was wide, trained on Thomas. “I said earlier that we worked together with Wicked, and that’s true, but… also… we’re siblings.”

Only the wind howled outside, it was so quiet. Thomas’s jaw dropped. He seemed to be at a loss for words. He wasn’t happy, merely shocked. It made sense, to find out that an institution that you worked at forced you to forget your own sister? It must be devastating.

Newt nearly laughed with the realization. These two being siblings made complete sense. How Teresa instantly knew Thomas’s name, their incessant curiosity, their shared disregard for impossible obstacles…

Minho broke the tension. “You guys look nothing alike.”

“Actually, I think it explains a lot,” Newt remarked.

“Wow,” Thomas said. He collected himself, and gave an exaggerated grin. “A sister… We’re like, power siblings. One smart, and one bold, taking on the trials of the Scorch together!” He ended the statement with a pump of his fist.

Smiling softly, Teresa rolled her eyes. “To be clear, I’m the older one.”

“You’re plenty smart,” Newt said, giving Thomas a pat on the shoulder. “Well, on occasion.”

Thomas chuckled, but then trailed off. Newt’s statement was a joke, which Thomas would normally take completely well. So his subdued reaction nearly made him retract it.

But then Thomas spoke, fumbling for words, guessing where he got them from. “What did… I mean, were we partners? At the lab and… Wicked?” He winced at the last word.

“Yeah. We did everything together,” Teresa said. Then she added, “Well, for a while.” She shrugged as she said it, like that little comment didn’t mean much to her, but Newt could sense her hesitancy.

And Thomas tilted his face down, seeming to hunch into himself.

Newt knew what it was like, to grieve something you never knew. These reminders of Thomas’s past were likely painful to hear. Because he wasn’t that person anymore - none of them were.

But, if Newt stopped Thomas from dwelling on the past, that might help him feel better. So he laid a hand on Thomas’s back, atop his cold shirt. “We can spend more time on this later. What’re you thinkin’ about doing? Right now, we need a plan, yeah?”

Thomas nodded and drew his shoulders back, as if feeling more confident. But he stayed silent, and wouldn’t meet Newt’s gaze.

Newt’s concern quickly expanded into fear. This wasn’t the time for hesitancy. Their situation would turn dire if they didn’t do something.

“You do have a plan, right?” Newt asked.

Thomas mumbled something unintelligible.

“Well, we followed you out here,” Newt said, exasperated. “I got these lights, and the water bottles, to give us a fighting chance. And now you’re saying that you have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing?”

“Wait!” Aris said. “Janson said something about people hiding in the mountains. Some kind of resistance.”

Thomas nodded rapidly. “Yeah! The Right Arm. Maybe they can help us.”

“People. In the mountains,” Newt said. “Mountain people. That’s your plan?!”

Thomas held out his palms in defeat. “It’s the only chance we have.”

Newt had suspected that Thomas wouldn’t plan beyond the escape. However, Newt assumed that he’d still have some kind of direction. A person, a name, a place - at least one more specific than ‘mountains.’

Newt took a resigned breath. “Alright. We need to get away from that storm, try to find supplies.” He shone the light down the eerie hallway, which seemed to span deep enough. “This way.”

They stuck to the clear path, ignoring the rusty metal that stuck out from the concrete. The sand screamed from being crunched by their shoes.

Eventually, they reached an exposed area. In the center, two dead escalators rose to a second level. The ceiling was high, and pitch-black - exactly like the maze at night. A single crack in it allowed in frightful streaks of moonlight, which barely lit anything as they shied away from the looming shadows. Piles of sand masked the open mouths of other doorways.

Newt panned his flashlight around until he landed on an open doorway. Through it was a large room, littered with the remains of an abandoned camp. Newt walked into it.

He saw old beds, clothing scraps, and torn photographs scattered around. Tables of dusty equipment with chairs knocked over. The burnt wick of a melted candle, spilling over the side of a plate.

They stepped around the beds towards the back. Mostly, the crates were empty or filled with trash. But one stuck out: it contained sealed plastic bottles, full of clear water.

With the confirmation that they wouldn’t die from thirst, Newt felt safe enough to scavenge for other supplies.

Teresa crouched at a pile of clothing, and Newt copied her, searching for things that would fit him. He pulled out a wide orange scarf, and Winston found a black jacket. Minho got his own jacket, then collected backpacks for everyone, stuffing them with water.

When Newt found a zip-up windbreaker, he thought it might work for him, just being a little loose. But wanted Thomas to have a jacket first, so he pressed it into Thomas’s hands.

“Thanks,” Thomas muttered.

“A can opener,” Aris said, lifting it up. He was at the junk table, studying the old electronics and tools. “There might be food here.”

Suddenly, Thomas straightened, leaving a gap of cold air.

Newt’s chest jolted, and before he could process the motion, he sprang up to grip Thomas’s bicep.

When he realized, Newt flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered, jerking his hand away.

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it,” Thomas said, nudging Newt’s arm. “But I do want to explore more. There might be more useful things.”

“Wait for me, alright? I still need a jacket.”

“I’ll go with him,” Minho chimed in. “Let’s go, greenie. The runners are back!”

Newt couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t go far.”

Frypan called, “Take this!” He tossed the pistol to Thomas, who caught it with a grin.

Thomas and Minho left through the doorway. As they turned out of sight, their light slowly dimmed. Their voices grew quieter until they disappeared entirely, but Newt felt reassured that they were together.

Newt resumed shuffling through the clothing pile. It wasn’t all clothing, however.

He pulled out a thin leather cord. Its two ends were tied together into a circle, at the perfect size for a necklace. He knew instantly what it would be for: Chuck’s- or, Thomas’s dove? Newt had noted the hole in the wing a while ago, but he hadn’t thought much of it. But now, by being on the run, the risk of losing it was high. And if that happened, Thomas would be crushed.

So Newt threaded the cord around his neck for safe-keeping.

“Wins, I don’t think that’s gonna fit me,” Frypan chuckled.

Cheekily, Winston was holding up a tiny purple t-shirt. “But the unicorn design fits you! Actually though, I don’t think wearing a dead girl’s clothing is a good thing…”

Newt snorted. “We’ll wear a dead man’s clothin’ instead, that’s much better.”

Winston laughed, while Frypan shuddered.

Newt finally found a suitable brown jacket, which he pulled on.

Already having found her clothes, Teresa was sitting on a mattress behind Newt. She’d chosen a long overcoat, which protected the brightness of her white tank top. She remained still, staring down at a photograph.

Newt sat beside her. Her photo showed a child, beaming at the camera as they hugged their stuffed bear.

Teresa’s hand dropped down. “You know what doesn’t add up?”

“What?”

“Ava Paige told me that Wicked was going to do another trial. First the maze, then the Scorch Trials. But now Thomas and Aris say they saw unconscious bodies?”

“What else did she say?” Newt asked.

“She-” Teresa stilled. The hand holding the picture hovered uncertainly.

“Teresa?”

“Sorry,” Teresa said, shaking her head. “She wanted me to monitor the trials. To be on Wicked’s side.”

“Sounds like she lied, then. They restored your memories too, no? She was probably tryin’ to get you to stick around. Luckily we got outta there before she could do anythin’ else.”

“Yeah, definitely…” Teresa muttered. As her voice quieted, she stared unfocused on something distant.

“You okay?” Newt asked.

“To be honest, this place is creeping me out,” Teresa admitted. For a moment, her gaze flickered between Newt’s eyes. “I’m scared for our future out here.”

Newt nudged her arm. “I know, but hey, we didn’t survive a near-death experience together just to not do it again.”

Teresa gave a small smile, but it faded quickly. Newt didn’t know what to make of it. She must be scared, and hell, it would be a lie to say that Newt wasn’t a little scared too.

From the other side of the room, Frypan asked, “You guys think we’ll need these bandages?”

“Grab ‘em,” Newt said. “You never know.”

“I don’t even know if they’re usable, to be honest. I’m no medjack.”

“I’ll take a look,” Teresa offered. She stood and walked over to him.

Aris approached Newt, holding out his backpack. “I found a flashlight, a can opener, and one can of soup. Nothing else.”

“Something’s better than nothing,” Newt replied.

Aris resumed rummaging through the junk table, and Newt quietly observed him. He didn’t know Aris very well, and had actively expressed mistrust for him. Thomas had only interacted with him a few times. Teresa likely knew him the best, but even that was one way. And still, Aris was being incredibly helpful to the whole group.

Newt plopped onto a chair next to Aris’s table. “Hey, thanks for everything back there. You didn’t have to open that door.”

Aris paused his movements. “It’s nothing, really.”

“If you don’t mind me askin’, why didn’t you leave without us? You could’ve escaped without the guards on your tail.”

“Well, first of all, I can’t survive in the Scorch alone. But it was more than that, too,” Aris said softly. He twiddled with his thumbs, gazing downwards.

Newt eased back into his chair, conveying a sense of calmness. He let the silence hang, giving Aris full freedom to talk.

“I didn’t tell the full story of how I got here,” Aris explained. “I said that a rebel group took my friends, which is true, but I left out the other part- the part where I decided to stay with Wicked.”

“But you didn’t know it was Wicked at the time,” Newt said.

Aris sighed. “What I did was still cowardly. Sonya and Harriet were taken, getting loaded into a truck at gunpoint. I had a few seconds where I could’ve gone with them! But I hesitated. Now I don’t even know if they’re alive.”

“Hey, you were caught in the middle of a rebel attack. I can’t blame you.”

Distressed, Aris wrung a cloth in his hands. “I left them. I feel terrible. Seeing Thomas is an inspiration for me. He’d do anything for you guys, no questions asked.”

“Look at you now, though,” Newt encouraged. “Standing up to Janson? Braving the Scorch? I wouldn’t count yourself out.”

Aris huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

Newt couldn’t restrain the sarcasm in his reply. “Alright then, sure. It’s no big deal that you essentially broke out seven kids all by yourself. Truly terrible.”

Aris scoffed.

But Newt placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging look. “C’mon, let’s finish searchin’ here and then join up with Tommy and Minho. If the rebel group that got your friends was the Right Arm, then we can find ‘em.”

Aris put the cloth down, and the tension in his shoulders eased.

The abandoned mall seemed simultaneously expansive, yet suffocating. Thomas and Minho passed more stained mattresses, decaying clothing in crates, and a sequence of unlit lamps, all organized throughout the hallway. Clearly, the old inhabitants adapted pretty well to the harsh environment.

Their footsteps scratched a thin layer of sand - the only disturbance for the otherwise silent area.

Minho’s voice was subdued, like he was actually kinda scared but not acknowledging it. “All those kids that we left back there. I don’t want to end up like that. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Thomas said. “Let’s look for survivors, anyone that can help us.”

“Does he count?” Minho casted the light onto a dead body. Propped in a chair, its bony fingers gripped the armrests. A translucent bag suffocated the head, its ties strangling the decaying flesh.

They both shuddered and moved on. Minho panned the light around slowly, sweeping the area in front of them. He said, “If we get out alive, I can’t wait to fight back.”

The words drifted passively by Thomas. He simply replied, “Fight… who?”

Minho threw a look at Thomas. “Wicked? Y’know, ‘cause we plan to join the Right Arm? The resistance group? Ring any bells?”

Right… WCKD. Thomas hadn’t given them much thought beyond ‘escape.’ He didn’t see the point in fighting, because why should he be concerned with that right now, anyways? They had plenty of other concerns.

Minho laughed like he’d read his mind. “So you want to join the rebellion, just to not rebel? Shank, I think that sting did more to you than we thought.”

“Shut it,” Thomas said, chuckling. “Of course I wanna fight.”

Soon, they came across an array of crates and tables.

“Look!” Minho exclaimed.

The canned goods of soup, beans, and corn were a heavenly sight. Thomas and Minho quickly stuffed as much as they could into their bags, but there was more than could fit. A good problem to have, Thomas supposed.

Yet still, the back of his mind nagged him. Given the number of beds, this mall must’ve had a full stock of people. Those people had to eat for who knows how long. So how could there still be so much food?

As they stepped deeper down the hall, the beds began to trickle out, until they disappeared entirely. The lamps stopped as well, replaced with broken glass and old cans.

Minho stopped walking. “I think we’re good. There’s nothing else down here, and our bags are full.”

Their bags might be full, but Thomas did have two free hands. He eyed the hallway, focusing to see more through the darkness. He could make out a chain linked fence in the distance, and a stack of crates on the other side. The new objects seemed to whisper to him - drawing him in - and suddenly, going back to the space behind him felt less appealing.

“Let’s just look for five more minutes,” Thomas said. “It’s worth seeing if there’s any tools, like a can opener.” And despite Minho being the one with the flashlight, Thomas strolled forward. Behind him, Minho sighed and jogged to catch up.

They had to stop at the fence, as it extended across the whole hallway. It was nothing like Thomas had expected.

Twisted and warped, the fence was decorated in rust. Bouquets of fake flowers lined the base, their bright colors dulled by the dusts of time. Melted candles limped between them. There was even a stuffed bear, gray with grime. To top it off, the fence’s gate was shut with a rusty, thin lock.

Minho shone the light beyond the fence. From somewhere inside, an inhuman groan trickled out.

Thomas tensed, heart racing.

There was a pause where Thomas breathed.

And then the fence came alive.

A creature threw itself at them, screeching, rattling the chains. More and more convulsed onto the fence, straining spindly fingers. Inked eyes locked onto Thomas, their translucent skin spiraling with dark veins.

“We gotta go!” Minho shouted.

They sprinted away just as the gate shattered. Glass crackled, crates toppled behind them. Wails echoed throughout the mall, bouncing off his shoulder blades like the grace of bony fingers. Thomas pumped his arms faster.

“Hey!” He screamed.

Newt and the others materialized in the distance. They weren’t moving, only staring, confused.

“Run!” Minho screamed.

As Thomas and Minho charged up to them, shouting desperately, they finally got the memo.

The gladers sprinted up the escalator, up towards the moonlight. Their flashlights beamed everywhere, frantic, as the cranks’ shrieks swelled. When they reached the top, Thomas turned and fired the pistol at the cranks funneling onto the escalator.

They swarmed the escalator, creeping higher, piling over the collapsed ones. Thomas panted, pistol shaking in his inexperienced grip. There were too many, too many, he couldn’t aim, and they scrawled higher, and higher-

“Thomas!” Frypan grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

They charged across the second level, and Newt was lagging behind. The second that Thomas whipped around to check on him, it was almost too late.

A crank tackled Newt and pinned him down, and he punched it in the face, but it only writhed in response, snapping its teeth.

Merciless, Thomas sprinted up and slammed his boot into the crank, crashing it into the side fencing. It fell back to the first floor, wailing all the way down.

“Thanks, Tommy!” Newt gasped.

But the horde wasn’t done yet. They emerged from the escalator, squealing, mouths open and grinning, on a hunt for sport.

Thomas yanked Newt up, they resumed the dash. Winston swiped the pistol off the ground where Thomas had dropped it.

The gladers ducked into a brick hallway. The doorway at the end had a window - where moonlight trickled in.

Minho got there first, and he tried to open it, but the door was stuck.

Shrieks reverberated into Thomas’s chest, and he snapped around. Cranks stormed the narrow hallway, colliding into the wall and piling over each other, their sights fixated on the gladers.

But Winston whipped out the pistol and shot the cranks, one by one, holding them off. “Get it open!”

Minho sprinted at the door, banging it with his shoulder, but it only twitched in response. The cranks gained on them, overpowering Winston’s shots.

“Move!” Frypan shouted. With a running start, he slammed into the door and it flew open.

The gladers stumbled out, slipping on the sandy concrete. Thomas turned back to try and block the door, just as Winston was dashing out.

But the cranks grabbed him, and Winston fell with a scream. The door swung shut onto his ribcage, threatening to close him in.

Frypan screamend, “No!” He seized one of Winston’s arms, and Thomas the other. His grip slipped around Winston’s sleeve, but he desperately held on.

Thomas threw a helpless glance to Minho, who snatched the gun off the ground. For a moment, Minho fumbled with the unfamiliar object, trembling as he adjusted the grip.

A second later, Winston grunted and kicked behind him, allowing Frypan and Thomas to yank him out. They dragged him to safety as Newt slammed the door closed.

“Block it with something!” Newt cried.

Teresa yelled, “Watch out!” She tipped over a tall metal crate, and Newt jumped away as it crashed in front of the door.

Thomas scrambled to his feet. They all backed away as the cranks swarmed the door, heads and arms poking through.

“This way!” Aris called.

Thomas ran after Aris across the wide parking lot, towards the sand spilling in from outside. The screeches at his back spurred him. Gasping for breath, he climbed a heap of crumbled concrete.

Thomas stumbled down a dune, flying by more concrete, barely even visible in the swirling sand. He found a semi-enclosed area - but it was too dark to discern anything else about it. So he pressed his back against the cold concrete, and shouted for his friends.

Newt sat together with him, arm to arm, leg to leg. Newt hooked his arm around Thomas’s and clutched his hand tightly. And Thomas gripped back, trying to steady their shaking.

The screeches blended with the cries of the wind. All the flashlights were shut off, bringing darkness. The wind was sharp, and although they had some shelter, its chill was apparent. Sand in the air brushed Thomas’s cheeks.

Eventually, over what could’ve been hours, the cranks’ shrieks died down. Thomas’s heart rate slowed, and his eyelids drooped. But he snapped them open, unwilling to sleep yet.

Newt fell asleep first. He slouched down and dropped his head onto Thomas’s shoulder, a warm weight.

Thomas’s head lowered onto Newt’s. He listened to the wails of the wind, praying he wouldn’t hear the cranks, and desperately held onto consciousness.

Chapter Text

A dream plagued Thomas that night.

He stood atop the maze. The wind whistled, dipping in and out of the sprawling dark hallways. It knocked into his chest, and he shuffled to keep balance. Dead vines, creeping out of cracks in the stone, crunched beneath his feet.

Newt stood before him, facing away. The wind thrashed Newt’s hair, mangling his loose hoodie. His hands pulsed, switching between open palms and tight fists.

“Newt?”

Newt didn’t respond. He gazed off at the clouds, indifferent to the growling abyss of the maze before him. The tips of his shoes hovered over it, tipping into the blackness below.

Thomas’s heart leapt into his throat as Newt rocked, back and forth - on pause, temporarily swayed from his plan.

“Newt!” Thomas stretched a hand out, fingertips splayed wide, but he couldn’t reach him. He made contact with something, but it wasn’t Newt’s arm or even air that Thomas touched.

It was glass.

The glass materialized into a computer screen, electrically hot where he graced Newt’s pixelated torso. Statistics on the screen displayed Newt’s heart beats per minute. The white sleeve of Thomas’s lab coat obscured the rest of his view. On the desk, papers of experiments and notes - Thomas’s notes - scattered before him. Scratches of red and black ink, of the trials, and the variables, subjects, days, how many days? A4, A5-

Thomas swept the notes off the desk - pens clattered to the floor - and he shot up from his chair.

Newt’s foot slid over the ledge, balance teetering, and Thomas’s throat choked with a scream.

Thomas jerked awake. Gasping, he darted his gaze around. A ring of rocks and concrete surrounded him, daylight playing off the surfaces. The sand was cold beneath his outstretched legs, which leaned against Newt’s.

Newt had his arms crossed over his stomach, still hooked with Thomas’s. Thomas readjusted his own arm, making the connection more secure. His heart was still racing. He willed it to stop.

That dream had to be part memory. It was too vivid to be otherwise.

He knew that he was on the other side of the maze, with WCKD. And he knew that he’d seen the gladers die. But this? Confirmation that he’d just… watched on, diligently updating his notebook, while Newt suffered. Until it happened.

The muscles of his abdomen, of his shoulders, clenched as he resisted the urge to collapse and clutch at his own head.

He had to stop. He couldn’t think about it. Now, Newt was alive and safe. Twice, they’d left WCKD in the dust. Changing that was the last thing Thomas wanted. He had to protect Newt. The dream was just that - a dream. It didn’t matter.

Sharp whispers drifted to him, and Thomas glanced to the side. He saw Teresa and Frypan crouched around Winston, who was slumped against a rock. His torn pant revealed a bite on his calf - violet with infection.

Teresa dribbled water onto Winston’s wound. It ran off as blackened blood, dripping onto the sand.

“It’s not worth it,” Winston croaked.

Teresa ignored him and used a cloth to dry the skin surrounding the wound. She pulled out a roll of bandages, and while careful not to hurt him, she guided it around his calf.

“Teresa,” Winston pressed.

Teresa shook her head as she continued wrapping. “The sand will get into it. It’ll burn.”

Unable to protest, Winston dropped his head back onto the rock. He gave a weary cough. Frypan rubbed his shoulder.

Thomas had never seen someone get the Flare. Winston was supposed to be immune, so maybe these were normal symptoms from a bite?

But Winston coughed again, wet, and a pit formed in Thomas’s stomach.

Then Thomas noticed the sticky coat in his mouth. He longed for water, but his backpack was still on his shoulders - trapped between him and the concrete. The instant that Newt awoke, Thomas swung the backpack off his shoulders, whipped out a water bottle, and chugged it down.

“Shit, Tommy,” Newt chuckled. “Not so fast, we gotta save it.”

Thomas exhaled and pulled the bottle from his lips. Only a few swallows were left. He grinned lopsidedly. “Yeah… you’re right. But you should drink, too.”

Newt did, albeit much more slowly, leaving half the bottle.

The group passed around the can opener for breakfast. The clammy soup flew over Thomas’s tongue so he didn’t have to taste it, but the liquid barely filled his empty stomach.

But Thomas was still grateful - without Newt’s foresight, they never would’ve found the food or water. Last night, they’d filled their steel bottles and took as many extra plastic ones as possible. Their backpacks were now stuffed with resources.

When Thomas finished the can, he dropped it loosely, letting it roll away for a second. He paused, listening to the others’ rustles. Other than the sounds of their clothing, the silence felt hot, and hollow - like the space was holding back, and a crank was going to jump out any moment. But that couldn’t be true. If that were the case, they would’ve been attacked during the night.

Still, he stood so he could shuffle his feet and release some of his nerves.

The thud of someone landing on the sand made Thomas turn around. Back by the concrete, Newt had his hands on the ground. With his bad leg sticking out, he pushed himself up - but he collapsed, and dust clouds flew from under him. Thomas reached out, but Newt waved him off.

“I got it,” Newt grumbled. “It’s always stiff in the morning.”

“But, bab-”

Newt swung a glare at him, but he did have a flush on his cheeks.

Thomas shrugged. “Okay. I’ll just stretch, all alone.”

Newt resumed his attempts to stand - with similar results. Last night’s running was definitely making this harder for him. But still, Newt didn’t want help, so Thomas forced himself away.

He made it to the edge of their small cove, where he could overlook the abandoned city. The skyscrapers were either teetering, or already collapsed. Some looked like they'd been bombed. Stretching beyond the city was the Scorch - waves of pale dunes and shy shadows.

Suddenly, wind gusted through his lungs, like he was swaying over the edge of an abyss, and Thomas stiffened. The wind ceased as soon as it arrived, stealing his breath with it.

With his heart skipping, he closed his eyes and exhaled longly. He took another breath, and another, and once more. He just had to keep moving - get away from this odd place.

After his heart reasonably slowed, he opened his eyes. In the distance, the mountains loomed over the Scorch. They weren’t so far that they blended with the horizon. Instead, they rose above, conquering the hazy ripples of heat.

Thomas took a determined inhale, then turned back to the gladers. “We should get going. We’ve gotta travel before the sun peaks.”

There were a few nods. Thomas glanced at Newt in time to see him stumble to his feet. As he leaned on the concrete, he gingerly tested his weight on his knee. He winced, and it felt like the griever sting all over again. Sharp, sudden, and of Thomas’s own doing.

“You okay?” Thomas asked, hands hovering.

“Yeah,” Newt said. He strutted forward as if to prove it. “By the way, I have somethin’ for you.” Newt traced his fingers around his neck. From under his shirt, he pulled out a thin leather cord.

Thomas dove into his pocket and presented Chuck's dove. Together, they threaded the cord through the hole in the wing. To finalize the dove’s protection, Thomas draped it from his neck, and slipped it under his shirt.

Newt patted the dove where it rested over Thomas’s heart. “There.”

The gladers finished gathering what little they had, and swung their packs on their shoulders. Newt reminded them that they should ‘cover their tracks’ by burying the used food cans, and Thomas wondered how he’d ever survive without him.

Then Thomas tugged Newt’s hand, starting the trek.

Up close, the city’s desolation was apparent. Crumbled concrete rose on either side of them. Ghostly fabric swayed in door frames, dissolved of color. Rusty cars careened into piles of sand, and occasionally, a feeble twig reached from the rubble.

Thomas had zoned out, hardly focused on the rocky steps before him, when he heard a distant rumble. A familiar sound, like that of a helicopter.

Thomas yanked the jacket off his head. He whipped around, and around, but the sounds echoed equally from all directions.

“Hide!” Thomas barked. “Everybody hide!”

The gladers ducked underneath a concrete slab. Thomas crawled, hands scraping the sand, then threw his back to the scratchy concrete. The rumbling increased, until the helicopter passed over. Rather than a single propeller, it sported four, all slicing through the sky in a blur of steel. Gleaming on its side were the letters ‘W.C.K.D.’

After the helicopter disappeared over the buildings, the rumbling began to fade. Eventually, the rumbles stopped entirely, leaving them in stuffy silence. Once Thomas felt safe enough, he motioned for the gladers to follow.

The sun radiated. Thomas swore he could feel each increasing degree as it rose higher, and higher. At some point, he slipped his arms out of his jacket, and only wore the hood, blocking the blaze whilst allowing airflow.

Salty sweat dripped from his forehead to his lips. His dark boots burned his feet. Step by step, one by one. The crunching of Newt walking beside him helped motivate him. Sometimes, when Thomas had the breath, he chatted with Newt. He treated those moments as equal to his sips of water.

Hanging over his head, Newt’s orange scarf ruffled in the breeze, painting his flushed face in sun kissed light. He found it interesting that the sun’s path wasn’t directly in the middle of the sky. Rather, it was a bit off to the side - completely unlike the glade, he said.

Thomas couldn’t agree more. The Scorch was all open and dry. Nothing green.

Thomas occasionally swallowed water - just enough to keep going, never enough to be satisfied. Teresa explained that dehydration would signal the body to retain more water. She warned everyone to conserve, but still to drink to stay alive.

Winston was the only one who never drank. He was in the back, exhaustedly trailing beside Frypan.

So when the group hiked up a rocky dune, Winston collapsed.

Frypan cried out, and fell to his knees beside his friend.

Thomas leapt down to them. Winston was on his back, heaving for air, the veins in his neck straining as he wheezed. When Winston finally calmed his gasping, he tried to reassure everyone with a hazy nod.

Minho took the initiative to search for fabric scraps to make a stretcher.

Thomas sat on Winston’s other side, a hand on his shoulder. Newt hovered, shading Winston’s face from the sun.

“Hey, hey, Winston, are you listening?” Thomas asked.

Winston nodded faintly. His sweat-drenched hair flopped over sickly skin.

“Okay. We’re gonna get you on that stretcher, and we’re gonna find somewhere safe to stay tonight. We’ve got you, alright?”

Winston agreed, but Thomas thought he would protest if he had the energy to do so.

With Minho and Frypan exhausted - practically slipping on the sand from pulling Winston - Thomas decided that the gladers needed a break.

They stopped when they reached the outskirts of the city. Thomas found a concrete construction for them, mostly shielded from the elements. It had three rough sides and a roof for shade, and nothing in the interior.

Once he was set down, Winston leaned off the stretcher and hacked out a cough, spattering black saliva onto the sand. Frypan offered him water, but of course, he was waved off.

Teresa stood off to the side, a crease in her brow as she observed the interaction. Then she rushed out.

Newt pulled Thomas into a loose hug. “Go speak to her. I think all this apocalypse stuff affects her a lot.”

“Okay,” Thomas said, giving Newt a quick kiss on the cheek.

Newt hissed quietly. “Careful, Tommy. I think I’m burned there.”

“How? We’ve been out for less than a day!”

Newt groaned and dropped his head onto Thomas’s shoulder. “I dunno, leave me alone.”

Winston chimed in, his voice hoarse. “Imagine having pale skin.”

“Hey,” Newt chuckled, despite the distant look in his eye. He sent Winston a faded smile. “The glade never burned us, I had no reason to worry about it. I’m not that pale.”

“Thomas is tan enough,” Minho added, with a half-hearted smirk. “He can join the brown skin club.”

Newt nudged Thomas away. “You were in the middle of somethin’.”

Thomas glanced once more at Winston, who lounged as if sleeping. But his hands - folded together on his chest - were twitching.

Thomas’s chest tightened, and he walked out.

Perched at the top of a sand dune, Teresa gazed at the mountains. Her hair swayed away from her statue-still posture. The beaming sunlight made her hair browner - more like Thomas’s own. He stood beside her and copied her gaze.

Chiseled in strokes of sunlight, the mountains were well-defined; peaks and valleys freshly crafted. Barely, he could make out where their rocky bases met the desert.

“It’s like they’re getting further away,” Teresa muttered.

“We just have to keep going,” Thomas said.

From back at the shelter, Newt called, “How’s it lookin’?”

Thomas yelled back, “Just a little further!”

Though it was quiet, Thomas swore he heard a dry comment from Newt: “That’s not very convincing.”

Thomas huffed in amusement.

“I need to talk to you,” Teresa said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

Teresa shook her head. Her crystal eyes were muddled with thought. “I do remember you, not just in the lab. I remember us, as siblings. I was taller and faster than you for most of your life,” she said, voice fond. “And I remember why we were there. At Wicked. I thought we could fix all this.”

She spoke fast, rushing out the words. “I think we should go back.”

Stunned, Thomas waited for her to retract the statement, but she didn’t. She maintained determined eye contact.

“What?” Thomas said. “After all they’ve done to us? After everything we did?”

“It’s not that simple-”

“Yeah, I think it is that simple,” Thomas scoffed.

Teresa inhaled, then exhaled shortly. “Newt’s not immune.”

Thomas stared at her, searching for signs of a joke, but he found none. Only wide, terrored eyes. “He… he’s like Winston?”

Teresa nodded apprehensively.

The sand blurred. Thomas blinked, sucked in a breath, and the dry air stuffed his throat. Then he turned, stumbled one, two steps down the dune, but Teresa grabbed his wrist.

Thomas whirled to her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s Newt! You know how he’d react. I needed to talk to you first.”

“Who else isn’t immune?” Thomas asked.

“No one else.”

“How did you find out?”

“Ava Paige.”

Sweat wetted Thomas’s palms as he clenched his fists. He thought he’d known true terror back in the maze, from running with cranks, but both experiences paled in comparison to the genuine fear coursing through him now. “But, how can we go back? I mean, I saw the bodies. Would that even be an improvement?”

“It would!” Teresa said. “I’ll talk to Ava. She likes me. I’m certain we don’t need to do those trials. We’ll find the cure another way. I’ll get her to keep us safe- to keep Newt safe. ”

WCKD stood for everything Thomas despised. They took his memory, dehumanized him and turned his friends into subjects. They caused Newt’s depression. Chuck, Alby, everyone - they died at the claws of the maze. At the orchestration of Ava Paige - and himself.

But now even the mountains - ever present on the horizon - seemed bleak. Murky with gray, like faded pencil between the pages of a forgotten project. The only clear thing was the orange sand at his feet. But it too would become dark, when night fell. When the cranks came out. Newt already had a close call at the mall. What if Thomas hadn’t been there? What if there were more?

Thomas’s lips moved, but no sound came out. “Okay.”

“What’s that?” Teresa pressed.

“Okay. Let’s go back.”

Teresa sighed in relief. “I’ll go get him.” She rushed down the slope.

In the burning sun, Thomas remained there, staring vacantly at the sand. Consciously, he hated the idea of going back to WCKD, but his body seemed to be holding back the fear for him.

When Teresa returned with Newt, he stood before them, arms crossed. He glanced at them both expectantly.

“We want to go back,” Thomas revealed.

Newt’s jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

Thomas shook his head desperately. “It’s different now.”

“What could possibly-”

“You’re not immune, Newt,” Teresa said. “What happened to Winston, that’s…”

“No.” Appalled, Newt glanced between the both of them. “No! I’m not lettin’ you guys sacrifice yourselves just to save me.”

“It’s not like that! I’ll talk to Ava, I’ll change the way they do the experiments,” Teresa argued.

Newt scoffed and threw his hands in the air. “What, so you trust her now? She lied to you about the Scorch Trials! She faked her own death! Did she even tell you about Winston?”

Teresa shook her head, sheepish.

“She can’t be reasoned with,” Newt declared.

Thomas took Newt’s hands into his. “But Newt, I can’t- I can’t go on without you. You have to consider-”

“Sheesh, Tommy. You’d think I’d already died,” Newt said, sighing. “I was in that bloody maze for three years. I’m not puttin’ us through that again. My mind is made up. You can’t go back without me.”

Newt’s words kept piling up, and up, like an hourglass of corpses - and tears burned Thomas’s eyes. Three years. That was already a punch to the gut, then there was the uppercut of such a self-sacrificial decision, and death, and that Thomas genuinely feared the idea of facing WCKD again but he felt like he had-

“Oh, Tommy.” Newt cupped Thomas’s jaw, brushed cool thumbs over his cheeks. “Listen. The cranks live in the dark, shadowy areas, alright? As long as we stick to the surface, I’ll be fine.”

Trembling, Thomas pulled Newt into a tight hug. “Okay, Newt. We won’t go back.”

Newt combed a hand through Thomas’s hair.

Staying away from dark areas. That would work. Like Newt, Thomas was staunchly opposed to WCKD and everything to do with them. He’d accept the chance to keep Newt safe, whilst also staying away from them.

The more Thomas thought about it, the more he lost what little faith he did have in the cure. The trials went on for three years. And yet, after all that time, they still didn’t find it? It was a lost cause.

They couldn’t go back - Thomas would never go back. He tightened his arms around Newt’s middle, gritting away his tears. Newt’s chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm, right against Thomas’s own. Warm.

“It’s alright. It’s gonna be alright,” Newt murmured.

Thomas sniffled. “You’re right. I can’t force that decision onto you. Wicked isn’t an option.”

“Teresa? What do you think?” Newt asked.

There was a loud pause.

“Yeah,” Teresa said. “We won’t go back.”

She added nothing more.

A shriek ripped across the Scorch.

Thomas jumped. He rushed down the dune, Newt and Teresa following closely.

They stumbled into the shelter. They discovered Aris, poised to flee. Winston, wielding a knife, and Minho, restraining him. Frypan, standing horrified across the scene.

Winston suddenly went limp, flopping in Minho’s arms. Minho released him, and he dropped to his hands and knees. Coughs overwhelmed him, and black liquid fell from his lips as his chest jerked, and limbs twitched.

When the coughs relented, Winston dragged himself onto his back. As he gasped for breath, he peeled up his shirt.

The wound on his stomach was violent. Black veins, exposed flesh, dark blood. And there was the bite on his calf too, where Teresa’s careful wrapping couldn’t prevent the Flare’s infection from creeping out.

“Winston…” Teresa breathed.

Quietly, Winston pleaded, “I’m not gonna make it. Please, don’t let me turn into one of those things.”

For a moment, nobody reacted. There were only Thomas’s shallow breaths and the lonely rustles of the wind.

Newt was the first to move. His steps were calculated as he picked up the gun. He stood over Winston, and it almost looked like he was going to shoot. Instead, he crouched and placed the gun over Winston’s heart.

Winston’s fingers curled securely around the gun. He inhaled, and the way his chest expanded was almost proud. “Thank you, Newt. For everything.”

“Goodbye, Winston,” Newt murmured. Softly, he stepped away.

“I’ll miss you,” Minho said.

Winston smiled. “Hey, not too much.”

Then Frypan knelt beside Winston. There was no need to speak much. They simply gazed at each other, saying everything and nothing all at once. And in the way that only two best friends could, they embraced.

Frypan clasped Winston’s hand. “I love you, man.”

“Love you, too,” Winston whispered. From his pocket, he pulled out his sheathed knife. On the wooden handle was the etching of a small ‘W.’ He passed it to Frypan, who held it as gently as he would a baby bird.

Without glancing back, Frypan stepped back. He wiped away a tear before it could spill. Newt laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and guided him out of the shelter, following the others.

Thomas was the only one left. He couldn’t bring himself to leave. He felt like Frypan should have the last moment, but his feet were glued to his spot. Maybe, if he stayed, then Winston wouldn’t die. If he stayed, then Winston wouldn’t become a memory - one tainted in the residue of Thomas’s choices.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas breathed.

“It’s okay. Thank you, really.”

Thomas pressed his lips together, resisting a swell of tears. Winston shouldn’t see him like that.

“I’m not a subject anymore. The last thing I get to see is my friends,” Winston said. “Take care of the others for me, will you?”

Thomas nodded, swallowing roughly. He stood there, unwilling to move. All he could remember was the escape.

Frypan, freeing Teresa from the pole, joining Thomas’s group. He trusted Thomas enough to risk his life, as did Winston, his best friend.

Thomas remembered arguing with Gally at the mouth of the maze, testing the limits of his greenie status. Even as Winston stood amongst the gladers who opposed leaving, he was the first to join Thomas.

After a shuddering inhale, Thomas nodded. “Thank you, Winston.”

Even through his hazy gaze, Winston smiled. “I’m proud of you, greenie.”

As Thomas turned away, he finally wiped his tears.

The gladers resumed their trek. A few minutes passed, and they traversed the tip of a sand dune. There, Thomas eyed the beautiful sunset, using it to keep his head up. There was no one in front of him. Only the mountains.

Then a gunshot ricocheted across the Scorch. Its echoes dominoed into each other, encircling Thomas before shooting away.

Thomas paused. He gripped his backpack straps tighter. And he pressed on, dragging lines through the sand, like a pen forced onto a page so hard that it tore.

Chapter Text

The sun finished setting, and Thomas decided to call it a day.

The gladers sat amongst crumbled concrete. Aris’s hood drooped low over his head. Minho sat shoulder to shoulder with Teresa, both silent. Frypan stared vacantly off into the distance - nothing like the warm presence Thomas remembered in the kitchen, the one he had when bantering with Winston.

Newt muttered, “I guess now we can’t assume that we’re all immune.”

“No,” Thomas said. “You’re the only other non-immune.”

Newt hummed, and said no more. He toyed with a loose string on his shirt, twirling it around, as if the thought brushed by him like a drifting dust particle.

Chest tightening, Thomas stared at his miserable black beans. He tilted the cold can to his lips and downed the rest, swallowing before it could linger on his tongue. After hurling the can to the side, he forced his gaze to his feet.

Yet still, he couldn’t ignore what he saw in the corner of his eye. The empty space beside Frypan. Except it wasn’t empty; it seemed to snarl, clicking metallic claws.

Thomas suddenly stood and flew down the dune. He plopped onto the sand, keeping his back to the group, and brought up his knees to lean on. The darkness of the Scorch sprawled before him, stealing the mountains from the horizon. Since they were absent, there was nothing worth seeing.

It wasn’t long before Newt joined, quietly sitting beside him. His presence stopped the creeping cold air.

“Did you really mean it? When you said you wanted us to go back?” Newt asked.

“No,” Thomas breathed. Then he found himself mumbling. “But I am the reason we’re stuck out here. Without you, we would’ve died already.”

“You’re the reason we’re free,” Newt countered. “The others might have their doubts, and that’s fine. But they would follow you anywhere.”

“They’d follow you, too.”

Newt scoffed. “Nah, it’s different with me - you know it is. We all have our roles to play.”

Was it so different? Thomas didn’t see it. So far, all he’d done was disagree with Newt and almost kill everyone. Even though he did save them from WCKD. After all, that was the least Thomas could do after working with them.

A pained sound left Thomas’s throat, and he clutched at his own hair. “I killed Winston.”

Newt’s hands glided over Thomas’s strained ones, a cool touch to tame the fire. “Tommy, listen. You gave him a real chance at life. Same reason he escaped the maze with us.” As Newt pried Thomas’s grip away from his hair, he intertwined their fingers. His scalp tingled from the release.

Thomas sighed and slumped into Newt’s side. The bitter air seeped through his jacket, but Newt wrapped an arm around Thomas’s shoulders.

“I don’t know where we’re going. I’m lost,” Thomas whispered. His hand slid to Newt’s thigh, squeezing in comfort.

“Well, we’ve been lost before.”

“Not like this.”

“I would follow you anywhere,” Newt said. “You were the most driven greenie we ever had. That’s what got us out the maze, and that’s what’ll keep us goin’. And I know that an awful lot of our friends have died for us to get this far.”

Newt held Thomas tighter. “You can’t give up. I won’t let you.”

Thomas pulled away to look at Newt. The moonlight highlighted the warmth in his gaze, the glint in his eye, the slight parting of his lips.

Sometimes, he couldn’t believe that they were dating. That Newt would put up with everything and all his mistakes. But no matter what, he was always there.

Thomas breathed, “You’re an angel.”

“Not an angel.” Newt smirked. “Just second-in-command.”

Thomas finally cracked a small smile.

“Come on.” Newt pulled Thomas up to stand. “You haven’t slept a wink since we left the maze.”

They got back to camp, and he nudged Newt to a corner, where the concrete could guard their backs while they slept. Despite his exhaustion, Thomas still fell asleep later than Newt, listening to the empty breeze, and vying for it to remain that way.

The next morning, Newt awoke with gray concrete directly in his face. Thomas had curled behind him, taking advantage of their sandy bedding. Both his arms snaked around Newt’s middle, constricting his diaphragm and ribs into a warm cage.

But Newt hoped for an early start to the morning. If they could make progress and take a break when the sun was highest, it could save them some energy. And so, much to his chagrin, Newt jabbed his elbow behind him.

“Tommy, wake up.”

Thomas didn’t move.

Newt grasped the arm around his stomach and pulled it away. At least, he tried. Thomas kept it firmly there.

“C’mon,” Newt said, gently rubbing the arms around him. “We’ve an exciting breakfast to eat.”

Thomas groaned a curse. He relented, and released Newt to sit up. His gaze was blank as he slumped against the concrete.

While Thomas recuperated, Newt dragged their backpacks over to assess their resources. Their lack of blankets and clothing made the nights miserable, but it also meant that they had room to carry more food and water.

There were enough cans for a day and a half, maybe two if they stretched it. They both carried two liters of water, which would be enough to last through the day.

Dread coursed through Newt. The cotton in his throat and the tackiness in his mouth had plagued him all of yesterday. Without water, the sun would devour them well before they reached the mountains.

However, Newt didn’t have time to dwell on that, as Thomas was being extra clingy. While they got ready for the day, Thomas kept glancing at Newt with a strange look in his eye. He tried to be subtle, but Newt could clearly see him. He almost seemed… regretful, or sad. Was he feeling the repercussions of Winston’s absence?

“What’s wrong?” Newt asked.

But Thomas dismissed him with a headshake. “I’m done now. We have shit to do.” And he swept up his backpack without another word.

If it wasn’t Winston, Thomas shouldn’t be dwelling over Newt’s own non-immunity. That’d be a waste of time, and energy. Newt refused to be the reason that his boyfriend was distracted away from his own safety.

Newt’s knee was so stiff, it took him some effort to stand. But standing was simple - he wasn’t weak. He could do something simple.

Foot and knee throbbing, he grimaced, shoving his leg underneath him. As he straightened to a stand, he exhaled heavily. Now all he had to do was walk.

So the trek resumed. The hours soon passed, and the blaze returned. Newt stubbornly kept his scarf up, determined to protect his burns. The sweat in his hair - which the cold night had stolen - quickly returned. He dabbed at his forehead, panting. With ebbing vision, he narrowed his focus to following Thomas’s footsteps.

At some point, the gladers stopped for a break. Unfortunately, Newt needed the privacy to piss. When he announced this, Thomas immediately jumped up.

“I’ll go with you!”

Newt stared at him, incredulous. “No, you won’t.”

Thomas sighed. “Buddy system, remember?”

“We’re literally in broad daylight! I’m just goin’ behind that dune there.” Newt left before Thomas could reply.

When Newt returned less than three minutes later, Thomas wrung his hands as he so obviously scanned Newt up and down.

Annoyed, Newt turned his back to him and started walking again.

After another significant amount of time that Newt wasn’t counting, the gladers reached a large sand dune - higher than they’d seen before.

But Newt didn’t even blink. He trudged up it as if it were a regular stroll. His bad leg hurt, but it didn’t matter. One foot in front of the other. The sand beneath him kept giving out, slowing his progress, but Newt persisted, and finally, he reached the top.

Sighing at the warm breeze, Newt stared down the Scorch. The mountains didn’t appear any closer, but logically, they had to be. Nothing but sand, waving heat, and concrete stood between him and the goal. It was a bit like the glade pond, with water ripples breaching the space between islands of leaves. As long as Newt kept everything together - kept everyone motivated - they could make it.

His parched throat complained. He allowed himself one gulp of water. After placing the bottle away, he glanced down the dune to check on the others’ progress. If it could even be called progress.

Thomas was halfway up, desperately splitting his attention between Newt and the others at the dune’s base. Minho, Teresa, and Aris were all sitting, hiding their heads beneath their jackets.

“C’mon, guys,” Thomas called, hands flying. “We’ve made it this far. We can make it!”

No one moved.

“Hey!” Newt shouted. “There’s a shady area further that way!”

Still, there was no reaction, except Frypan shrugging helplessly.

Newt tucked his scarf under his backpack straps. He jogged down the slope, arriving at the base on a rush of rolling sand.

“Alright,” Newt declared, strolling over to Minho. He grabbed his hands and yanked him onto his feet.

Minho unfolded like a limp piece of paper. He groaned, “Shucking hell...”

“You can sleep tonight,” Newt said. “Right now, we’re going.” He stepped over to Teresa next. He did the same thing, pushing his hands into hers and tugging her up.

Teresa took the change much better, as she got onto her feet with a grin. “Okay, okay!”

Newt turned to Aris next, but he stood by himself.

“I don’t need it,” Aris said, amused.

“Good,” Newt said. “Grab your packs, unless you shanks want to hold hands while we walk?”

“Slim it, Newt,” Minho said. He added a teasing chuckle that fell oddly flat.

But Newt dismissed it. He couldn’t expect Minho to be all sunshiney under these conditions. He couldn’t expect anyone to be sunshiney, really.

Newt straightened the pack on his shoulders. “Let’s go. We’re takin’ a break in twenty.”

Frypan said, “If Newt can do it with a bad leg, so can we.”

Newt cringed internally. But just this once, to get everyone moving? He’d let it slide. So with their gaze on his back, and an acute awareness of the pain in his knee, Newt trudged up the dune again.

When he reached Thomas at the half-way point, Thomas pecked his cheek. “You didn’t have to climb it twice.”

Newt simply shrugged. He was tired, but the extra work didn’t feel like much. The ache in his knee was throbbing, yet definitely dull. It probably wasn’t even swollen that much.

The others trailed behind him, struggling and slipping, but they eventually did it. Panting, they all gathered at the top. They admired the horizon, where mountains waited. Newt took a deep breath, letting the hot air fill his lungs.

Thomas said, “Just a little further.”

The statement hung in the air like a bad joke. Newt restrained his tired smile.

Yet Thomas trumped down the dune, determinedly parting the sand. He aimed right for their next shade. Briefly, he threw a look back at Newt, but he kept his shoulders up. He didn’t stop moving.

And the others marched after him, copying his sandy footsteps. Newt did too. Maybe the mountains weren’t so far, after all.

Thomas kept glancing at Newt, and it was driving him insane.

Newt has had years of practice in dealing with his limp. It was no trouble to do it more. He didn’t need help. Couldn’t Thomas leave him alone for more than ten minutes at a time?

When Newt couldn’t take it anymore, he moved to the front of the group. Now Thomas could monitor him as he pleased, and Newt wouldn’t have to deliberately ignore him.

After the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the gladers settled for the night. As they had no convenient concrete shelter, they were exposed to the elements. That concrete slab from earlier was already a distant memory.

The air plummeted with the coming night. Teresa and Aris shivered together, catching up on Aris’s missed memories. Teresa had tried to do this for Thomas earlier, but he had zero interest in revisiting his time at WCKD.

Newt rested next to Thomas, and they both sat cross-legged. With his brow furrowed into focus, and a careful lean forward, Thomas drew his pointer finger through the sand. The image he made was obscure, mostly made of swirling lines.

“What’s that?” Newt asked.

“A river,” Thomas replied. “Well, it’s supposed to be. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a real one.”

Newt smoothed the sand beside Thomas’s drawing, and used his left hand to add his own. As he swung outwards, his hand collided with Thomas’s right. The sand there scattered, and they both giggled.

As Thomas continued doodling, he asked, “How’s the leg?”

Newt stiffened. He retracted his hand from the drawings, and folded them into his lap. “Fine.”

“You seemed okay today, but I just wanted to make sure,” Thomas said.

Newt didn’t respond. The breeze picked up - enough to scatter sand over both their drawings. But Newt made no moves to fix them. Eventually, Thomas gave up and swept his sleeve over it, wiping their work away anyways. He leaned back and didn’t redraw.

The sun barely finished setting, leaving them in near darkness. A light flashed in the corner of Newt’s eye. It was Minho, crouched above a pile of twigs, making sparks. There was another flash as Minho scraped two twigs together, and a quivering flame caught on.

Strolling around in broad daylight was bad enough, but a fire? In the pitch black? That was basically asking to get captured.

Newt rushed to the flame and stamped it out, scattering the pitiful pile of twigs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like? What are you doing?” Minho replied.

“Keepin’ every Wicked helicopter in the vicinity from findin’ us?!”

“We’ve been running all day!”

“Min, you know we can’t.”

“Not all of us have a personal heater to sleep through the night,” Minho snapped.

“That’s not-”

“Fuck off!” Minho yelled, hurling his twigs to the ground and storming away.

Shocked, Newt glanced at the stunned faces around him. Teresa’s gaze was wide, her teeth chattering. Frypan and Aris had their arms tightly wound over their chests. The cold air seeped through Newt’s pants, and he felt his leg throb again. A wave of guilt swept through him.

Thomas wrapped a placating hand around Newt’s hip. “Newt, it’s-”

Newt recoiled, flinging Thomas’s hand away. “Stop bloody touchin’ me!”

Immediately, Thomas got a kicked-puppy look.

Newt breathed sharply, glowering as the cold air zipped through his nose. He knew that Thomas didn’t deserve that, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize.

Thomas’s voice was soft, crestfallen with betrayal. “What- why? What changed?”

“I…” Newt fell silent. He couldn’t justify it. He wasn’t used to this, it was always someone else that needed calming. Except, of course, that time back in the glade. When he got sad, and drunk, and Thomas carried him to bed.

This must feel like whiplash to Thomas.

Newt glanced at his trembling hands. Was it from the cold? He couldn’t even tell.

“Hey, it wasn’t just Min,” Frypan said, soft voice cutting through the tension. “Me and Teresa were complainin’ about the cold. He just jumped to make it. And to be honest, I was gonna put the food on the fire for y’all.”

Newt squeezed his eyes shut. Weakness, he was showing weakness.

“I’m sorry for today,” Thomas said, and it was earnest. But then he crossed his arms, posture going stiff. “You should go. He’d want you two to talk.”

“Tommy, I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t-”

Thomas waved a hand dismissively. “Seriously, I get it.”

Suddenly saddened, Newt watched as Thomas laid on the sand without another word.

Now Newt had to make a choice. But fatigue, heavy on his limbs and eyes, made things difficult.

With Minho, it was a simple matter of clearing the air. Give it a few minutes, and they’d both see where things went wrong. And he’d probably agree with Newt too. After all, Minho wasn’t stupid - the Keeper of the runners didn’t get there simply by chance. He was just worn down from the Scorch.

With Thomas, on the other hand… it was a bit more complicated. More than Newt wanted to handle at the moment.

And so, Newt limped to Minho, who sat alone in the sand. Away from the group, he blended in with the night.

Newt sat beside him and wrapped his arms around his knees. For a moment, they both stared into the dark Scorch. Newt didn’t bother looking for the mountains. They were facing backwards, anyways.

Finally, Newt broke the silence. “I’m not sorry for smotherin’ the fire.”

“I’m not sorry for yelling.”

Of course he wasn’t. Minho didn’t get angry too often, but he wasn’t one to hide it.

Newt thought about what Frypan had said. He too had wanted the fire by using it for everyone’s food. Of course Frypan, whose former job it was to cook and provide, might want a taste of his old life.

And maybe Minho did, too.

“I thought I could just… do something for once,” Minho sighed. He grasped the sand, making a tight fist around it. Some fell out through the cracks in his fingers. “I haven’t contributed anything useful.”

“You made the stretcher earlier,” Newt countered.

“Yeah, and look what good that did. I couldn’t even…” Minho scowled. “I couldn’t save Winston. That pistol- he was stuck in that damn door for ages. I had time to shoot those cranks. But I didn’t. And now he’s gone.”

Newt frowned. “You have to know you couldn’t prepare for that. You’ve never even held a gun.”

Minho shook his head. “Whatever. It’s easy for you. You’re a leader, you’ve always been a leader.”

Newt fell silent. Intrinsically, he knew that Minho wasn’t thinking straight. He didn’t need to contribute physical things to add value to the group. And yet, that was Minho’s job for years. Contributing his maze mapping skills.

“Well, at the mall last night, it was so bloody dark, I was terrified.” Newt didn’t need to look at Minho to know that he was listening. “But then I see you, cheerin’ about explorin’ the spookiness with Tommy. It made me feel better.”

Minho scoffed, “That’s shucking stupid.”

“My feelings are stupid?”

“It didn’t make you feel better.”

“Yes, you did, you shank. Just take my word, yeah?”

But Minho was still slouching, crossing limp hands over his knees.

Newt softened his voice. “You’re doing your best, but it’s gonna be hard, ‘cause everything's changed. It’s not your fault that the thing you were best at is gone.”

Finally, Minho sighed. “And it’s not yours either. I’m sorry.”

Newt rubbed a thumb on Minho’s shoulder. “Hey, it's alright. The Scorch has a way of makin’ all of us cranky.”

Minho made eye contact with Newt, and Newt stared back, trying in vain to restrain his grin.

“That’s the dumbest shuck joke I’ve ever heard,” Minho said.

And the pair burst into laughter. They had no bonfire now, but New could picture it: the light playing off Minho’s smug grin, him sauntering around the other runners - moments that saved Newt from even his lowest days.

Their laughs faded, and they fell quiet. Newt listened to the sand swish as Minho played with it. The silence wasn’t awkward, or desperate to be filled. It was just easy being with Minho.

Then Minho asked, “Who’d you yell at back there?”

Newt paused. “Tommy.”

“What’d that shuckface do? Do I need to defend your honor?”

“No,” Newt scoffed. “He’s just buggin’ me. He thinks I can’t handle things myself.”

Minho didn’t reply right away. He made another fist of the sand, this time letting it fall from his palm. “Maybe he’s right.”

Newt threw him an incredulous look.

“Hey, I know how it sounds,” Minho said, palms out. “But listen. We’re not in the glade anymore. We’re traveling every minute of the day. Thomas might not be able to see it, but I can. It’s not good to have our second-in-command one mistake away from blowin’ up, ‘cause he’s in pain all the time.”

“I didn’t…” Newt paused. His knee throbbed. Minho might be onto something, but Newt didn’t like it.

Being a successful runner, Minho didn’t understand. He was used to doing his job without something physical dragging him down. It was different for Newt. In a glade full of teenage boys, Newt didn’t keep them alive by being honest about his condition. He couldn’t afford to, what with all the death and the need for stability.

If the other boys wanted support, they’d go to him. Newt was the one they relied on. Not the other way around.

Newt muttered, “Well, what do ya want me to do? Get a new leg?”

“No, slinthead. Just talk to us more, that’s all.”

Newt turned his face away, staring at the sand. Here, in the Scorch, there were too many variables. Lack of food, the sun, the weather… They did have a goal, but there was no solid plan to get there. It had to shift to accommodate all the unknowns. In the grand scheme of things, his leg was irrelevant.

Newt decided to be nicer to Thomas. He had to, his boyfriend didn’t deserve that treatment.

But opening up? It was the last thing Newt wanted to do.

Chapter Text

“Newt, just let me help you,” Thomas said. The next words slipped from his tongue. “I could carry-

“Absolutely not,” Newt retorted.

“Might I suggest something?” Teresa chimed in.

Newt rolled his eyes. “Everyone just wants to carry me now, huh?”

“No, stupid, I want to help you walk on your own.” Teresa crouched beside Newt, unrolling her bandages. “These might give your leg some more support. What do you say?”

Arms crossed, Newt glared at the bandages in her hand. But he nodded.

Thomas eagerly plopped beside Teresa. “I wanna see.”

After Newt took off his shoe and rolled up his pant, Teresa brushed the sand off his skin. She wrapped Newt’s ankle, and at Thomas’s persistence, she let Thomas do the knee. Really, it wasn’t such a difficult task. But Thomas liked knowing how - he needed to know how.

Although Teresa had used them as bandages, the fabric wasn’t sticky, but stretchy. It felt rough under Thomas’s hands, but secure against Newt. The color was tanner than Newt’s skin.

Newt didn’t say anything, just watching lazily as they finished the wraps.

The indigo morning blanketed them in camouflage, and Thomas was eager to start walking while it was cool. The temperature would especially help Newt too.

Truthfully, the cool air would aid everyone. They were running out of resources. Thomas had one more soup can, while his water bottle had a single swallow left. His pack nearly flapped in the air from being so empty.

Earlier, Thomas had scouted the area. And in the distance, over the rolling dunes, he’d spotted a faded red roof. Their last hope for water.

Thomas finished wrapping Newt’s knee by tucking the fabric into itself. Teresa smiled approvingly. Newt didn’t smile, but he also didn’t scoff, which Thomas would take as a win.

Suddenly, a flash of color caught Thomas’s eye. From Teresa’s bag, a roll of blue wraps tumbled out. The instant that it settled, Thomas dove over Newt’s legs and grabbed it, swiping Teresa’s hand away as he did so.

“Hey,” Teresa laughed.

“Finders keepers,” Thomas replied. He turned to Newt, and presented the roll as if it were an expensive ring. “Accept my favor?”

“Your favor?” Teresa exclaimed. She lurched over Newt and snatched it back. “It’s mine.”

Newt pulled his legs back from between them. Chuckling, he stood and brushed the sand off his pants. “Tommy, I appreciate it, but they are kinda Teresa’s thing.”

Thomas smiled and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He was going to give the roll back to her, anyway.

With the red roof in sight, Thomas had no trouble getting the gladers going. Minho was especially cooperative - he obeyed Newt’s words without question. Everyone drank the last of their water, and they set off quickly.

Although the new daylight made it difficult, Thomas swore he could see lights at the base of the mountains. The promise of civilization - beyond the dingy red roof - edged him on.

Thomas couldn’t resist checking on Newt, who walked in front. His limp seemed alright today, almost better than yesterday.

“He’s hiding it,” Minho muttered.

Thomas glanced back at him, confused.

Minho leaned closer to Thomas. “It hurts more than he’s letting on.”

Thomas scrutinized Newt’s gait. With the new knowledge, Thomas could barely detect the hitch in his muscles, the careful control of his breath. Still, he wouldn’t have known without Minho’s prompting.

Frustrated, Thomas shook his head, but he thanked Minho. At least the bandages were helping (more than Thomas could).

And they pressed on. Thomas’s vision swayed. Gravel scraped his throat each time he swallowed. Breathing the stuffy air felt like standing above a stale fire. When they finally arrived at the red roof, Thomas sighed in relief. He stopped before it, and gripped his backpack straps with lead arms, as if pulling them down might help him stay standing.

The roof belonged to an abandoned gas station. Its door was missing, with only a shattered window guarding the dark interior. The area was likely an old pit stop, except now, a blanket of sand infiltrated the building and the street. Two other ghostly buildings stood across it.

“Crank central,” Minho muttered.

As Thomas stepped to the gas station door, his boots crunched the sandy concrete. Inside, light filtered through the grimy windows. The visible shelves held only handfuls of dust. Crate stacks teetered from emptiness. However, a closed door behind the counter gave Thomas a spark of hope - maybe someone left resources?

“Okay,” Thomas rasped. “Me, Minho, and Aris are gonna explore in here. You guys wait outside and keep watch.”

“How about the other buildings?” Frypan asked.

Thomas shook his head. “It’s not a good idea to split up.”

“Right,” Newt scoffed. “Make us sit and do nothin’.”

“He has a point,” Teresa said, nudging Newt’s arm. “This is what you agreed to when you decided to not go back.”

Newt gave a resigned sigh, but he nodded.

Frypan unsheathed his knife, holding it out to Thomas. “Want this?”

“Nah, you need it more out here,” Thomas replied. He grabbed two loose pipes off the ground and handed one to Minho. “You have a knife already, right Aris?”

“Yeah,” Aris replied.

Thomas looked directly into Newt’s annoyed gaze, but Newt remained stubbornly silent. Even he couldn’t deny the possibility of encountering cranks.

“We’ll be right back,” Thomas said, and he ducked inside, Minho and Aris following.

Weapons at the ready, they cautiously passed each aisle. When Thomas reached the back door, he pressed his ear against it, but he found it silent. Aris mentioned that the area was likely too exposed for cranks, and Thomas agreed.

Then he heard a rumbling. Louder and sharper than the helicopter, the sounds seemed to cascade towards them. He left the door and rushed back to the entrance. There, Newt was ducking behind a crate stack, beside Teresa and Frypan.

But Thomas bypassed them. He peeked through the shattered window.

“Tommy, get back here!” Newt hissed.

Thomas ignored him, squinting above the jagged glass.

A black jeep rolled to a stop in the center of the street. Its driver jumped out, readied his pistol, and stalked towards the other buildings. Another much burlier, bearded man followed him.

After a few minutes, a girl leapt out the Jeep's side. Her boots made two quiet thumps as she landed surely on the sand. Unlike the two men, she didn’t charge. Instead, she examined the gas station. Her rifle rested lazily on her shoulder, as if she could wield it at any moment.

Then she stepped towards them, and the sand made no sound. She hadn’t seen them yet, but Thomas was frozen in place. To his muddled, dehydrated mind, the only thing that mattered was his hope that she’d help them. His heart quickened.

Then her eyes locked onto his. She paused. Over the bandana mask on her nose, her gaze was piercing, yet unreadable.

Now that she knew he was there, Thomas thought there was no point in hiding. He remained quiet, staring back, almost pleading.

At that moment, the two men returned to the jeep. And suddenly, the girl turned back as if she never moved.

“What did you find?” The driver asked.

“Nothing. Gas station’s all clear,” the girl replied.

Bearded guy scoffed, looking pointedly at the driver. “You said she had a lock on ‘em!”

The driver retorted, “Brenda has the sharpest eyes of all of us.”

“Barkley, I told you, it could’ve been anyone,” Brenda said. “It was probably a trick of the light. There’s a storm brewing out east.”

“Wicked said they were out here,” Barkley spat.

“Yeah, well, and they’re not here.” Brenda shrugged. She swung the rifle over her shoulder, swiftly leaping back into the jeep. “It’s damn hot out here. I don't know about you, but I’m not interested in burning alive.”

Barkley mumbled something unintelligible. But he re-entered the jeep anyway, slamming the door.

The driver did the same, and the jeep roared to life. As it sped away, Thomas stared at the back of Brenda’s head. But she never glanced back.

When the sounds of the jeep finally died, Thomas whipped around to face his group.

“What the hell was that?” Newt hissed.

“I don’t know!” Thomas exclaimed. “The girl, she looked right at me!”

“Did they not just talk about working with Wicked?” Minho said.

“Bloody great. So Wicked’s already found us?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Thomas said. “She saw me, and ignored me. If she wanted us to be found she would’ve said something.”

Newt replied, “We don’t know anythin’ about her. The most reasonable option is to get out.”

Thomas shook his head. “We need to follow them. We’re out of water.”

“Weren’t you listenin’?” Newt said, exasperated. “They’re workin’ with Wicked! In what world would that-”

“I trust her,” Thomas said.

Newt crossed his arms, his glare turning stormy. “That’s ridiculous. It’s too risky.”

Thomas’s heart thrummed with energy, with the thrill of the girl seeing him. And his next words spilled out before he could stop them. “When have you ever cared about risk? Going around with your leg practically falling off, never letting anyone know.”

But even as he said it, Thomas knew that wasn't relevant. Newt’s expression twisted to outright anger. Shit.

As the leader, Thomas had the others to think about. He couldn’t just jump into trusting Brenda, all while using a sensitive topic to throw Newt off.

Newt opened his mouth to retort something, but Thomas spoke first. “Wait! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He glanced at Newt, sheepish. “We do need to find water, but you’re right, we shouldn’t follow her.”

Newt’s nod was curt, but he seemed to soften a little. “Alright. Let’s check ‘round here for water, then get the hell out.”

“Sounds good,” Thomas said. He fell quiet. No one else said anything. He stared down at his twiddling thumbs.

Even though Brenda’s group literally declared their connection to WCKD, Thomas found himself hopeful for their help. He couldn’t get Brenda’s expression - her pause - out of his mind. Or maybe, he was too optimistic.

Despite Brenda’s protective lie, Newt would never trust her. He was simply too rational.

But Newt didn’t see her pivot back to the jeep - determined, not deceptive. He didn’t yet understand that she could be - that she was - going against WCKD. Maybe there was still a chance.

Thankfully, the group had found two gallons of water stored deep in the gas station. Newt figured that they were the extra stores of Brenda and her group. No food, but the water was far more important anyways.

They stopped once the stars emerged. Here, Newt noticed how the sand firmed into dirt as the desert petered out.

The gladers formed their usual circle. Thomas’s warm shoulder nudged Newt’s as he sat beside him. They both looked forward towards the mountains.

Earlier, Thomas had pointed out the lights at the base of them, which he’d seen that morning. They were probably from Brenda’s compound. But now, the compound was devoid of light, not visible. Shut down for the night.

The mountains were also near impossible to see. As dark masses on the horizon, they were indistinguishable from the night sky. The best evidence of their existence was the absence of stars. Pinpricks of light, unable to reach the earth, blocked by a sea of ink. Beautiful, in a mysteriously intimidating way.

“We need food,” Thomas muttered.

He wasn’t wrong, but Newt didn’t think they had to risk capture for it. The group was barely hanging onto progress as is. But taking on such a risk, one as terrifying as being sent back to WCKD? Newt didn’t want to go there.

Newt replied, “I know, but-”

“The compound’s our best bet.”

“I know.”

“Brenda might-”

“She won’t!” Newt said. “Listen. We need an actual plan. We’re not just going to stroll in and beg for help.”

“Fine,” Thomas sighed. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

It didn’t make sense. Thomas was the one to ask him to go back. The food was going to be a problem, sure, but was it enough to trigger Thomas’s urgency? No, this was something different. Blind, trusting, passion. And a little bit of desperation.

Newt had fallen in love with a bloody idiot.

An itch pinched his knee. Newt sighed and scratched it, and the pant fabric crumpled as the wraps loosened underneath.

The wraps helped, but Newt could tell that he needed more. Yet he was tired. Tired of dealing with it, tired of evading the others’ jabs to help. Especially Thomas’s. But really, Newt couldn’t be mad at Thomas. His idiot boyfriend just cared - a lot, in that persistent way of his.

Still, Newt decided to leave the wraps be. Maybe he’d redo them or ask for more in the morning. Everyone was tired enough, he didn’t need to make a big fuss and get them worried about him.

Thomas remained seated, staring at the mountains. Newt got up to talk to everyone and establish the watch rotation. After finishing a chat with Teresa and Aris, he went over to Frypan, who was murmuring with Minho.

Newt winced. Winston’s absence felt like a stab wound to Newt, but he knew that it didn’t compare to Frypan’s experience. There was no time for grief. No time for anything, except moving forward.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” Newt asked, sitting beside Frypan.

“Tired,” Frypan sighed. After a pause, his voice cracked. “I’d never thought I’d say it, but I miss the glade.”

Newt rolled a grain of sand between his fingers. “I miss the grass.”

Minho muttered, “I miss when the wind was actually cold.”

“I miss the kitchen,” Frypan said.

Instantly, the memories flooded back. The scent of bacon in the morning before the doors opened. Newt’s basil hanging from the ceiling to dry. The chorus of the cooks’ voices.

Some greenie, scared as Alby disciplined him for taking too much food. And Frypan defending him, claiming that it was he who served it. Winston never did stop teasing the greenie for that. “Hey Alby,” he’d say, “You’d better check his plate…” Or was he teasing Alby that time?

“So much has changed,” Newt whispered. He noticed Frypan fiddling with an object in his hands, and he nudged him. “What’s that?”

“His knife.”

“Why’d you offer that up to Tommy earlier?”

Frypan paused. “He wouldn’t want it to go unused.”

“He did love his knives,” Newt said.

Even in the darkness, Frypan’s small smile flashed. “Yeah. It started as a joke, but at some point, I think it lost the irony.”

Then Frypan’s smile faded. “I’m just at a loss. How did you handle it when Alby got taken?”

“I didn’t.” Newt kept rolling the sand between his fingers. It pricked his dry, dusty skin. In front of him, Thomas’s silhouette sat alone. His arms were wrapped around his knees, and he was gazing at the mountains. Newt murmured, “I just… I just kept going.”

When Newt eventually left to go to sleep, he saw Thomas turn his ear away, like he’d been listening.

Thomas made a fist on his chest, and Newt knew he was holding onto the dove. His hand didn’t move as Newt laid on the sand beside him, sliding closer for warmth.

That night, they held each other - falling asleep with their hearts pressed together, the dove nestled between them. Thomas’s arm wound tightly around Newt, as if a hill of sand trickled out beneath them, and he was the only thing keeping Newt from being dragged away.

A thunderclap shocked Thomas awake.

Instantly, he assessed three things: it was dawn, there were lights at the mountain base, and a storm was pursuing them.

“Guys! Get up!” Thomas cried.

Newt still looked hazy, half-asleep, but Thomas dragged him up.

“Bloody- what?” Newt gasped.

A spattering of rain pelted them as Thomas shoved Newt’s pack into his hands.

“Let’s go!” Thomas grabbed Newt’s hand and charged towards the mountains. The thunder boomed again, clapping in time with a lightning flash.

The firm ground allowed Thomas to fly. He squinted through the sheaths of rain. Flashes of Teresa’s white tank top were the only clear sight, but in the distance ahead, he could barely make out a door - the compound entrance.

He’d assumed that Newt was right behind him. Thomas turned, expecting his presence, only to see the world explode.

Lightning shattered a wood shack, blowing it apart right next to Newt and Minho. Thomas ran for them as they both hit the ground. When he arrived, Newt was crawling over to Minho, who collapsed.

Thomas fell to his knees and pressed his finger to Minho’s neck.

“I’m fine,” Minho coughed. But his eyes remained lidded, his head lolling back.

“Bloody hell!” Newt cried, gripping Minho’s arm. “I fell, and he came back for me!”

“Hey!” Frypan shouted, running to them. “We have to go!”

Thomas grabbed Minho’s armpits. He stood, heaving Minho up, and Newt also attempted to stand.

But Newt cried out, crumpling to the ground while clutching at his knee.

Thomas froze. Minho swayed in his arms.

But Frypan shouldered Thomas aside, taking Minho’s weight. “I’ve got him. Get Newt.”

Thomas didn’t need to be told twice. He crouched before Newt, turning his back to him. As he glanced over his shoulder, he held out his hands expectantly.

Newt didn’t hesitate. He slung his weight onto Thomas’s back, crossing firm arms across his chest. Thomas gripped his thighs as he straightened.

“Let’s go!” Minho shouted, his arm hanging across Frypan’s shoulders.

Another strike, right behind them. Thomas’s ears rang. The rain wailed, stabbing his cheeks with iciness. His heart pounded. His fingers kept slipping. But he gritted his teeth, hiked Newt further up, and kept going.

Teresa waved to them from the door. The building looked large, but Thomas didn’t question it before throwing himself and Newt inside. Teresa slammed the door, and the gladers gasped for breath in the dim room.

Frypan lowered Minho, and Minho slumped against the wall.

“It came so fast!” Aris cried. “I should’ve seen it, I wasn’t expecting…”

With a shake of his head, Frypan clapped Aris on the shoulder.

Newt slid off Thomas’s back. He approached Minho, hovering anxious hands over Minho’s slouched form. Water dripped from his sleeves onto Minho’s equally drenched clothes.

“Shuck, Newt. I’m fine. You’re not my mom,” Minho said, breathless. He seemed quite dazed, but at least he was awake.

“You’re such a bastard.” Newt shook his head, exasperated. “Your head’s too shuckin’ hard to break.”

Teresa crouched before Minho, brushing his wet hair aside to assess him. Once she took over, Newt stepped back to lean against the wall. He bent down, gripping his knee and wincing.

Newt caught Thomas’s eye. But he quickly glanced away, embarrased. “It gave out.”

The admittance surprised Thomas - in a good way. He kept his expression neutral as he approached Newt. He copied his posture, casually leaning against the wall. “Wraps didn’t work?”

Newt spoke quietly, almost shyly. “Nah, they did. I just… didn’t want to deal with it. And now…” he trailed off, his soft gaze shifting to Minho.

“Are you okay now?” Thomas asked.

Newt grimaced, and didn’t respond.

“Okay,” Thomas said. “We’ll fix the wraps, let it rest as much as possible.”

Newt nodded tiredly as he slid down to sit against the wall. He rolled up his wet pants, revealing his swollen knee. It was red and puffy, with the wraps twisted loosely around it.

Thomas inhaled sharply. “Newt-”

“I don’t need to hear it,” Newt sighed.

Thomas bent to help Newt with the wraps. After finishing, they had maybe five minutes of rest. During which Thomas pointedly ignored the uncomfortable coldness of his jacket.

Then a wail pierced the air.

Heart spiking, Thomas jumped to his feet in front of Newt.

Shrieks cut through the room. Lights flickered on, illuminating a writhing horde of cranks. They staggered forward, arms desperately outstretched.

Had they been there this whole time? Thomas was in the midst of considering returning to the outside, when the horde stopped.

The cranks continued to thrash, but they were restrained: each one chained by the neck, keeping them in place. And yet, they still appeared human - they could’ve been mistaken for angry drunks. One wore a blue flannel rolled up to his elbows. Another had her hair tied into a tight ponytail, as if she still cared about its practicality. Inked-out eyes and wretched cries were the only things separating them from their humanity.

The horde’s screams swelled as a figure emerged from the back.

“I see you’ve met our guard dogs,” Brenda called.

Chapter Text

Brenda wove between the cranks with her shoulders back. They shrieked and strained, snapping the chains, but they couldn’t touch her. She meandered with a faint smirk, as if the scene were her own curated garden, and the cranks’ lurching fingers were unimportant weeds that occasionally breached the path. Her smirk grew as she finally reached the apprehensive gladers.

Now close enough to see, Thomas realized that Brenda was their age. She was short and small, with cropped brown hair - a simple style, combed neatly without flair. Her leather utility belt had no visible items, except for a pistol in the holster.

Brenda spoke with her hands loosely behind her back. “You guys look like shit. Come on, follow me,” she said, before pivoting on her heel back to the cranks.

Minho and Teresa practically jumped after her. Aris and Frypan did the same, tracing her exact footsteps.

Thomas took one step forward, and the cranks bared their teeth in response. A wave of rancid scent accompanied the motion. He winced and glanced back at Newt.

Newt was still slumped against the wall, looking to the side, his bad leg sticking out.

Thomas strode before him and stuck out a hand. But Newt shook his head, small.

“Come on,” Thomas said, thrusting his hand out further. “They’re waiting for us.”

Lightning flashed beneath the door beside Newt. Water dripped from his fringe as he turned his gaze to the corner. He kept staring - hard enough for Thomas to copy him. He saw a stray stick gathering dust. It was long and round, with the end bent into a right angle.

Thomas grabbed it and brushed the dust off. Although the wood wasn’t perfectly straight, it felt smooth, and was at the right height to work as a cane. It could even be used as a weapon, should the cranks stray too close.

Even though Thomas wasn’t facing them, their sounds were oppressive. Groaning, chains scraping on the ground, the occasional laugh that sounded far too human - all crept into his heartbeat.

Newt was going to have to walk through them.

Before he could process it, Thomas whirled back to Newt and stuck the cane at him. Just as it was cutting through the air, Newt moved his hand up - and the cane jabbed his palm. The collision reverberated up the wood, soft as his flesh, shooting right through Thomas.

With a surprised exhale, Newt withdrew his hand. He cradled it, rubbing his thumb over his palm.

Pain punched Thomas’s chest. “Shit, Newt, I-”

Then Newt snatched the cane, and the sound of it flying from Thomas’s grasp was somehow louder than the groaning cranks. Grimacing, Newt used the cane to haul himself up, pointedly looking away from Thomas.

Guilty, he stayed silent as he let Newt brush by him, right into the horde.

But Thomas still trailed Newt closely. Muscles tensed, head alert, Thomas traced the flails of crank’s arm. Logically, he knew they couldn’t touch Newt, but he still kept his vigilance. It was almost easier because he knew that Newt couldn’t see him, but that didn’t make it feel better.

After finally escaping the cranks, they joined up with the others. Shoulders turned away, Newt dismissed Thomas’s presence. But he did continue using the cane.

Brenda guided them through a warehouse. It was much more lived-in than the WCKD one. Shabby tents formed narrow paths, where people sat on crates and creaky chairs. The people flickered their gaze over the group suspiciously.

Thomas turned his head to look back, and immediately regretted it.

Barkley, the grunt from yesterday, was sauntering right behind him and Newt. A grin crept out of Barkley’s unkempt beard as he waggled his eyebrows at them.

Thomas’s mouth twitched in a mock smile.

Newt grabbed Thomas’s shoulder and dragged him to the middle of the group.

Brenda led them up a flight of stairs, up through the beam work. “Jorge is looking forward to seeing you. No one’s come out of the Scorch in a long time,” she said, eyeing them knowingly.

Once on the next level, Brenda took them into a room. Gadgets and electronics lined the walls. The ceiling was a mix of wooden beams and concrete. The window in the back was dark with dawn, and to the side, there was a door that apparently opened to the outside. And nearby it, fiddling with the knob on a radio, was the driver from yesterday. Jorge.

When the radio returned static, Jorge swore under his breath. He turned back to the gladers, leaning casually on the table.

“Do you ever get the feeling that the whole world’s against you?” Jorge asked.

Thomas assumed that was a hypothetical question, so he didn’t respond.

“Three questions,” Jorge said. “Where did you come from, where are you going, and how can I profit?”

No one answered. Thomas stared back, blinking.

“Don’t all answer at once,” Jorge deadpanned.

Thomas took a deep before speaking. “We’re going to the mountains. We’re looking for the Right Arm.”

Minho elbowed him in the ribs.

“Question number two,” Jorge said, watching them in amusement. “Where did you come from?”

“That’s our business,” Minho retorted.

Jorge smirked. Suddenly, Barkley emerged and pinned Thomas’s arms to his sides.

“Hey!” Thomas cried.

As Thomas struggled against Barkley’s grip, Brenda tugged Thomas’s hood away. She pressed a cold scanner to the back of his neck, which beeped excitedly.“Who would've thought? They’re tagged. Despite the odds, you found us anyway.”

Barkley’s breath was hot by his ear. “Six Wicked kids, six times the profit.” He released his grip, causing Thomas to stumble forward. He straightened, annoyed.

Jorge waved his hand. “Take ‘em.”

Barkley cocked his gun to pressure them, and the group began shuffling away. But Thomas remained, his eyes locked on Brenda, pleading with her.

And Brenda saw him, saw straight through him. “Wait!” She exclaimed to Jorge. “Can we just talk? With him?”

Jorge swung his gaze to Thomas, who smiled in an attempt to look as innocent as possible. Jorge assessed Brenda’s urgent posture. His expression remained unchanged, but he nodded. “Just the one. The others can go.”

The door closed behind Newt and the others, Barkley’s gun clattering all the way.

Jorge crossed his arms, leaned on the table, and confidently tilted his chin up. But not because he wanted to project something - Thomas got the sense that Jorge just genuinely felt like it. Jorge didn’t need tactics to be intimidating, his self-assured nonchalance was enough to throw Thomas off guard.

So Jorge’s first question was a bit surprising. “What’s your name?”

Thomas straightened, placing his hands behind his back. “Uh, Thomas.”

“How do you know about the Right Arm?”

Thomas couldn’t stop his fire back. “How do you know about the Right Arm?”

And Jorge outright laughed. “Hermano, you have some nerve. Just answer my questions.”

Brenda flickered her pleading gaze to Thomas.

“I heard Ava Paige talk about them,” Thomas admitted. “She said they’d been attacking Wicked facilities.”

“Here’s where I’m at,” Jorge said, sighing. “The Right Arm doesn’t exist. There’s talk of a safe haven, sure, but they’re practically ghosts. Their radio transmissions are scant.”

“I know they’re real!” Thomas said. Jorge didn’t fill the silence, so Thomas rushed ahead to explain more. “I… uh… I snuck into the vents. That’s why we left. Paige was gonna sedate us right away, ‘cause of the Right Arm attacks. That’s why we had to leave, I mean.”

Jorge raised an eyebrow. “You know my men want to sell you back to Wicked. What makes you think that I’d believe what you’re saying?”

“Come on, Jorge,” Brenda said. “Can’t you see? This kid doesn’t have a lying bone in his body.”

“That’s exactly what you want to see,” Jorge replied. “I can’t risk that. Hoping that there’s a safe haven, with no proof. They’d come after us. I can’t protect you out there.”

Brenda’s expression steeled. “Thomas, what else do you know? I believe you. Prove that you’re not lying. More names, places, anything.”

Jorge shook his head. “Brenda…”

“The Ratman!” Thomas exclaimed. He was instantly met with perplexed looks. But surely, if they’d been talking to WCKD, they’d know him. “Janson. He’s their main security guy. He’s been looking for us. Aris saw the Right Arm take his friends, and Janson knows that. He’s desperate. Also, I flipped him off.”

“See?” Brenda said. Her voice flashed with urgency. “This is the most immunes we’ve found in months. If they’re not already dead, then Wicked has them all. Giving them away, keeping this up… it’s not worth it. It was never worth it, but especially not now.”

Jorge remained silent, staring at the ground. But he was genuinely listening to her words.

Brenda didn’t stop. “What about Marcus? Didn’t he have connections with the Right Arm?”

“I haven’t spoken to him in years. And even that was well after he stopped contacting them,” Jorge replied.

Brenda shot Thomas a hopeful look. “Well, we know they’re in the mountains. With the immune shortage, Marcus might’ve just rekindled his connection. The Right Arm, the safe haven- they’re our best shot.”

Jorge rubbed his chin. “Take him to the holding cell, and come back after.”

Brenda armed herself with her pistol, and she nudged it into Thomas’s back. She was silent as they moved through the hallway, but Thomas had more to say. She was trusting - even more than he’d hoped for.

They reached the holding cell - a simple room with a chain-linked fence as the fourth wall. Brenda kept the pistol aimed at Thomas while she freed a key lanyard from her jacket. But Thomas wasn’t worried, as her hold on the weapon was loose, almost lazy.

The gate rattled the fence as Brenda opened it, revealing Thomas’s scared group of friends. Brenda pushed Thomas through and shut the gate, closing them both inside.

Of the group, Thomas was the only one standing. The rest stared up at Brenda, simultaneously awed and confused that she’d lock herself inside with them.

“What do you want?” Newt demanded.

Brenda raised her hands in mock surrender. Her pistol had disappeared somewhere on her person. She replied, “Hey, believe it or not, we’re on the same side here. Thomas would know.”

He did know. He was also dying to know why she lied about seeing him yesterday.

“Why did you do it?” Thomas asked.

As Brenda spoke, she counted off on her fingers. “I want to find the Right Arm. You guys, coincidentally, also want to find the Right. Jorge pretends not to, but I think he wants to find them, too.”

“You work for Wicked. How do we know you’re not lying?” Newt asked. “We’ve been through this before.”

“I could’ve turned you in yesterday. But I didn’t, and as Thomas saw, I’m bending over backwards to convince Jorge that the Right Arm is worth finding. The safe haven won’t build itself.”

When Newt glanced at Thomas for confirmation, he nodded vigorously. “Yeah. We can trust her.”

Newt’s curious gaze swept over Brenda. “Why do you believe the Right Arm is out there?”

“I believe Thomas,” Brenda replied.

“Besides that.”

“I worked with Wicked, and I’m trying to make up for that,” Brenda said with a shrug. “And I just have a feeling.”

Newt laughed under his breath. “No wonder you two get along.”

“Teresa'd probably know the most,” Aris said. “She worked with Ava Paige.”

Brenda’s gaze shot to Teresa, who stuttered.

“Well, I- I did work with her, but only briefly. She didn’t inform me of anything else,” Teresa said.

“So you’re pretty and smart. Nice,” Brenda hummed. Thomas blinked, and Brenda was already standing outside. “Hang tight,” she said, and she slammed the gate shut before walking off.

“Wait!” Newt rushed up to the gate, gripping the chains. “Could we get some food? Or water?”

Brenda smirked, then she left.

“So that was the girl from yesterday?” Minho asked.

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “She wants to help us.”

Aris was staring directly at Teresa. “You’re still blushing?”

Teresa’s eyes widened, and she touched her cheek. “I’m not...”

“I’d blush too if a badass girl complimented me,” Newt said.

Thomas couldn’t help but bristle a little.

Of course, Newt instantly picked up on that. He teasingly patted Thomas’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll blush mostly for you.”

“Not for me?” Minho said, flexing his arm. “I’m pretty suave.”

“Never,” Newt shot back.

“So you’re okay with it? With letting her help us?” Thomas asked.

“Of course,” Newt replied.

Then the silence hung between them. Newt awkwardly stared down, shifting his knee. From against the wall, the cane glared at Thomas.

Thomas fiddled with his hands. He was glad to have Newt’s support about the Brenda situation. Leading alone and acting without Newt’s insight wasn’t possible. He couldn’t lose him.

How could Newt still be so trusting? Even after Thomas forced the cane at him? He’d already let Thomas carry him out of the storm. There wasn’t any need to rub it in. Overcome with fear, Thomas had allowed himself to hurt Newt more. It felt terrible.

By using the cane, Newt was trying something different. Now Thomas had a duty to do the same.

They spent the next few hours nursing their remaining water, and hoping Brenda would return. The cell was located at the hallway’s end, so nobody walked by that they could plead to.

Still, Thomas wanted to make up for his treatment of Newt’s leg. So he refrained from mentioning it at all, just helping Newt readjust the supportive bandages. He had to hobble instead of walk, but with the cane, he was mostly independent. Newt guessed that it was the sudden sprint from the storm that worsened things.

Thomas filled everyone in on his conversation with Jorge, and how he thought Jorge would do anything to protect Brenda. Even take the leap in finding the Right Arm.

Around when Thomas judged the time to be early afternoon, Brenda finally returned with bread, soup, and water. Everyone wolfed the meal down. She told them that Jorge would make a decision soon. If he decided to sell them to Wicked, Brenda promised to free them. Thomas already respected her, but that sealed the deal.

“Think she can teach me how to shoot?” Minho asked.

“I’d say yes- I’m ninety-nine percent sure,” Teresa said.

Before anyone could reply, a rumbling sound emerged in the distance. It thumped, and thumped, succinct and quick, getting louder and louder. Was it…?

“No!” Newt cried. He shot up, reaching for the high windows.

Minho was quicker. He jumped, grabbing the wooden bars and pulling himself up to peer out. “Can’t see anything. But it’s getting louder.”

Newt whirled to Thomas. “Jorge said no. I can’t believe it.”

The WCKD helicopters arrived - so loud that they reverberated from every direction.

The last thing Thomas wanted to hear was Janson’s smug voice crackling over the speakers.

“Good evening. This is the World Catastrophe Killzone Department. We have your compound completely surrounded. If you find yourselves, due to no fault of your own, in possession of Wicked property, return them to us unharmed. Every last one of you will die, but the cure lies in your hands. The choice is yours.”

The transmission ended, and the helicopter whirs took over once more. But then, peculiarly, a song played over the compound’s loudspeakers. Its slow tempo and mellow guitar dragged over Thomas’s racing heart.

Suddenly, Brenda burst through the gate. “Come on!”

They filed out, charging behind Brenda through the hallway. They were about to pass the stairs, when a large man blocked them - Barkley.

“I don’t think so,” Barkley taunted. He pointed his gun at them, while holding a walkie-talkie to his ear. “Janson! I’ve got ‘em right here. Just stay right there, nice and easy-”

A gunshot rang out.

Barkley screamed. He clutched his bleeding hand as he collapsed, walkie-talkie and gun clattering to the floor.

Brenda tucked her smoking pistol back into her belt. “Let’s go!” She ran past a distressed Barkley, and Thomas dashed after her, all the way to Jorge’s radio room. Maybe she needed supplies?

But no, Jorge himself stood in the back, at a balcony. From it, a zipline streamed across the valley.

“This all of them?” Jorge asked.

“Yes, here, take these grips,” Brenda said. She rushed around to all the gladers, passing around handles for the ziplines.

While the strange song continued echoing throughout the warehouse, Jorge messed with the zipline support system. He hummed along, despite the helicopter beats pulsing through each music note.

“You’re helping us?” Newt asked.

“Can’t get into the safe haven without a ticket,” Jorge replied. He pressed a zipline handle into Newt’s hands. “Are you guys enjoying my favorite song?”

He was met with incredulous looks, so Jorge shrugged. “I’ll go last- I have to keep this line straight for you guys. You’re up,” he said, encouraging Minho closer.

Thomas was sure that Minho had never done this before in his life. But Minho still took Newt’s cane, tossed the grip up, and zipped cleanly away.

Just as Frypan left the ground, booming sounds resonate throughout the compound. The floor trembled, the ceiling crackled. Thomas threw his hands over his head as cement dust rained on them.

Brenda sent Jorge a confused look, but he shook his head. “Those aren’t mine. Vamos!”

Something soft pressed against Thomas’s cheek. After a blink, Newt rushed away from him and zipped off. Then Aris set himself up with shaking hands.

Just as Aris left the ground, Brenda darted to the back of the room.

“What are you doing?” Thomas called.

“I’ll be right back!” Brenda yelled. As she ran, the ceiling above her caved.

“Brenda!” Jorge shouted. He strained, reaching for her, but he was stuck holding the zipline for Aris.

Brenda crouched to rummage through a drawer. The ceiling above her cracked deeper.

It couldn’t have taken Thomas more than two seconds to make a decision, but time slowed. The helicopters whirred overhead, ticking like a clock. He saw Aris flying down the zip line, and soldiers scrambling at the base of the valley, fighting for a way up to the gladers. And he saw Newt, ducking behind a rock on the other side. For one brief moment, Newt glanced back, and his gaze met Thomas’s.

Even across the distance, he could see the worry behind Newt’s gaze - the turning over of possible decisions, of realistic outcomes.

At that moment, nothing seemed more true than Thomas’s confidence in Newt.

So Thomas tore away, dashed through the room, and tackled Brenda to the ground just as a wooden beam crashed into her drawer.

“Shit!” Brenda gasped.

Thomas scrambled up, waving his hand to clear the dust. He tried to climb through the rubble, back to Jorge, but the mix of wood and cement crumbled beneath his feet. He looked helplessly through the cross-links of broken beams.

“It’s no use!” Jorge called. “Go the other way and meet us in town!”

Brenda shouted back a confirmation. Briefly, she shoved a silver object into her pocket, and then she grabbed Thomas’s hand to tug him into the hallway.

The pair dashed down it. Brenda aimed for the end of the hallway. But a pair of WCKD soldiers appeared. They raised their guns and instantly fired crackling electricity.

Brenda cut left down the stairs, and Thomas followed, ducking from the whizz of static. He leapt onto the landing, where Brenda made another cut and hopped onto the exposed beamwork. Thomas scrambled behind her and placed one boot onto the beam. Below, soldiers swarmed the ground floor, their shouts echoing up to his height. Footsteps thundered behind him.

“Come on!” Brenda screamed. “The song’s ending!”

Thomas darted after her and wobbled on the beam, but he pressed forward. The soldiers trampled over the stairs. He tossed a glance back, and they flashed a gun at him, and he tensed, preparing to fall-

“We need them alive! Just wait!” A soldier commanded.

Thomas returned his focus to the narrow wood at his feet. He lunged around a vertical beam, failing his arms, ignoring the vastness below.

“Hurry!” Brenda called.

Thomas leapt safely off the beams and on the landing, just as Brenda ducked into the elevator shaft. He ran to it and stared down after her. She disappeared into the darkness below.

The song ended, right as Thomas jumped. Explosions boomed above, heat brushed his shoulders, and he fell with the debris.

Chapter Text

The warehouse exploded, fire blooming into the sky. Deafening booms resonated around the Scorch.

But the sounds didn’t bother Newt. He couldn’t hear them over his own screams.

“Calm down, kid. We don’t have time!” Jorge yelled.

Newt writhed against Minho’s restraint, gasping, “He-”

“Just listen to me!” Jorge hissed, crouching before Newt. “If Wicked gets us first, we’ll never know if Brenda got him out alive.”

Despite the heaving of his lungs, and the shaking in his hands, Newt nodded.

Minho finally released Newt, and he stumbled forward on the rocky ground. The zipline had brought the group to a semi-open cove. The broad daylight made their path obvious, so they had to leave quickly, but Newt didn’t want to. He couldn’t - Thomas was in the compound.

Jorge had no trouble turning around and leaving. He didn’t choose the more obvious direction, between the rocks bathed in light, that led somewhere outside the cove. Instead, he rolled a stone off the rockside, revealing a dark walkway. Aris stepped inside, followed by Frypan. Normally, Newt would admire such a camouflaged entrance. But he remained frozen, the picture of fire burning into his eyelids.

Teresa tugged at Newt’s wrist. “C’mon. He wouldn’t want us to get caught, too.”

Newt didn’t say anything, he simply followed her into the darkness. Easier to do that than to convince himself to leave.

After Minho stepped inside, Jorge entered and re-blocked the opening. The walkway instantly darkened, so someone brought out their flashlight, casting sharp shadows over the interior.

“We don’t want to be here when Janson’s soldiers arrive,” Jorge said. “Let’s go!”

Newt’s shoulders brushed the stone sides as he walked. He felt each time that Minho turned his own shoulders to avoid a snagged shirt. How the hell did they end up here? In a day, Newt had gone from resisting being found by Jorge, to following his lead - without his boyfriend by his side. All while knowing that Jorge worked for WCKD.

He glanced over his shoulder to speak to Jorge. “How do you expect me to trust you when you were two seconds shy of turnin’ us in?”

Jorge let out an amused laugh. “At this point, you don’t have a choice. Brenda’s the only thing keeping Thomas alive. So as long as they’re together, you’re stuck with me.”

A reasonable response, but Newt still felt crazy. No one else seemed convinced that Thomas was dead. Thomas was his boyfriend, so an overreaction might be expected. But, it was impossible to ignore the reality of the explosion. How could Jorge be so relaxed?

It all boiled down to Brenda. If she’d known the explosion was coming, if the song had something to do with it, she may have gotten them out. With this knowledge, Newt calmed himself just enough to finish the claustrophobic journey.

When they emerged, Newt squinted away his sunlight blindness. Jorge had brought them to another rocky cove. Except, this one overlooked a dingy town.

Suddenly, Jorge swept a sheet off of a car, spewing sand everywhere. The rusted car was so grimy that it blended with the dull rocks around it. The hinges creaked in protest as Jorge opened the driver’s side door.

After a few sputters, Jorge successfully turned the car on. He leaned out the window to smirk at Newt. “Meet Bertha.”

Newt made to get inside the car, but Jorge killed the engine before he could. At Newt’s confused look, Jorge said, “We’re taking a trip into town. I know a guy who used to smuggle kids for the Right Arm- he’s our best shot at knowing where they are. We’re going to meet Brenda and your boyfriend down there.”

‘Down there’ was the town in the valley, a good distance from the hill’s base. But truthfully, it was less a town, and more a smattering of faded buildings and dust clouds.

“Two of you need to stay in case Brenda comes here first,” Jorge said.

Teresa stepped forward. “I’m going with you.”

“Me too,” Minho said.

“And that leaves you two,” Jorge said, pointedly looking at Aris and Frypan. “We’ll blend in with the townsfolk. But that doesn't happen up here, so you two either hide in the car or the rocks.”

Jorge led them to a path into the valley, which was heavily obstructed with red rock and shrubbery.

Minho climbed in front of Newt. He was definitely there to catch Newt if his leg gave out, but he didn’t make a big deal of it, so Newt refrained from protesting.

And maybe, just maybe, it was nice to have the reassurance.

Then Newt noticed it. His cane - in Minho’s hand. Minho was using it himself, deliberately placing it beneath steps that were way too shallow for it.

Newt huffed. “Min, can I have that when you’re done?”

Minho grinned and tossed the cane up to Newt. “You’re welcome.”

Newt caught it with a smile. He used it as Minho did, to ease his weight more gradually onto his bad leg. It didn’t let him move much faster, but physically, it was easier.

Finally, the ground leveled out to match the town, and they started the trek. Teresa occasionally kicked a loose rock, and Newt was careful to move around the low grass and shrubs. His shoes and his cane crunched the parched dirt.

However, Minho hurried ahead to walk alongside Jorge. “Is Brenda your daughter? How is she so good with a gun?

“She’s not good, “ Jorge replied, gruff. “She’s great. And she might as well be.”

“Can you teach me?” Minho asked.

“Ask me later."

They soon arrived at the town, trailing behind Jorge down the street.

Once a robust suburbia, the town seemed to have collapsed in on itself. Its buildings weren’t bombed, but they still featured crumbling bricks. Parched wooden beams poked out of the walls, and sand colonized the sprawling cracks of the asphalt.

The street was lined with tents and tarps. Makeshift homes. The owners sat around them, wearing torn clothing dulled with dust. They kept their faces down - clearly uninterested in addressing the newcomers.

But Newt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. He noticed a family photograph, discarded on the street, the edges tattered with yellow. Stormwater buckets and the ashes of old fires littering the ground. A smoky scent lingering in the air.

He noticed the murmurs of women, faces hidden beneath sun scarves. A father, sitting with a girl on his knee. She was the only one whose gaze met Newt’s. She flashed a small grin at Newt, and he returned it.

Teresa bent to pick up another photograph. As she did so, her backpack slid down her shoulders, colliding with her hair. She sprang up, and her hands flew back to steady the pack.

“Is it heavy? Have you been drinkin’ much water?” Newt asked.

“Oh, uh, not enough,” Teresa stammered. She repeatedly tugged on the zipper to close her pack, even though it was already all the way shut. “I’ve been forgetting with all the running.”

Jorge slowed his pace to get closer to them. He spoke in a low, measured voice. “Bertha has some water stores. But don’t go around yelling about all you have. Not here.”

It took Newt a second to remember who Bertha was.

Teresa moved her pack to hang off one shoulder. She tucked it securely under her arm. To do that, the pack can’t have been that heavy, but she must just be guarding the water she had.

Jorge led them around the corner to a building. It was shadowyy, boasting boarded windows and a saloon-style doorway. A woman lingered around it, absent-mindedly picking at her nails.

Jorge strode right up to her. “Hey, Cass.”

The woman’s eyes, which were heavily smudged in eyeliner, glided to meet him. “Well if it isn’t the man himself. How are ya, Jorge?”

“I’ve been better,” Jorge replied. He leaned casually onto one leg, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. “Almost didn’t recognize you without your makeup.”

“Eh,” Cass said. “I might do it up again for tonight’s bash.”

“Marcus is still running ‘em?”

Cass grinned. “‘Couse! He’s the only man for the job.”

“He around?”

“That depends,” Cass replied. She coyly placed a hand on her hip. “What could you possibly need?” Her eyes traced over Newt’s face, then his torso, and his legs, before drifting to Teresa and Minho.

“Eh, these ones are no good,” Jorge said, dismissively waving his hand over them. “I just need to chat. Let’s just say I’m re-contemplating the break.”

“Immunes are drying up everywhere, aren’t they? They’re just like water,” Cass said, shaking her head. “Alright, you can hole up in the green room across the street. Marcus’ll find ya there. He might mind you stayin’, but I don’t care.”

Jorge said goodbye to her, and they walked into the green room. Well, it used to be green. The chipping paint was hardly noticeable. Stray light beams squeezed through the gaps in the window boards, illuminating the circulating dust.

However, there was a couch, which Newt promptly sat on. He leaned his cane on it. It probably wasn’t a great seat by couch standards, but Minho and Teresa still sank back into the cushions.

But Newt stayed rigid. Clasping his hands, he leaned his elbows on his knees. He couldn’t relax. He needed to be ready for something. His legs didn’t bounce, but they were tense.

The hurting in his knee crept up into his hip - the after-effects of an unbalanced walk. He’d never experienced pain like this before. Right after the original injury, the pain felt sharp and loud. Then it dulled down after healing. In that sense, the glade was kinder to him; he used to have complete control over how much he walked. But now, it ached chronically, coming and going, and he was always aware of it. It was hard to admit, but the cane had become a necessity.

However, Newt had bigger problems still. Problems that Jorge didn't seem concerned about. The man was currently resting near one of the few windows that didn’t have boarding. He tucked himself in the shadows, enabling him to stare outside it without people returning his gaze.

And here Newt was, fidgeting almost as bad as Thomas. How could Jorge be so calm? Newt judged Brenda to be like a daughter to him. She was practically in equal danger as Thomas, but Jorge barely seemed affected.

Newt pushed off the couch. He marched to Jorge, and leaned against the wall by the window. “So we’re just gonna wait?”

“Sure are,” Jorge replied. He didn’t elaborate, which irked Newt.

“Brenda could be in Wicked’s hands right now, and you’re just… fine? ‘Cause personally, I care, and I’m barely holdin’ it together.”

Jorge raised an eyebrow. “I’m well aware. Listen,” he said, posture loosening. “I know you’re new to this, to the survival life. And no, those mazes don’t count. Trust me, I’m worried- scared straight even. Do I like that she stupidly chose to run back while the ceiling caved? No. But I also know her abilities, and I know she'll make use of them. We’ll know if they’re safe within a few hours. Until then, I’ll stay steady, do the best I can to prepare.”

“Then where the hell did they go?” Newt asked.

“Ideally, they got out the backway. If not, I’d guess the tunnel system below the compound.”

Newt scoffed. Seriously? First it was the vents, now its tunnels?

“It’s all concrete, used to be where people lived during the Sun Flares,” Jorge said. “The only things left are a few cranks - the ancient kind that wants nothing to do with us. Mostly.”

“And how did you figure that out?”

“It’s my compound.” Jorge shrugged. “I went down there a couple years ago.”

Chapter Text

Thomas dove from the falling debris. His hands scraped the ground as he scrambled away. Once at a safe distance, he flipped onto his back and wheezed in recovery. The debris finally stopped rolling towards him, but the dust billowed into the air.

Behind him, Brenda cleared her throat. Her flashlight flickered on.

“You okay?” Thomas rasped.

“Just fine,” Brenda coughed. She turned and shone the flashlight down the hallway.

The light dwindled into murkiness as the darkness shrunk back. A damp smell permeated the clammy air, making Thomas scrunch his nose in distaste. The silence reminded him of when the maze went quiet at night. It all felt hollow, like a spider’s burrow - a regular hole on the surface, but you still wouldn’t stick your hand in it.

“I haven’t been down here in years,” Brenda murmured.

Thomas stood, brushing his hands on his pants. “Well, we just need to find sunlight, right?”

“Yeah. Sunlight.”

Their steps echoed into deep sounds that stretched beyond them. Brenda panned the light down, and sometimes, she also shone the light on the ceiling. There was never anything there, but it freaked Thomas out.

“What is this place?” Thomas asked.

“Years ago, the sun flares forced people underground. They made tunnels like these to survive. Except now, they’re full of cranks. Jorge says they’re the oldest ones. Past the gone.”

“The gone?”

Brenda shuddered. “You don’t wanna know.”

Then she beamed the flashlight onto a wall, illuminating graffiti. Thomas paused before it. Swaths of neon green, orange, and blue, all dripped where the artist lingered for moments too long. Many of the pictures and words were visually interesting, but they didn’t mean much to Thomas. But he did recognize some.

FUCK WCKD, scrawled in red.

Beneath it, WCKD IS NOT GOOD, titling a painting.

In the painting, a mass of people crowded beneath a towering woman. Their bodies were crafted in a bouquet of color, messy, clustering into one another like an angry melody. Begging hands stretched from the crowd, pain etched into their faces as they pleaded to the woman.

But the woman had no face, no color. Glowing and pristine, she was dressed solely in white.

A sense of sickness crept up Thomas’s spine. In that dream, he remembered his own white lab coat. Radiant, from the glow of the computer screen. Crisp paper, orderly notes…

His desire to stay suddenly drained. His legs tensed. He wanted to rush off, to ignore the painting, sweep it off the canvas and throw its brushes to the floor. But that was impossible, obviously.

So he clenched his fists. And he stayed.

The people, abandoned in the bottom… he couldn’t look away.

Thomas felt a spark of anger. WCKD used him, used all the gladers. All to leave these people on the outside to die.

“Let’s keep going,” Thomas said. He didn’t wait for an answer before walking off.

Thomas and Brenda passed a few narrow alleyways, but they stuck to the main path. Thomas quickly grew a hatred of the empty silence. It made the flashlight seem dimmer, the dark look darker.

“Is Jorge your father?” Thomas asked.

“Close enough,” Brenda replied. “Truth is, I don’t know what he is, he’s just always been there. I’ve always done what he asked me to do, no matter how stupid. Well, usually.”

Thomas guessed that she was referring to yesterday’s lie.

“Why’d you do it?” Thomas whispered.

Brenda didn’t reply right away. Thomas couldn’t decipher her expression, but he could sense her reluctance.

“I’ve never told anyone about this,” Brenda said, her grip tightening on the light. “When I was young, Wicked tried to take me, but my mother intervened. She told me to run, and I did. But my brother wasn’t so lucky.”

Brenda huffed, almost amused as she recited the memory. “Then Jorge found me. I was, I dunno, twelve at most? He taught me to fend for myself. And that involved helping him send immunes to Wicked.”

“What?” The protest slipped from Thomas’s mouth. He knew she worked for them, but even after they stole her sibling? But he quickly quelled his frustration. He had no right.

“I know, I know! It was shitty,” Brenda sighed. “But Jorge was just trying to keep us alive. In return for the immunes, Wicked gave us supplies and left us alone.”

Thomas fell silent. After all, wasn’t survival everyone’s goal?

Brenda said, “With the immune drop off in recent years, it gave me plenty of time to guilt over everything. So when you guys came around, I just couldn’t bring myself to turn you in.”

“If it makes you feel better, my sister and I literally built the Maze Trials,” Thomas said.

“Sister?”

“Teresa.”

Brenda nodded. “You guys don’t look alike.”

“That’s what Minho said,” Thomas chuckled.

“So you’re both trained? Wicked’s genius child scientists?”

Thomas scoffed. “Oh, I was trained all right. But then they stole my memories, did a bunch of shit to us in the maze. So now I couldn’t care less about science. But, they gave Teresa her memories back. I think she still knows some things.”

“And who’s the guy that kissed your cheek? Boyfriend?”

Thomas’s smile sprouted instantly. “Yeah. Newt.”

Brenda huffed. “He didn’t seem to like me very much.”

“He’s like that,” Thomas said. “Hesitant, kinda skeptical of people. He thought I was crazy, trusting you over such a small gesture.”

“He’s right,” Brenda laughed.

“But he’s amazing,” Thomas sighed. “You’ll love him, it’s impossible not to.”

The flashlight flickered, and the darkness sprang at them. But Brenda smacked it, and the light returned.

Thomas exhaled shakily. “So, what about your- your brother?”

“His name is George,” Brenda replied. “I have a picture of him in my locket, but I doubt it’s up to date by now.” With her free hand, she brought it out from her pocket.

And suddenly, Thomas understood. This was the silver object, the one she risked her life to snatch from the doomed warehouse.

A jolt shot through Thomas’s chest, and he panicked. His hands flew to his neck, over his chest, feeling for- got it. His palm rested atop his beating heart, where he felt the gentle poke of wooden wings. For a moment, he kept his hand there, using the pressure to reassure himself. He exhaled in relief.

There was a sudden splash, and Thomas jumped back, shaking the water off his boot.

Brenda cursed. She beamed the light onto a pond, which spanned across the whole hallway.

“Stormwater,” Brenda muttered.

“I guess we’ve been going down,” Thomas said.

Brenda took hesitant steps into the water. It rippled, barely kissing the sides of her shoes. “Let’s keep going.”

Thomas was grateful for the slight boost in height he had from his boots, as it kept his feet dry. As they walked, water drops thunked around them.

Eventually, the puddle ended, and they came upon a fork in the hallway. The paths were equally as dark, but the left seemed a bit wider.

Brenda shrugged and chose the left.

Here, there was no more graffiti on the walls. Nothing but the crunch of sand and concrete beneath their feet. Except, Thomas noticed something strange.

Vines, winding across the stone, gradually thickened the deeper they went. The vines weren’t green, but dark red and stringy, like flesh. Some crept onto the ground before Thomas. He was careful to avoid contact with them. If he didn’t, he thought that the vines might produce wet sounds, like real flesh.

Just as Thomas was realizing that they chose the wrong path, a squeak startled him.

Brenda zoned the light onto the source. A rat, writhing on the ground. She sighed and shook her head, exasperated.

And Thomas watched, almost mesmerized, as the rat thrashed its way to a wall, where it tripped into a mass of flesh vines.

As the rat struggled in the pile, a hand shot out. Veiny and pale, it choked the rat, and a long arm was attached to it, and before Thomas could react, the crank tore itself free.

Screeches thundered through the room. Brenda jerked the light around. A swarm of veiny skin and inky eyes emerged, and the cranks groaned as they stumbled free of the vines.

Thomas took only one step back. A crank leapt through the light beam and tackled Brenda to the floor.

“No!” Thomas wound up to kick it, but Brenda shot it in the head. The gunshot reverberated throughout the room.

Brenda shoved the body off her and shot up to her feet. “Go!”

They tore down the hallway as the horde chased them. Screams pulsated in every direction, surrounding them.

But the strangest, most petrifying sound was the words. Even over his own gasps, and the pounding of his shoes, Thomas could hear them - the chants wretched from their quivering throats.

“Come ‘ere.”

“I missed you.”

Finally, they reached the fork from earlier. Thomas stumbled around the corner, splashing through a puddle.

“I see a light!” Thomas gasped. They charged to the end of the hall, to the sliver of daylight, screeches swelling behind them.

Brenda tried to shoot her pistol behind her, but she grunted in frustration, and shoved the pistol back into her belt.

They swerved through the doorway, into the daylight.

Suddenly, Thomas’s chest teetered over a drop, and he yelped. Pebbles at his feet tumbled down the cliff. He leapt back, looking around frantically. Going up the cliffside was a series of rocks - the only escape. They curved inwards, gradually getting away from the cliffside.

Thomas scrambled over them, Brenda trailing close.

Given the sunlight, Thomas thought that they might be safe from the cranks. Surely they wouldn’t follow. And the rocks were tall enough that he used his hands to climb, reaching up high with his leg. But the crank shrieks got louder.

Thomas chanced a glance backwards. Brenda was just behind him, her heels dancing with the scrawling cranks. Their movements jerked, skin translucent in the daylight. Were they ever human at all?

Brenda reached for her pistol, but a loose rock gave way beneath her. She yelped, and a crank grabbed her calf.

The sound of tearing fabric zipped through the air as Thomas leapt down, kicking the crank off her. Shrieking, it flopped across the rocks, taking the other cranks with it.

Thomas grabbed Brenda by the armpits and dragged her up, barely giving her time to get back on her feet.

“Thanks!” Brenda gasped.

They turned, scrambled between a narrow canyon, and the shrieking finally died.

Thomas and Brenda successfully made it to the top. Thomas leaned against a rock, panting, his hands on his knees. As she recovered her own breath, Brenda fiddled with the tear in her pant leg.

“You were bit?” Thomas gasped.

“No,” Brenda panted. “I’m fine.” She turned her calf towards him, showing only the broken fabric and a minor scratch. She shook her head. “We should get going. Jorge and I’s rendezvous is on the other side of town.”

Thomas nodded. After some quick sips of water, they climbed down the hill and trekked to the town.

As they walked through the streets, Thomas copied Brenda’s defensive posture - head tucked into her hood, face downwards. She whispered that she was searching for a specific building. She didn’t know Marcus personally, as Jorge never let her near those dealings, but she had an idea of his operations.

Brenda took them to a large porch area. A crowd of dazed people stood around it, all wearing loose smiles. They wore dingy, yet whimsical outfits: low rise pants, long jewelry, heavy makeup. Their gazes trailed over Thomas as he passed them, and he could feel them lingering on his back.

A woman wandered up to them. Her golden eyeshadow and thick eyeliner did nothing to hide the deep bags beneath her eyes.

“You here for the party?” She asked.

“Uh... no,” Brenda said. “We’re looking for Marcus. This is his place, isn’t it?”

“This is my place,” a blond man chimed in. He had sunken eyes, a five o’clock shadow, and a dirty velvet jacket. He smirked lopsidedly. “Marcus doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Do you know where we can find him?” Brenda asked.

“He’s over in zone B,” the man replied.

“What’s zone B?” Thomas asked.

“It’s where they burn the bodies,” the woman whispered.

Thomas found that kinda dumb. He said, “Okay, look, has anyone else been here looking for him? Maybe a group of kids around our age? A man called Jorge?”

“You know, I think they might be inside. Here,” the man said, pulling out a mysterious bottle. “Drink up. It’s the price of admission.”

The liquid in the bottle was fluorescent green, sloshing back and forth.

“Drink it!” the man said, seething. Another man, who carried a gun and seemed decidedly less drugged, stared daggers at Thomas.

Slowly, Thomas brought the bottle to his lips. And suddenly, the woman tilted it back, sending the liquid splashing down his throat. It burned. Tears sprang to his eyes as he tried to swallow and keep up. Was this even edible?

Thomas slapped the drink away and bent into a cough. The woman swept the bottle from him and waved it before Brenda. Through his watery vision, Thomas saw Brenda tilt the bottle back quickly, trying to make it just grace her lips.

“Have fun,” the woman sneered.

And they were shoved inside.

Thomas blinked to get his bearings. The sensual music floated slowly through his mind, and bass pulsated his bones. Moody lighting obscured the crowd’s swaying in the shadow. Many of them looked like cranks, with dull skin and spidery veins, but they didn’t act like it. They danced, their eyes shut in bliss, mouths agape. It was hard to distinguish between heavy makeup and an actual crank face. But Thomas stopped looking, as fingers began caressing his shoulders while he slipped through.

He focused on staying near Brenda, but this proved to be difficult, given her short height and Thomas’s alarming decrease in balance.

At some point, they passed a room, rowdy with chants. The crowd’s hollers echoed in time with sharp clashes of metal. The crowd jeered - slow and rolling sounds that tumbled over Thomas’s ears. Chains wrapped around a crank pinned it to a pole in the center, where it screeched and writhed, clanking the chains. At the reverberations of a gunshot, the crank collapsed to the ground.

“They’re not here.”

What?

Thomas glanced down, finding Brenda’s worried eyes.

Brenda repeated, “They’re… not here…”

Her face blurred as Thomas struggled to process the words. He stared at her. Her eyes were brown. They were brown, and the pupils black. But the pupils were growing. Growing? They bloomed out, and out, until Brenda’s eyes were stained in ink, and the ink dripped like saliva from her lips, they curled into a snarl-

Then she lunged.

Thomas startled, shaking his head. When he refocused, he found himself staring at a crank. It had distinct blonde, fluffy hair, and paling skin etched in veins.

Newt’s face distorted into something ugly as he growled at Thomas.

“Newt?”

Newt bared his teeth. You did this. He lunged, and Thomas cried out, throwing his hands up to his face. Your fault.

“Thomas?”

Thomas blinked.

And Newt was fine. No more veins, no more inhuman eyes. He stared at Thomas, concern lacing his features.

Thomas sighed in relief. He grabbed Newt’s cheeks, leaning in for a kiss, but then Newt shoved him back.

“It’s me!”

Brenda had a hand pressed to Thomas’s heaving chest. Shocked, Thomas dropped his grip from her face and stumbled back, right into a mass of heated bodies. He rotated, tripping and barely catching himself. A shoulder knocked him, an elbow jabbed his ribs, something grabbed his arm.

From the sea of heads, a metal claw swung and snapped at him. Thomas twisted and dodged. Grievers shrieked. Wails echoed - cranks, they were cranks! Get out! He stumbled right, but Winston appeared before him. He flashed a knife between Thomas’s eyes. Run! He turned, but there was Newt, gripping Thomas’s arms. Veins spiraled up his pale neck, vines of ink that crept, and crept-

No no no. Thomas clutched his hair, pressing hands to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. No. Move.

The ground smacked Thomas’s head. Cranks groaned around him. Tommy! He willed the hands on his ears to press harder, and they did - but a kick landed in his stomach, someone stepped on his calf. Thomas curled into himself and gasped for breath.

He had no idea how long he laid there. But finally, the visions changed.

The figure of Newt - a healthy Newt - fell to his knees before him, haloed by background light. A soft, warm touch landed on his cheeks. This vision was fine, it was fine, Newt was okay. How nice it was to just lay there.

Newt’s lips moved, but Thomas couldn’t tell if he was speaking. Newt’s attention shifted elsewhere - he seemed to be calling for someone - but Thomas could care less.

As the edges of Thomas’s vision blackened, someone lifted him by the shoulders. And he passed out.

Chapter Text

Thomas regretted waking. Opening his eyes felt like wading through quicksand. Once the fogginess cleared, he shot up into a sitting position, and threw up into a bucket that Newt had conjured. When he finally finished, Newt offered him water, which he used to swish his mouth clean.

After putting the bucket elsewhere, Newt returned and sat beside Thomas. The couch creaked, dipping with his weight - Thomas had no idea where they got a couch, but he wasn’t going to complain. He rubbed his temples and scrunched his brow, as if that could revive his sluggish brain. The ground at his feet blurred.

Thomas croaked, “Is Brenda…”

“She’s with Jorge,” Newt murmured.

“How long have I been out?”

“All night. The sun just came up.”

Thomas nodded, instantly making his head pound. Newt guided him to lay back on the couch, with his head by Newt’s thigh.

Although he felt somewhat deserving of a lecture, Thomas was grateful for Newt’s silence. His head might’ve exploded if he had to endure much listening. Still, Thomas felt obligated to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered.

“For?”

“I wouldn’t listen to you.”

Newt huffed. The hand in Thomas’s hair stilled. “No, you haven’t been. It was drivin’ me up the wall. But then you ran, right back into Wicked. You… you let me go.”

Thomas shut his eyes, allowing a haze of memories to drift to him, from that insane party. No, they weren’t memories - they were hallucinations. The grievers were all gone. Brenda wasn’t a crank. Winston hadn’t ever swung a knife at Thomas, and Newt wasn’t-

Newt wasn’t. He wasn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Fear crawled from Thomas’s chest. Was Newt okay now? He hadn’t gotten bit while Thomas was gone, right? And his leg, that had to be…

Thomas swung his hand back and gripped Newt’s arm, feeling the warmth seeping through the sleeve. Newt’s pulse thumped slowly, firm - consistent waves reassurance. Newt exhaled, a calm whisper of air that ghosted across Thomas’s ears.

“I kept the cane,” Newt said, soft. “It works well. Relieves pressure.”

Thomas released Newt’s arm and gazed fondly up at him. Despite the odd angle, Newt returned the look with a crinkle in his eye.

Some time passed, Thomas didn’t care how much. He listened to the murmurs of Teresa, Aris, and Frypan, and the soft sounds of Newt scratching his hair. They were located in some abandoned building. Thomas tried to ignore the dust in the air as best he could as he ate the crackers that Newt offered him. Newt said they were from a stash in this room, which Jorge had told him about last night.

“Wait…” Thomas said. “Did Jorge leave us?”

Newt huffed. “No.”

Jorge burst through the door, dragging a man by the arm. The man half-walked, half-crawled, before Jorge unceremoniously tossed him into a chair. The chair skidded back as the man plopped into it. But he didn’t move or fight the action. Instead, his head lolled, and he forced out a loud laugh. Despite his velvet suit, his appearance was unkempt, caked in dirt. Thomas recognized him as the one who forced him to drink.

Brenda appeared behind the man. She wound a rope between his elbows and the chair, pinning him back. Minho stode in behind them and cocked the pistol in his hands.

As Jorge circled before the man, he crossed his arms. “That was a nice little stunt, Marcus.”

“Wait, this is Marcus?” Thomas asked.

“Well, this kid catches on quick.” Marcus chuckled loosely. “Are you the brains of the operation?”

Jorge didn’t hesitate. He socked Marcus in the chin, making a loud thud. “I know you know where the Right Arm is. Now you owe me for what you did to my daughter. So tell me, and I’ll make you a deal.”

Marcus exercised his jaw, blinking away the shock. “I burned that bridge a long time ago. You’re the one that taught me to never miss an opportunity.”

Newt interjected, “What’s he talkin’ about?”

“Supply and demand,” Marcus replied. He smirked loosely. “I lure immunes in, they get drunk, have a good time. Then later, Wicked comes in, and I get paid. But you lied, didn’t you, Jorge? These kids are immune. Except, of course…”

“I changed my mind, hermano. I do enjoy hurting you,” Jorge muttered. He snatched a gun out of his holster, jamming it against Marcus’s head. “Talk!”

“They have an outpost in the mountains, down south.” Marcus winced. “But it’s a long way away. You’ve got half of Wicked on your ass, you’re not gonna make it.”

Satisfied, Jorge backed away and let his gun drop.

Brenda and Minho stayed hovering in the shadows behind Marcus. Minho stood straight, assured with the pistol in his hands. Brenda, however, seemed different.

It was subtle, but her usually piercing gaze now wavered. Her breathing was effortful, and her composure wobbled. She must’ve drank more than Thomas had thought.

But once Jorge commanded everyone to collect their things, Brenda snapped to undo Marcus's ties. Even after being freed, he didn’t move. He remained in the chair, rubbing his wrists and the bruises on his cheek. Yet that loose smirk never left him.

Thomas rushed to find his backpack, finding it organized and stuffed with water. He followed Newt and the others out of the door.

Having thought that ‘Bertha’ was a person, Thomas was surprised to be introduced to a run-down car.

Newt hopped into the front seat, slamming the door in front of Thomas. Pouting, Thomas leaned towards the window and fruitlessly tugged on the handle.

“Sorry, Tommy.” Newt smirked. “You left me yesterday. There’s gotta be some consequences.”

Thomas relented and got into the seat behind Newt.

Aris slinked into the back, and Brenda did the same. Even though Thomas had successfully fought his hangover, Brenda still seemed pale. After sitting in the corner, she dropped her head onto the wall and shut her eyes.

“My knees need protecting, so I vote Teresa to sit in the back,” Minho said.

Teresa rolled her eyes, but she didn’t protest. She sat between Aris and Brenda.

The drive wasn’t smooth, but Thomas found himself enjoying it. He observed how the desert beside the road whizzed by, while the more distant mountains moved steadily. He zoned out imagining himself running alongside the car, dodging the rock obstacles. Even if they were driving the car in broad daylight, it felt like progress. Escaping from WCKD for real.

In the front, Newt questioned Jorge on how to drive. Jorge showed him the gas and the brake, and instructed him when to switch gears. Frypan, equally as invested, asked about the mirrors.

Jorge laughed. “Cars were built to be driven with hundreds of other people on the road. But now, I can just turn my head and see nothing but tumbleweeds.”

Then Newt started asking about all the buttons.

“I’m having trouble remembering what I’m doing. I keep phasing in and out of fogginess,” Brenda muttered, from the row behind.

Thomas turned to face her. “From the hangover?”

“I think it’s the Flare,” Teresa said, like the information was nothing new. “Where’s the bite?”

“There’s that scratch on my calf. I must’ve gotten bit when I fell,” Brenda replied.

Thomas’s gaze darted to the tear in Brenda’s pant. The wound was on the side of her calf - flushed red, looking similar to last night. If she had caught the Flare, her odd behavior would make more sense. But it didn’t seem as infected as Winston’s wounds were.

Teresa swiped the collar of Brenda’s jacket away, studying her neck. Thomas could make out purple veins, faint, but crawling up her skin.

“Definitely the Flare…” Teresa whispered.

Brenda shrugged and closed her eyes.

“What actually happened out there?” Teresa asked.

Thomas said, “We fell down the elevator shaft and got stuck in these tunnels. They were basically like catacombs. There were cranks, but nothing like we’ve seen. I could barely recognize them as human.”

Brenda coughed, “They’d been past-gone for years.”

“What do you mean by catacombs?” Teresa asked.

Thomas shuddered as he recalled the experience. “We took a wrong turn that took us deeper into the tunnels. It was awful, the air was so… sticky. We found this infested room, where Brenda got tackled to the ground.”

“And then I shot it,” Brenda corrected.

“That’s where you got the scratch?” Teresa asked.

“No, that was outside,” Brenda retorted. The car jerked, and her head bumped the wall. “But anyways, why should you care?”

Teresa startled. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

“You don’t know me,” Brenda muttered. Her gaze drifted down, melancholic, like she hadn’t accepted her fate but knew that she should.

“What you did last night, advocating for us, and escaping from the tunnels…” Teresa sighed. “Look. You’re good at what you do, and you’re free about it. It’s pretty cool. At this point, I think I know enough to care.” She pulled a water bottle out of her pack, and offered it to Brenda.

“What’s the point?” Brenda said. “I’m helpless.”

“It’s different for me, but I know what that’s like. Being helpless.” Teresa kept holding out the water bottle, gazing expectantly at Brenda. “Don’t lose hope yet- we might be able to get something for you.”

Brenda snatched the bottle roughly, but as she drank, the way her posture softened almost looked like an apology. She said quietly, “Thanks, genius.”

Teresa studied Brenda’s scratch again. She reached down to bandage it, furrowing her brow in contemplation. Thomas thought she’d say something else, but she remained quiet.

After a couple hours of driving, they began the climb up the mountains. They went along a road carved into the side of a canyon. Newt stared in awe at the towering walls of orange rock. From a distance, the mountains always looked gray. But up close, they boasted an array of browns and yellows. Down at the canyon’s base, a creek trickled between the rocks. Greenery flourished around it.

Newt was so distracted by the view that the car’s abrupt stop startled him. His body lurched forward, and he snapped his gaze to the front.

Jorge had stopped the car behind a line of traffic. Only, it wasn’t traffic. The cars were abandoned, dustier and older than even Jorge’s.

The group piled out of the car. Newt swung the door open and lowered his legs out. After sitting in the car for hours, his leg probably wouldn’t appreciate a sudden change. So he eased onto his feet slowly.

After getting up, Newt strolled closer to the traffic line. Almost every window was shattered. Many of the hoods were up, displaying sand-coated engines. The line continued snaking through a dark tunnel, which had been carved into the side of the canyon.

“We’ll walk from here,” Jorge declared.

Before Newt could take another step, a gunshot rang through the canyon.

Newt rushed back to the car and threw himself against the door. He pressed his back to the cold metal, glancing around quickly. Minho did the same beside him, banging into the door loudly.

As more gunshots echoed throughout the canyon, Newt chanced a lean forward. He locked eyes onto Thomas, who was crouching next to Jorge at a car further down the line. Relatively safe, but far.

Panting, Newt waited for the gunshots to quiet. His knee buzzed with both pain and the exhilaration of his sudden lunge. Eventually, the shots finally faded.

Newt turned and got onto his knees. He peered through the car windows, to the canyon’s other side.

He briefly caught sight of a dark figure on the ledge, before another gunshot forced him down.

They sat there for what felt like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than five minutes. The occasional gunshot shocked Newt (especially when they shattered the car windows around him). Thomas threw him reassuring glances, but no one was able to do anything.

Was this the Right Arm? But killing potential recruits was an odd thing to do.

A voice startled him. “On your feet!”

From further down, two girls emerged around a car, aiming their rifles at Thomas and Jorge. The girls took determined steps, glaring over their masks.

“Hands in the air! Let’s go!” This girl’s neat dreadlocks were tied into a half-ponytail.

Newt remained frozen, his back pressed to the car. But Jorge stood, and Thomas did the same, hesitantly raising his hands out. The girls forced them all the way back to Newt, merging them into a group. Minho helped Newt stand, and at the girls’ hard glares, Newt raised his hands.

Dreadlock girl was also quite tall, as she looked him directly in the eye.

“Drop it!” The second girl’s voice, young and light. She was shorter, with a mop of fluffy blonde hair tied into a braid. “I said drop it!”

Despite how young their voices sounded, Newt didn’t question how they fired their commands.

Neither did Jorge. He let his pistol fall from his fingertips.

“Slowly now,” the first girl said, as Minho kept raising his hands up.

Suddenly, Aris stepped forward. The girls whipped their rifles at him in response.

“Oh my god,” Aris said. “Harriet?”

Eyes widening, the girl with dreadlocks lowered her face mask. “Aris?”

Aris broke out into a grin, and he ran forward, colliding into a hug with Harriet. In disbelief, Harriet pulled back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The blonde girl joined them, beaming at Aris. “You’re lucky we didn’t shoot your dumbass.”

So the Right Arm did capture Aris’s friends. Seeing their smiles, Newt couldn’t help but grin too.

Confused, Thomas lowered his hands and stepped closer to Newt. “What’s happening?”

“We were in the maze together!” Aris grinned.

“Aris’s been looking for them this whole time,” Newt said, watching them chatter happily.

Harriet stepped back from the hug, and she let out a sharp whistle. “We’re clear guys! Stand down!”

Across the canyon, dark figures materialized from behind the rocks. One of them waved, gave Harriet some hand motion, then disappeared with the others.

The reunited trio resumed their conversation.

Then Teresa interrupted them. “I know you,” she said, staring directly at the blonde girl.

The girl narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think you do.”

“Sonya, is it?” Teresa asked.

Shocked, Sonya paused. Then she gave a small, curt nod.

Teresa whipped around, right to Newt. She approached him quickly, like an entranced predator.

Startled, Newt shrunk back, darting his gaze around her face. She’d never done anything like that before - at least not to him. The urgency reminded him of when she told Thomas that she was his sister.

Still locked onto Newt, Teresa gasped, “You–”

“Let’s get moving!”

Newt turned to the tunnel, where a group of men emerged. They all wielded guns, but they weren’t pointing them, only gesturing for everyone to follow.

“Come on!” Harriet said.

They jogged off, and the rest of the group did the same. But Newt sighed, lagging behind with a slower pace. He wasn’t going to force himself to run - that wouldn't go well. The Right Arm probably wouldn’t appreciate having an injured recruit.

Then Thomas approached. “Wait here,” he said as he darted by.

Newt watched Thomas fling open their car door, dive inside, and stumble back out with Newt’s cane in hand. He ran to Newt and held it out. “I know you might not want to show them, but it lets you be independent so I figured…”

Newt smiled, but he didn’t take the cane. Instead, he grabbed Thomas’s right arm, leaning into the crook of his elbow.

“I’m your cane now?” Thomas asked, amused.

“‘Course,” Newt replied.

And the pair went through the tunnel.

On the other side, they were ushered into trucks with giant wheels and wooden grates for windows. Newt sat between Thomas and Teresa, who was curiously silent, despite her recent outburst.

They started driving. Ignoring the intense rocking of the car, Thomas immediately leaned forward and pestered Harriet with questions. “Do you guys know anything about the Right Arm?”

Harriet smirked. “I know plenty about the Right Arm.”

Chapter Text

The Right Arm camp was nestled in a rocky valley. The trucks appeared to be parked messily, scattered around and facing several directions. But Thomas noticed how each was facing an easy way out, between the rocks - the placement must be strategic.

Thomas jumped out of the truck, crunching the pebbles at his feet. Newt made to do the same, swinging his legs out the door, and Thomas offered his hand.

Newt barely spared Thomas a glance. He took his hand, jumped out, and landed gracefully. Thomas’s chest glowed.

Towing Newt in hand, Thomas glanced around at the tents. They were pale greens and browns, easily disguised amongst the crumbling rocks. They formed a semi-circle with two fire pits in the middle - one of which still had dying embers that no one was relighting. Possibly leftover from lunch.

For as formidable as the Right Arm had sounded, their camp was quite small, housing maybe sixty people. They emerged from the tents, chatting together, sending quick glances over Thomas and the others, as if they only needed a single look to assess them.

Harriet slammed the truck door shut. She strolled to Thomas and Newt with her rifle strung over her shoulder. “We’ll take you to see Vince. He decides if you get to stay. But…” She learned forward to speak lower. “Between us, I think he’s gonna say yes.”

Harriet led them to the largest tent. At her call, Vince walked out, pushing aside the tent flaps. His demeanor was hardened, mirroring the disciplined sturdiness of his leather jacket. He didn’t seem that old, but he had a gray beard and hair.

“These are immunes,” Harriet said. “We caught them coming up the mountain. I know this guy, Aris. I trust him.”

“Well I don’t,” Vince replied. “Check ‘em.”

Other Right Arm members closed in on them, and Thomas raised his hands. He wasn’t worried, as he carried no weapons.

Suddenly, there was a sharp gasp behind him. Thomas whirled around in time to see Brenda collapse. She rolled onto her side, heaving for breath, jerky movements making her jacket catch the red dirt.

“Brenda!” Jorge dropped beside her and gathered her in his arms.

“What’s going on with her?” Vince asked.

Jorge looked up, desperate. “I don’t know.”

Brenda gasped again. Her head rolled back, exposing the purple veins.

“Crank!” Vince shouted. He stumbled back, snatched up a gun, and aimed it at her. With his finger shaking on the trigger, he pressed forward.

Thomas leapt before Vince with his hands out. “Please! Wait! We told her you could help. There’s gotta be something you can do.”

Vince kept his gaze locked onto Brenda, bypassing Thomas, like he barely noticed him. His hard look was cracking with something wild. He cocked the gun.

Before Thomas could react, a woman shoved through the crowd. She grabbed Vince’s gun arm, forcing it down.

“That’s enough!” She yelled, arm straining as she fought against Vince’s pressure.

Vince was still staring at Brenda, trying to repoint the gun at her. “Mary, just let me-”

“Not now,” Mary said. She stared firmly up at him, trying to command his gaze.

Vince’s eyes stayed narrow, but let Mary guide his arm down. He dropped the gun.

Mary sighed, and Thomas relaxed. He didn’t know how much time she just bought Brenda, but he was grateful.

Then slowly, Mary turned to Thomas, and her kind eyes crinkled. “Hello, Thomas.”

Thomas stared, confused as he studied her. She had wavy brown hair, and she was short, but he didn’t recognize her. “I- I don't…”

“Interesting,” Mary said, tilting her head. “It makes sense that they’d put you in the maze. Though I must admit, I was worried they’d kill you after what you did.”

Thoamas’s chest tightened. She knew about the maze? What he did? There’s thousands of possibilities for ‘what he did.’ The real question was, what hasn’t Thomas done-

“The first time we spoke, you said you couldn’t take it anymore. Watching your friends die, one by one,” Mary said. “The last time we spoke, you gave me the coordinates of every Wicked compound, trial, and lab.”

“He was our source?” Vince asked.

“We couldn't have pulled all this off without him,” Mary said. Her gaze on Thomas was proud, almost motherly.

Thomas’s hands hovered awkwardly at his sides. All eyes were on him, burning into his cheeks. A few whispers passed through the crowd. But had nothing to hold onto, nothing to fiddle with. He wanted to turn and plead at Newt for the answers, for what to say, but that wouldn’t solve anything. He was pinned in place.

This entire time, Thomas was focused on escaping. All he cared about was finding the mountains, getting to safety. To get away from the cranks, from WCKD, from the grievers, from Ava Paige. Now that he’d achieved it, shouldn't he feel thrilled? Relieved, at the least?

When Minho talked about fighting, he didn’t really understand. He’d dismiss it. He didn’t want to think about it. But now he was staring at the fight in the face. He couldn’t avoid it.

All along, he was the one responsible for it.

In the med tent, Brenda writhed on a cot, gasping for breath. Jorge hovered above her, not bothering to hide his anxiousness. Yesterday, Newt thought that Jorge was indifferent to losing Brenda, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

Mary shuffled around the crates and tables, measuring liquids in little clear tubes. She wore those blue gloves that the doctors always had, but no lab coat. She was making the serum for Brenda, whose condition was getting worse by the minute. For that, Mary almost hadn’t let Newt inside the tent, saying that it was unnecessarily dangerous. But Thomas demanded his presence, citing their relationship.

Teresa was also allowed in because she’d recognized Mary. Because of course she did - Teresa knew everything these days. Newt often got the sense that her mind was beyond them - far more knowledgeable, but floating away somewhere.

Teresa trailed after Mary, firing questions littered with sciency-sounding words. Much of which Newt couldn’t understand, but he was able to catch some.

“I kinda remember, but it’s a little foggy,” Teresa said. “When did you leave Wicked?”

“About five years ago. Has there been progress since then?” Mary asked, the word ‘progress’ brushed in sarcasm.

“Yes, there’s a specific enzyme that attacks the Flare. We call it enzyme C. By isolating it from the blood, the current serum delays onset by four months,” Teresa replied.

“It’s not manufacturable, is it?” Mary asked.

Teresa shook her head, solemn. “The enzyme has to be harvested. Of course it’s made of all protein complexes we don’t understand.”

“Why were you in the maze?”

“Um…” Teresa paused. “They wanted me to continue the experiment, that’s all.”

Mary leaned down with an alcohol wipe to clean Thomas’s forearm.

Newt instantly felt Thomas stiffen beside him, so he imagined the wipe to be cold. He was grateful to already be sitting on a cot, not needing to worry about keeping Thomas on his feet.

Then Mary held a needle to a flame. She conversed casually with Thomas while she prepared it. “So, the maze was terrible, I presume?”

“Yep,” Thomas replied.

“Did you two get together then?”

Thomas nodded, inhaling shakily. “Uh, yeah. Right before we escaped.”

“That’s beautiful,” Mary said, honest, as she pressed the needle into Thomas’s vein. “I’m glad you found the strength to do so. Partners and friends are vital in these conditions.”

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, diverting his face away. “Uh huh.”

Newt reigned in his teasing smile as he rubbed Thomas’s arm in comfort.

“Vince is my support,” Mary commented, while pulling the needle out. “Done.”

Teresa appeared with a gauze and bandage. She spoke to Thomas as she worked on his arm. “You’re awfully scared of blood for someone who used to work with it. And then you dissected a griever, which has slime that’s objectively way more disgusting than blood, and then-”

“Okay!” Thomas chuckled, clasping his palm around the gauze. “I thought I was supposed to be the annoying one.”

“Don't worry, you are,” Newt said.

“You love me,” Thomas shot back.

Before Newt could retort, Mary returned. She took Thomas’s extracted blood, and injected it into a tube with bright blue liquid. “This is an early version of the serum that uses whole blood,” she said, swirling the two liquids together. “It should slow Brenda’s symptoms by a month or two.”

Thomas’s eyes widened. “So as long as an immune is here to give blood, we can keep Brenda alive?”

“Not necessarily,” Mary replied, her voice quiet. “That was our last dose. We have to steal serum supplies from Wicked, which isn’t easy. Besides, we don’t carry members that are infected, so getting the serum isn’t a priority.”

Mary went over to Brenda with the new needle in hand. Brenda’s eyes were squeezed shut, air choked her twitching throat as she breathed. Violet veins pulsed all over her arms.

Then Mary administered the serum to her. Instantly, Brenda let out a sigh. Mesmerized, Newt watched as the veins merged back into her muscles, and the ugly purple color began to dissipate. She sank into the cot, muscles relaxing, as Jorge kept clutching her hand.

Thomas spoke, and his voice was gruff. “I can’t let Wicked keep doing this.”

Newt kept his eyes on Brenda. Her chest rose and fell, easing into a slow rhythm. Rather than keeping her eyelids squeezed shut, they were soft, as if she were about to drift to sleep. Thanks to WCKD’s tech, she would live to see the next month.

Newt wondered if he should feel remorse - about how he didn’t care Brenda would die, if it meant that WCKD would stop.

But it wasn’t an option to consider that WCKD’s activities were justified, even for someone like Brenda. The chronic throbbing of his knee made that impossible.

Back in the glade, sometimes his mind would toy with blaming himself for the jump. But he never really believed it. It was always WCKD’s fault.

Newt replied, “They won’t.”

Mary approached them. “Come on, let’s let Brenda rest. You can attend your first dinner meeting.”

Per Vince’s firm explanation, the Right Arm always ate dinner well before sundown. After which they operated under a strict ‘no light’ policy, only allowing the use of the dimmest lamps inside closed tents.

Newt sat beside Thomas on the ground, joined by Minho and Frypan. He didn’t care about the rocks poking beneath his thighs. As long as he could stretch out his bad leg and rest without feeling like WCKD was breathing down his neck, he’d be grateful.

As there was no dinner tent, people milled around in a loose gathering. Some leaned against truck tries, and others against the rocks. Despite eating floppy canned vegetables and soup for dinner, they chattered openly.

After Newt asked, Vince revealed that (in combination with underground dealing) they stole from WCKD supply lines to have enough gas, food, and water. Knowing that instantly transformed the dinner into fine dining.

Sonya and Harriet approached, grinning as they sat down before them.

“So, how’re you guys feeling?” Sonya asked.

“I was expecting more of an… army,” Minho replied carefully.

Sonya shrugged. “Imagine what it looked like when we got here.”

“We take a lot of risks to keep going,” Harriet said. “Between dealing with Wicked’s suppliers and getting bombed during raids, sometimes we lose more than we gain.”

Sonya scoffed, teasing. “Oh, so since you’ve been here for two weeks, you just know everything now?”

“I think nearly getting shot during our first raid counts, ” Harriet chuckled. Then she studied Teresa, with a quiet gleam in her eyes. “Care to explain how you knew Sonya?”

In the middle of chewing, Teresa nodded hastily as she swallowed. “Well, Ava- Ava Paige restored my memories. I knew that-” She cut herself off, eyes darting to Newt. “I knew that Sonya was Newt’s sister.”

A hush fell over the group. Newt glanced at Sonya, feeling the urge to say something but falling short with the words. Wasn’t connection supposed to be easy for siblings? But they’d only just learned each other's names.

The silence was broken by Harriet, who spoke almost in awe. “You guys do look really alike.”

Newt studied Sonya’s features, and she mirrored him. She was so young with her big brown eyes and full cheeks, brushed with a pink sunburn. Her braid was messy, its strands floating around in the breeze. Her gaze was full of curiosity, wonder, and something a little sad.

“You guys were separated a lot,” Teresa said. “As was I. I just… I know that you talked about her all the time.” Then she cleared her throat, and fell silent.

Newt didn’t know what to say. He was grateful that Teresa remembered even one detail about them, but now it was up to him to breach the gap. A difficult task when he and Sonya literally just met. Even though she couldn’t control it, he wished Teresa knew more.

The best thing Newt had in common with Sonya was the maze. He could bond with her over their shared imprisonment in it, but he didn’t like that it was the only option. They needed something better to connect over - something normal.

“Holy shit,” Harriet said. “Sonya, do you remember when you used to talk funny?”

Instantly, Sonya brighted with a laugh. “You bitches bullied me until I stopped! You’re telling me I could’ve had a cool accent like Newt?”

“His second favorite word is bloody,” Thomas said smugly.

Newt groaned.

Frypan said, “Bastard.”

“You should’ve heard the shank when he was barking orders at us in the glade,” Minho teased. “Sod off, ya blood-”

“Alright!” Newt laughed. “I think they get it.”

“Barking orders sounds like something Sonya would do,” Harriet said.

“Only because you were too nice to do it yourself, even though you were first-in-command,” Sonya shot back.

Newt perked up. “I was second-in-command!”

“Me too!” Sonya smiled.

As they finished dinner, Harriet, Thomas, and Minho chattered excitedly, trading stories about Newt and Sonya’s times in the glade. Newt quickly became endeared to Sonya’s carefree giggles, as well as Harriet’s measured retellings.

They explained how Thomas arrived and changed everything, and how Teresa helped them escape. Harriet and Sonya explained how they were intercepted by the Right Arm, separating them from Aris.

Just as Newt was learning the day-to-day life of the Right Arm, Vince hauled himself atop a truck, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Listen up! ” Vince said. “The scouts located a port with a usable boat. The search for a safe haven has begun!”

Everyone erupted into cheers and claps, and Newt found himself grinning. Thomas grasped his hand, commanding his gaze. His lips looked impossibly soft. Newt cupped his jaw, and guided him in for a kiss.

But Newt kept smiling, and he couldn’t stop, and his teeth bumped Thomas’s. As they finally sealed the kiss, a warm tongue met his.

One palm shifted the dirt along Thomas’s jawline. The other slid across the grimy fabric of his shirt. Newt noticed these things, and more, but he couldn’t care less.

He did, however, pull back after remembering that they were in public.

When their lips parted, Thomas immediately pouted. “It’s been so long.”

“We’re free now,” Newt said, brushing Thomas’s cheek with his thumb. “We’ll have time.”

Chapter Text

The mountains had gone from imposing a blockade onto the horizon, to forming the pebbly ground beneath her. Now there was nothing to look at, except back over the dark Scorch, where the sun should rise.

Teresa imagined the fog of her breath from the cold. The mountains didn’t retain the same heat that the Scorch did. She tightened her jacket around herself, the one Mary picked out for her.

Teresa had planned to tell Newt about his relation to Sonya in private, but when Harriet pried her, she just couldn’t hide it. She’d already hid enough.

At least she’d done one good deed.

The walkie-talkie was stowed safely in the depths of her bag. Unreachable, yet overbearing. But Teresa shut those thoughts from her mind. Instead, she reviewed the information.

Teresa knew three things.

First, Brenda had the Flare. Without serum, her symptoms would return in only a month. They had no access to the new serum, and Mary couldn’t even make the old one. Without the cure, Brenda would die.

Brenda was convinced that her ‘scratch’ was where she got the infection from, but to Teresa, that scratch looked healthier than anything else on Brenda’s skin. Teresa was certain that the infection didn’t originate from that minor injury.

So she concluded the second thing: The virus was airborne.

Thomas described cranks so far gone that they weren’t recognizable as human. He and Brenda spent at least an hour in those tunnels, breathing in the dense infected air. It must have taken hold in Brenda.

How long would it be before it spread outside the tunnels? As more and more got infected, it would be difficult to stop. At least, without a cure. Just thinking about the prospect of more death made Teresa’s heart race.

And three. There was no safe haven.

Everyone was so delighted to learn that they had a “boat.” So what? They were going to wander the seas, searching with degrading technology and limited gas for some island? Even if they did succeed, that endeavour would take months.

If they ever succeeded.

Brenda wasn’t contagious now - her viral load was too low - but what of other people with the infection? How long would it be before Newt couldn’t run from the inevitable?

As Teresa stood there, the previous silence of the scene vanished. The breeze felt louder, her breaths sharper, and suddenly, the echoes of her mother’s screams shot through her.

Teresa shut her eyes, squeezed her fists, but then the grip of a cold hand snaked around her ankle, and it crept up her calves, to her knee…

No. Teresa darted to the side, wincing. She stood still again, rigid like the stones before her, as if that could ward the memories off. The only part of her that wasn’t stiff was her fingers, playing with the roll of blue bandages in her pocket.

She relaxed. The memory of the cold grip disappeared, and her mother’s screams quieted.

That was the only recollection she had of her childhood. All the other memories she’d regained were recent - of the past few years. She didn’t know why. All she could conclude was that Newt and Brenda weren’t immune, and that they would suffer the same fate as her mom.

But all she had to do was click a button, and they’d be safe. Safe inside the sterile white walls of a WCKD complex. All she had to do was click a button, and she could save the rest of the world. Find a cure, save the world.

“Hey, I thought I saw you up here.”

Teresa whirled around.

It was just Thomas. He faced her, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What do you remember about us? At Wicked?”

Teresa scuffed her shoe in the dirt. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

“I want to know. I’m ready.”

Teresa stared at the Scorch. She could feel Thomas’s gaze burning into her cheek, like that sliver of sun emerging in the distance. She inhaled before speaking. “When Dr. Crawford interviewed me after the restoration, some stuff came back. But other times, it came back randomly. Like that you were my brother.”

“What exactly happened before I was sent into the maze?”

“Ava Paige wanted to punish you for, well… y’know. Before that, we’d been working on the trials together. Well, it was more like the year before. But one day, you started retreating away. I stopped seeing you in the lab. Your notes on the trials grew shorter, until you stopped sharing them with me entirely. I think it was around the time that Newt got injured.”

Teresa never did figure out how Newt’s injury happened. At the time, she was working hard at testing serums. Monitoring the glade wasn’t her priority. But now, she realized that if she brought WCKD here, they could cure Newt’s leg.

Thomas nodded, but he stayed silent.

“I did see you in the gym sometimes,” Teresa said. “You became especially obsessed with the treadmill. It was kind of concerning, but when I asked, you’d blow me off. I eventually stopped asking.”

“If I was slacking for an entire year before, why didn’t Paige just get rid of me?” Thomas asked. “She could’ve just thrown me in the maze. No need to wait.”

“Ava was our mentor. She practically raised us,” Teresa replied softly. “I guess she just wasn’t ready to let you go.”

“So that’s why she restored your memories, but not mine,” Thomas said. He let out a short, amused laugh. “Of course! She was pissed! I bet she regrets it now.” He thought for another moment before speaking again. “You know, if I was the one that betrayed them, why’d she also send you into the maze?”

Did Thomas really need to know that Teresa’d never been completely against WCKD? She couldn’t just say that Ava Paige trusted her to finish the trials. Even if he already knew in some capacity. It might lead to questions that she didn’t want to answer.

“They needed another immune,” Teresa replied. Unwilling to elaborate, she fell silent, and thankfully Thomas didn’t pry further.

They allowed the breeze to be the only sound. The sun had fully risen, and down the path, the Right Arm bustled with activity. Nobody, not them, not Thomas, knew what Teresa was pondering. Everything fell on her shoulders.

If Teresa went through with the plan, Thomas would never forgive her. But maybe with the Right Arm’s lack of serum, he’d be more receptive. Maybe after Brenda’s infection, he’d want to go back.

“You don’t think it’s dangerous? Hanging out like this, practically waiting for the Flare to overtake us?” Teresa asked, hopefully tilting up the end of the question.

But Thomas scoffed. “Do we really have a choice? It’s simple. Either we wait for the Flare to get us, or for Wicked- whichever one is first. Or we can do neither, and we fight instead.”

Teresa didn’t respond.

“Hey guys!”

They both turned, and Teresa saw Sonya jogging up the hill. She called for them again, saying that they were doing mandatory shooting practice.

A break would be nice. If Teresa didn’t have to think about world-ending stakes for an hour, she’d take it.

She and Thomas followed Sonya past the camp, onto a little field of shrubs and rocks. As they walked, Sonya turned to make sincere eye contact with Teresa.

“Sorry about yesterday, when we first met,” Sonya said. “I was a little curt with you. So seriously, thank you for remembering about me and Newt.”

“No, I get it. I was being pretty forward.”

Sonya grinned. “For someone who we’d just shot at, yeah, it was gutsy.”

Sonya led them off the beaten path. In the distance, Teresa could see Harriet handling a rifle, showing it off to Newt and Minho. Surprisingly, Brenda was there too. She seemed completely healthy as she laughed with the group.

“So what’s this about shooting practice?” Teresa asked Sonya.

“The Right Arm wants immunes, but that’s not all. They also need competent fighters- and that includes handling guns. Me and Harriet started last week when we joined. I think we’ve gotten pretty good.”

Brenda smiled at Teresa as she approached.

“Good recovery?” Teresa asked.

“Great,” Brenda replied, confident despite that she’d almost just died.

The ‘shooting range’ was a shallow valley with those same shrubs scattered around the base. Across it, taller rock peaks loomed above, basked in bright orange from the sun.

Harriet gestured to them, and the group huddled around her. Thomas was practically bouncing.

Harriet leaned onto one leg, her posture casual despite the two rifles she held. “This is our group for today. Basically a one-on-one lesson.”

“So by the end of today, I’ll get to kill something?” Minho asked.

Sonya wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “Maybe, if a target comes along.”

“Brenda, are you okay to do some teaching?” Harriet asked.

“Absolutely,” Brenda replied, and Harriet tossed a rifle into her hands.

Harriet scrutinized the group. “Where’s Frypan?”

“Ah, he wasn’t interested,” Newt replied.

“Well, can someone go get him?” Harriet asked, expectantly glancing at them.

“No. He needs time,” Newt said, his voice low. “He’s got a bit of a history with guns. He’ll come around.”

Though her expression was still firm, Harriet nodded. Teresa was glad that she dropped the issue.

Teresa spent the next half hour listening to Brenda explain each part of the gun, and placing her hands where Brenda directed them. Teresa was having a hard time looking her in the eye, and whether that was out of nerves or guilt, she couldn’t tell.

“This is nice,” Brenda said suddenly.

Teresa paused. “Of course it is- For you, master of guns.”

“No, I meant like…” Brenda swept her hand over the scene. “Everyone being here together.”

Although Brenda stood right beside Teresa, she was looking over the rest of the group. She seemed content, and almost wistful.

Suddenly, the rifle slipped from Teresa’s grip. She quickly jerked her attention back and grasped it.

Though she successfully stopped herself from dropping it, her hands were shaking.

“I never really had any friends,” Brenda said. “Except Jorge, but I don’t think he counts.”

Teresa swallowed hoarsely. She could relate to the sentiment. Minus the past two weeks, much of her life was academic. Bare of unnecessary social interaction.

Thomas and Harriet had made the most progress, as they bonded over their shared leadership positions. Harriet was excellent at breaking everything down, and she was able to teach both Minho and Thomas. It also helped that Thomas was eager to learn.

Sonya was deliberately being an annoying teacher, giving curt pointers and mostly letting Newt figure it out himself. But strangely, this system worked, and Newt quickly became comfortable handling the rifles.

At one point, they both laughed at the same time, and Teresa was struck by the near mirror image of their smiles.

The bang! of a gunshot startled Teresa, and she glanced over at Minho, who was disappointedly lowering his gun.

Sonya laughed. “That’s crazy! The rabbits are the easiest ones to hit.”

“She’s lying,” Harriet chided, rolling her eyes. “They’re actually some of the most difficult. Don’t worry about it, Minho.”

“I bet Brenda could do it,” Thomas said.

Brenda smirked, but she shook her head. She pointed at a raven soaring across the sky, its midnight wings crisp against the sunny background.

“Teresa,” Brenda said, “It’s your turn to aim.”

Teresa paled, loosening the grip she had on her rifle. “I don't think…”

“You don't have to shoot if you don’t want to,” Brenda reassured.

Teresa nodded, and took a deep breath. She raised the rifle to eye level. The raven circled in place, and she traced its movements with the rifle’s tip. Her hands steadied. The raven flew straight, Teresa had a lock on it, it would be so easy to just-

The raven vanished behind a rock.

Shocked, Teresa lowered the rifle.

“There’s always next time.” Brenda shrugged.

Teresa absent-mindedly pushed her potatoes around. The fork scratched against the plate’s stainless steel.

“You alright?” Newt asked. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

Teresa watched her fork slice the potato in half. It made a clink as it contacted the plate. “Just recovering from nearly seeing Brenda die.”

Newt hummed in understanding. Of course, he could only understand when it was someone other than him who was dying. As much as she admired it, Teresa also hated how he so easily threw her concerns aside.

Newt quietly rubbed his left knee. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re not mad. Since you told me about my… status. I was right, and I’m fine.”

“Oh, I am still mad,” Teresa scoffed, but it was light-hearted. “I'm mad at you for throwing your life down for us.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’ve been quiet.”

Suddenly, a pair of warm hands wrapped around Teresa’s eyes. Into her ear, Thomas murmured, “What’s up?”

Thomas freed Teresa’s eyes, and she saw Newt pry Sonya’s hands off his own face.

“How surprising,” Newt said, grinning.

Sonya skipped around to stand in front of Teresa, while Thomas plopped down on the rock beside Newt. Thomas nuzzled himself around him, almost like a dog, and Newt pretended to be annoyed. Sonya watched the pair with curious fondness.

Something unpleasant surged in Teresa’s stomach. She quickly moved her plate to the ground.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We’re relocating tomorrow morning,” Sonya said.

“What should we do to prepare?” Newt asked.

“Nothing,” Sonya replied. “We’ll pack up the shower system tonight, but most of the tents are real easy to break down. Our camp is made to move quickly.”

Harriet’s carefree laughter floated over to them. Across the firepit circle, she was wiping her dish clean with Aris, who wore a smile broader than any Teresa had seen him wear before.

Sonya grimaced as she averted her eyes from them. “I hate to admit it, but I’m still kinda mad at him.”

“For not staying with you?” Newt asked.

“Yeah,” Sonya sighed. “But I know it’s not really his fault.”

Newt leaned forward to grasp her hand. Both their hands were calloused, but Sonya’s looked so much smaller. Teresa was struck with the reminder of her age - just fifteen. It felt like a long distance to Teresa’s eighteen.

“Let me tell you,” Newt said, squeezing Sonya’s hand. “Everythin’ Aris did while we were dyin’ in the Scorch was to get back to you. He didn’t help us escape Wicked ‘cause he was scared. He did it to find you and Harriet.”

Sonya let Newt hold her hand just a moment longer, and then she yanked it away, embarrassed by the honesty. But still, her reply was earnest. “Okay. Thanks, Newt.”

“Now get outta here and talk to him,” Newt said.

“Remind me to never get advice from you, ever again.” Sonya grinned as she walked away.

“Already good at this big brother stuff, aren’t you?” Thomas asked.

“Maybe,” Newt said. “I sort of forgot about that. But I guess you’re right.”

The pair fell into quiet chatter about the people they met, and the things they’d learned. But Tersesa didn’t join the conversation. She observed the activity around her.

The post-lunch bustle was a rush of people washing dishes and putting them back in order. Eating with actual dishes was rare - Teresa saw lots of people biting into their potatoes like apples. The Right Arm was stingy with their resources - not a drop of water went to waste.

Strangely, Jorge was conversing with Vince, and Teresa assumed he was attempting to strike some kind of deal.

Frypan and Minho were talking animatedly, near the makeshift kitchen. Frypan was obviously quicker to help in there than handle a gun (unlike Minho) but he would learn too, eventually.

Beside her, Thomas and Newt were huddled together, holding each other's hands. As the shadow of Thomas’s palm passed over Newt’s wrist, black veins flashed across his pale skin.

Teresas’s chest lurched, and she blinked, but Newt’s wrist was clear. The black veins were gone. They were never there.

Even though she was the only one who saw it, the tension lingered.

She left without saying anything.

Teresa wandered back to the shooting range. Once she stood at the edge of the valley, she stopped, and played with the hem of her white tank top. It was developing brown spots from the dirt. She hadn’t been truly clean since that shower in the WCKD facility.

Going back was the only option. It was inescapable. Teresa refused to be selfish by indulging in the delights of friendship. At least, not right now - not with the world in its current state. What if she didn’t do it, and she let the Flare run its course?

Well, then there wouldn’t be friends to be concerned over.

Teresa exhaled, straightening her shoulders. She might have shut the door on her mother, but she wouldn’t for anyone else. Especially not for Newt.

From her pocket, she pulled out the roll of blue bandages. Her next move was mechanical. She threw the roll into the valley, and it vanished into the bushes without a sound.

Chapter Text

Newt selected each of his steps as he went up the hill. He didn’t move the way Thomas or Minho would - fast, lunging as efficiently as possible. Instead, Newt wove back and forth, avoiding strain on his leg. The tip of his cane gathered reddish dust as it brushed by the low shrubs.

Laughter floated to Newt as he reached the top. Dusk showered Thomas, Minho, and Frypan in lavender light as they played catch with a rock. It was such a simple activity, but despite seeing it many times, Newt never found it bland. He hadn’t known that he missed it.

The scene was lovely - reminiscent of the best parts of the glade. But Newt liked that he was free to watch the sun raindrop into the horizon, rather than onto a stone wall.

Frypan chucked the rock over Minho, who sprinted, tracing it in the air before nearly smacking into Thomas to catch it. They both laughed as Thomas shoved him away.

Since they were leaving tomorrow and everything was being packed up, Vince had said that they didn’t have to worry about working tonight, which they’d immediately latched onto.

Newt brushed a flat rock clear of dust. Sighing, he sat and let his cane rest on the ground.

“Newt!” Frypan called, waving at him. “Get over here!”

Out of habit, Newt straightened. But then he paused. Shaking his head, he patted his knee. “Nah, I’m resting.”

Frypan looked surprised, but he nodded.

“C'mon, shanks.” Beckoning the others, Minho jogged to Newt, and they formed a triangle around him.

Eyebrows raised expectantly, Thomas held the rock in the air, waiting for Newt.

Newt grinned. He raised his hands, and Thomas threw it. The rock smacked directly into Newt’s palm, sending tingles across the skin like triumphant kisses.

As they continued throwing, Minho spoke up. “I can’t wait. Traveling without walking everywhere, taking down Wicked along the way… For once, we’re bringing the fight to them.”

Then he threw the rock to Frypan.

“I might help with the search for the Safe Haven,” Frypan said, catching it quickly. Then he passed it to Newt.

Newt caught the rock, squeezing it in his palm. Aside from getting WCKD off their backs, he didn’t know what he wanted. Right now, his only goal was to actually heal his knee. That required sitting a lot, eating regularly, and sleeping. Then after a few days, when his knee stopped throbbing at all hours, he would determine what was realistic.

Or he could just let Thomas decide. It didn’t matter what the plan was - Newt wouldn’t leave him, and he wouldn’t leave Newt.

“I’m still thinking,” Newt said.

Newt passed the rock to Thomas, but he didn’t add his thoughts. Thomas’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration. He continued tossing the rock with the others, but he wasn’t mentally present. Newt decided to pester him later.

Once twilight arrived, they stopped throwing the rock, and they sat on the nearby rocks.

Thomas squeezed beside Newt on his rock, facing the other way. A bit inconvenient, given that Thomas still wrapped his arm across Newt’s middle. Gently, he encouraged Newt to turn.

Amused, Newt complied. He spun around, and they sat shoulder to shoulder. Thomas’s arm settled on Newt’s waist, loose like they had all the time in the world. Even though he was squeezed on a cold rock, it was the most comfortable Newt had felt in days.

Except for one thing: his leg, which had a bit of pinching pressure on it. Slowly, to test the motion, Newt lifted his bad leg onto Thomas’s.

But Thomas didn’t even glance, let alone react. And that felt nice. Like it was normal to need a little help with his knee, not something to make a scene of. Just silent support.

So Newt left his leg there. He was aware of Frypan and Minho around, and the entire Right Arm down the hill. He anticipated the awkwardness, and the need to fight the feeling off so he could stay comfortable - but none came.

The cool breeze ruffled his hair, sending chills across his neck. Newt blew warm air onto his fingers as he observed the camp below. The Right Arm bustled with loud, yet efficient activity: stacking supplies into trucks, jogging in and out of tents, yelling directions to people a bit too far away.

This was Newt’s new group, his new “family,” per se. But it was hard to take in. The sight reminded Newt of how far he’d come, and how many he lost to get here.

Fifty gladers, down to just five.

Newt said, “Wish Alby could’ve seen all this.”

“And Winston,” Frypan said, his soft voice carried in the wind.

Thomas squeezed Newt’s side. Not in comfort - it was tight, as if he wanted to keep himself from falling off. His other hand fiddled with his dove necklace. He said, “And Chuck.”

A silhouette appeared in the distance. It was Teresa, standing atop a rocky outlook. Just a short hike away.

“That’s the second time she’s wandered off today,” Thomas muttered, fingers tapping softly onto Newt’s jacket.

“Why don’t you check on her?” Newt asked. “She seemed a little off. Wouldn’t really chat with me earlier.”

Instead of replying, Thomas nipped Newt’s ear. The warm breath on Newt’s skin startled him, and he craned his neck to toss a grin at Thomas. “What’s your plan with that?”

Thomas’s eyes were shut, his face leaning towards Newt’s. “I’m gonna talk to her, I’m gonna go. But right now I just… wanted a moment.”

Then he extracted his arm from Newt’s middle. He dragged his torso away - even as his head still seemed to lean too close - and stood like he was stacking himself up. “I’ll be right back.”

Newt couldn’t help but smile to himself.

When Thomas got to Teresa’s outlook, he slowed his steps down, and paused behind her. She didn’t turn. Instead, she kept her gaze trained away, back over the shadowy Scorch. Night was falling.

“What are you doing up here?” Thomas asked.

Teresa’s hand remained stiff in her pocket. The other was pressed to her front, out of his sight. “Just thinking.”

Thomas took another step forward. The pebbles crunched softly, incomplete.

Teresa spoke lowly, yet sharply, like her own words were worrisome to her. “Do you remember our mother?”

“I don’t,” Thomas replied. It was surprising that Tersesa had memories so old. Thomas hadn’t given it much thought. Given his current problems, it hadn’t mattered to him. “I didn’t know you remembered her.”

Teresa sighed, so wistfully that Thomas almost wished he did have the memories. “She was a beautiful woman. Before Wicked, she was all I had.”

Her voice shook. “When she got sick, I didn’t know what to do. I just kept her locked up. I thought she’d get better. Every night, she’d make these awful sounds, like screaming. And then one night, she just stopped. It was finally quiet. So I went down to her room, and there was blood everywhere. But she just sat there, calm. She said she was better, that the visions were finally gone.”

Teresa whirled to face him. “Tom, she took her own eyes out! If we’re both immune, why couldn’t she be too?” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Before Thomas could think of a response, he noticed something in her hand. A black box with a thick antanta - a walkie-talkie.

A strange feeling crept to him, like a pot of spilled ink, inching towards his still fingers. He couldn’t place it.

“It’s just not fair,” Teresa said, voice steeling. “What happened to her. What happened to Winston, and Brenda too. There are millions of people suffering out there. Millions of stories just like theirs- and mine.”

“What-”

“And it’ll happen to Newt,” Teresa pressed. “The virus is airborne. I know it. Brenda didn’t get it from that scratch. You saw it too, I know you did. It’s only a matter of time before…”

Thomas shook his head. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… I want you to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why I did it.”

Thomas stared into her crystal eyes - her miserable, angry, determined gaze. Silence walled the air between them. He didn’t get it. They were supposed to be siblings, but the more time they spent together, the harder it became to read her.

The damn walkie-talkie shook in her grip. The only ones he’d seen recently were in the possession of the Right Arm leaders. But, there was also the one that Barkley had. He was talking to someone right as they were escaping. He was talking to Janson.

In the distance, rumbling emerged. The rumbles thumped faster, louder, like a dying heart desperately making its final contractions.

Thomas strained to see through the night. Three winking red dots appeared, then five white ones, eyes that whizzed closer and closer.

Materializing from the Scorch came three WCKD helicopters.

“Please don’t fight them, Tom,” Teresa begged.

Thomas was speechless. He watched, helpless, as the helicopters sliced across the stars. Their WCKD logos flashed silver into his eyes.

How? Why now? His vision blurred, and his heels seemed to lift, like he was floating.

Thomas whirled at her - his supposed sister - and he fired his words. “You did this?”

Teresa just stood there with her silent goddam tears.

Anger swelling, Thomas’s breathing quickened, and he twitched towards her-

But he stopped. He couldn’t. They were running out of time.

With one final shake of his head, Thomas darted back to the camp. He almost made it to the base of the hill, but it was too late.

Bombs rained onto the camp. He kept running, but the ground shook beneath his feet. Flames erupted as angry streaks in his peripheral vision. Screams were buried between the explosions.

One truck was behind a rock, and far enough away that it wasn’t being bombed. Thomas darted behind it.

He threw himself against the tire, and nearly bowled into Brenda. She was sitting beside Jorge, a rifle in her hands, desperately watching the chaos.

The bombs had ceased. WCKD had targeted the trucks, and the tents, but the people nearby weren't spared. They were on the ground, either dead or dying. The people still running fell as WCKD soldiers swarmed the area, firing stuns everywhere.

Then Thomas caught sight of Newt. A soldier electrified his leg, and Newt stumbled to the ground. He fruitlessly fought with his other limbs as the soldier dragged him off.

“There’s not much time,” Jorge said. “Let’s get outta here while we still can.”

Thomas’s heart pounded. The urge to lurch out and run to Newt cracked through his leg muscles - but he resisted.

He imagined how Newt would look at him - helpless as he watched Thomas dash in with no plan. Angry as Thomas got captured.

So Thomas breathed deeply. He shook his head. “I can’t leave without them.”

That was true, but he couldn’t stop there. What could he do against the horde of soldiers? He looked around for something, anything. A gun would be ideal, but he didn’t know if he could kill the soldiers - they all had bullet proof vests. A bomb would be best…

“Hey,” Jorge said. He had his eyebrows raised in judgement, but he was holding out his hand. He offered Thomas a grenade, and a hand-held button to spark it.

Thomas snatched them. He quickly crawled out from behind the wheel, to the rock. He pressed his back against it.

“Good luck, kid,” Jorge said.

“Thanks.” Thomas nodded.

Brenda returned it. She and Jorge darted into the truck, then sped off.

Thomas slipped the grenade into his jacket pocket, but he put the button in the pocket on his thigh. Neither were noticeable from the outside, but should the grenade get taken, he could still access the button.

Thomas peered around the rock. Protests and shouts rang out as Wicked rounded everyone up. The immunes kneeled in rows on the ground, while the Right Arm adults stood with their hands raised. The soldiers pointed stun guns at the immunes. But they threatened the adults with real guns.

Janson stalked past them, ordering the soldiers around. The flamelight shone off his leather jacket.

Thomas walked out from behind the rock. With how measured he moved, he almost strolled, despite how he stared daggers into Janson’s back.

Janson barked, “Where’s Thomas?”

“Right here,” Thomas replied. He stopped behind Janson, letting a slouch tug at his shoulders. Limply, as if defeated, he raised his hands into the air.

Suddenly, a shove knocked into Thomas’s back. He grunted, the air evacuating his chest as he dropped to his knees. The soldier grabbed the neck of his jacket and maneuvered him to kneel between Newt and Minho.

When the soldier left, Thomas straightened, and his shoulders knocked into theirs.

“Why didn’t you run?” Minho hissed.

Janson continued pacing before the immunes, one slow foot at a time. He let a smug grin play at his lips as he observed the kneeling immunes.

Thomas replied, “I’m tired of running.”

Then Janson wandered to stand above Thomas. He smirked down at him, relishing, but Thomas tilted his head back to match the stare.

A strange, snake-like look appeared over Janson. “Oh, what’s that?” Before Thomas could even blink, Janson yanked the necklace off from Thomas’s neck.

Thomas shouted, but Janson leaned back, dangling Chuck’s dove from his fingertips. It hadn’t been under his shirt! How could he forget?

“How lovely,” Janson said. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on this. All thanks to a little birdie of our own.” Grinning, he looked around. “Couldn’t show her face yet, could she? No matter.”

Then Janson dropped the dove.

It fell, flutter by flutter, all the way to the jagged rocks of the ground. Janson raised his shiny leather boot, pointing it skywards, and it hovered for just a moment before he smashed the dove.

“No!” Thomas cried, the sound wrenched from the caverns of his chest. He lunged, failing his arms out, but Newt and Minho grabbed him before he could get further than a foot. Their desperate words fell upon deaf ears.

Janson smirked, and he kept smirking, as he dug his foot further, twisting the dove into the rocks. The dove wailed - crunching sounds that shot right through Thomas’s ribs.

Clenching his jaw, Thomas exhaled. The condensation from his breath swirled into a storm. His fingers scraped the ground - claws - causing rocks to stab his palms. His arms strained against the ones holding him. Janson’s smug face blurred out of focus.

He’d really done it. He did it. He did this.

They did this.

The guards aimed their guns at him, hands tense on the triggers.

A chill overcame Thomas. He stopped fighting. The red sand before him cleared into camera focus. Stun guns clicked. WCKD boots scuffed the dirt, electronic mutters passed through walkie-talkies. His fists paused their clenching. His chest moved, up, down, breathing for him.

Newt whispered, “Tommy?”

Thomas couldn’t get stunned yet. He had a job.

Thomas relaxed, allowing Newt to pull him back. He rejoined the lines of kneeling immunes, straightened into a silent board. But he watched.

The soldiers combed through every immune to scan them. The silence was terrible, only interspersed with the angry rustling of the kids’ clothing, or their whimpers. Those were the ones who resisted, but others allowed themselves to be handled without a fight.

When the cold press of the scanner met Thomas’s neck, the soldier announced, “A2.”

Janson raised his walkie-talkie. “Bring her in.”

The soldiers halted, snapping into a stiff formation that surrounded the immunes and the Right Arm adults.

The largest helicopter hummed with energy. Its back hatch dropped, slammed the ground, pouring out a cascade of light. A dark silhouette descended down its ramp.

Ava Paige.

With her even gait, level chin, she seemed to grow before the immunes. Her gray eyes swept over them, and not even the firelight could mask their chill.

She stopped. She stood with her shoulders straight, yet the way she tucked her hands into her coat pockets was almost casual. Loosely bent elbows, leaning on one leg… It pissed Thomas off. She was so uncaring, so unaffected by how she wrecked Thomas’s world. And to top it off, that damn coat - a perfect snow white. Bright from the background of her own flaming destruction. Yet still frigid, crisp, and impossibly clean.

But her voice, it was so soft it made Thomas want to curl up and cry.

“Hello, Thomas,” Ava Paige said.

Fuck that. Thomas returned a glare, fought his rage of tears.

Then Teresa finally showed herself.

She appeared at Ava Paige’s side, and they embraced. But it was more than a regular hug, and the longer it went, the worse Thomas felt. With how Paige tucked her cheek onto Teresa’s head, he could forget how they were actually mentor and pupil. Spindly fingers carved through Teresa’s hair, visibly gentle on the tangles.

Teresa stared off in a direction vaguely away from Thomas. Her fingers, clutching Ava Paige’s white suit, created careful shadows, but still no wrinkles.

Ava Paige parted slowly from Teresa. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“What the hell?” Frypan said.

“What’s going on?” Newt asked.

Thomas stared coldly at Teresa. “She’s with them.”

Minho scoffed, “Since when?”

Janson paced leisurely in front of them. “Oh, Teresa’s always had an evolved appreciation of greater good. Once we restored her memories, it was only a matter of time.”

“I’m sorry,” Teresa said, eyes filling with tears. “I had no choice. This is the only way. We have to find a cure.”

“She’s right,” Ava Paige said. “This is all just a means to an end. You used to understand that, Thomas.” She raised her voice. “No matter what you think of me, I’m not a monster. I’m a doctor! I swore an oath to find a cure. No matter the cost.”

Her hard stare reflected the burning tents. One kid whimpered quietly. There was the click of a soldier’s grip on his gun.

“I just need more time,” Ava Paige said.

Then Mary’s voice shot across the scene. “More blood, you mean.”

Thomas chanced a turn of his head. Mary walked alongside the line of immunes towards Ava Paige. She was calm, and she carried no visible weapons, yet the soldiers snapped their guns at her.

“Hello, Mary. I hoped we’d meet again,” Ava Paige said, measured as ever. “I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”

Almost imperceptibly, Mary shook her head. “I’m sorry about a lot of things too. But not this. At least my conscience is clear.”

“So is mine,” Ava Paige replied.

Mary paused. Her breaths picked up, just slightly to a quicker pace. Her brow furrowed, and her face twisted with a swell of emotions. Guilt, sadness, rage, a million other things Thomas couldn’t comprehend, because he never got to know her.

Like she was about to yell out, Mary tensed.

Then her chest split open from the responding gunshot.

Mary gasped, and she collapsed.

“Mary?” Vince rushed over and fell to her, holding her to his chest. He ignored the WCKD guns pointed at him. “Mary!”

With the soldiers distracted, Thomas yanked out the button, then his grenade, and held it high. “Stand back!”

The soldiers swung their guns to him, and he thought he might be stunned, but Newt leapt in front of him.

Newt pressed his back to Thomas’s front, then Frypan was at Thomas’s back, and Minho at his side, and Aris darted into the gap between them.

Now shielded from the stun guns, Thomas was free to do as he pleased. The soldiers still snapped to surround them, whirring their guns into activity. With their combat gear and weapons, Thomas should’ve felt scared.

But instead, he regretted that he couldn’t make eye contact behind their reflective masks.

Thomas’s grip tensed on the grenade. His thumb twitched over the button.

“No, stop!” Teresa stumbled towards him, away from Ava Paige. “Please, Tom. I made a deal with them, they’d promised we’d be safe!”

Ava Paiged yelled, “It’s true, it was her only condition.”

Thomas’s hands shook. “Shut up!”

“Everything can go back to the way it was,” Ava Paige said, placating. “Do you really want them to die?”

“Listen to her, Thomas,” Janson said. “Think about what you’re doing.”

Hilarious. Did they honestly believe that Thomas would see going back as a viable option? How would any of the gladers see it like that?

Minho leaned closer. “We’re with you, Thomas.”

Thomas glared at Teresa, raising the button higher. “We’re not going back there.”

“No!” Teresa cried.

An explosion resonated across the scene, booming into Thomas’s chest. For a brief second, he thought it was from him, but he was uninjured.

The explosion came from one of the WCKD helicopters. It erupted into fire, exploding with the bones of a truck. The truck’s flaming wheels tumbled from the collision.

Everything stirred. Suddenly there were cries, tussles, scratchy shouts in walkie-talkies, and with the distraction, Thomas pelted his grenade into the nearest squad of WCKD soldiers.

The explosion propelled the soldiers down. The immunes sprang up. Everyone scattered, the Right Arm, immunes, and soldiers alike, screams and gunfire piercing the valley.

But the chaos washed over Thomas, muffled in his periphery. He wove through it. A shoulder whacked into him. He shoved another body aside, eyes trained on the ground. Red sand, dead leaf, white rock, no, not that, brown twig-

“Tommy!” Newt seized Thomas’s arm.

Thomas snapped into focus. From somewhere behind him, quick rifle shots rang out, a machine gun rapid fired. Across the camp, Ava Paige and Teresa were being ushered towards the helicopters. WCKD soldiers surrounded them, turning their vests and shields outwards. Bullets pelted the soldiers, and a few collapsed.

“Let’s go!” Newt shouted. He yanked Thomas towards the darker rocks, and Thomas stumbled after him.

Behind the ring of burning tents, Vince stood atop a truck, firing rounds of a machine gun. Frypan and Harriet darted off behind him.

Thomas whipped back around, charged up the hill, and aimed for an array of shadowed rocks.

“Shit!” Newt gasped. He tossed himself onto Thomas’s back, throwing them both down.

Thomas landed with a grunt, as a shot of electricity whizzed above him.

He whipped around, and down the hill, Janson and three other soldiers charged for them. All three guns pointed at them, and Thomas braced himself - but nothing came.

With a roar, Minho appeared, his hiding rock so close that he jumped instantly into the fray. He shoulder-checked a soldier, took control of his stun, shot the second - who screamed, writing on the ground.

Minho struggled until the third soldier finally stunned him. The electricity crackled through him, making him trip, drop his mouth open, thrash so terribly that Thomas felt it his own limbs.

And despite it all, Minho was silent.

Chapter Text

Janson spared a singular glance at Minho. Then he turned to Thomas and Newt.

Thomas scrambled to feet. Newt rolled onto his back, panting, and he lurched up, his shoulder smacking Thomas’s leg. Newt’s vision was glazed, as if he yearned to lunge down the hill, where Janson charged for them, seething from his teeth, and Thomas cried, fruitlessly grabbing for Newt-

Janson swung his pistol at them.

Thomas registered the motion right before the gunshot. It rang out as Thomas shoved Newt behind, and he was much too slow, but Janson didn’t follow up the shot. Heart racing, hands flying, Thomas scanned himself and Newt for injuries, but they were both fine.

A grunt of pain came from down the hill. Thomas whipped around. Janson was clutching his shoulder, crumpling into himself, red spilling onto his fingers. Two more shots, coming from a mystery direction behind Thomas, slammed the two soldiers in their vests as they yanked Minho and their stunned partner away.

Janson screamed, “Just go!” He stumbled with them, back to the helicopters.

Thomas took one step towards them, but he paused. Despite Minho being entirely limp, head bobbing from how his body collided with the ground, he kept his eyes on Thomas - nailing him where he stood.

My choice. Don’t follow.

With his heels dragging furious tears through the dirt, Minho merged into the horde of soldiers.

All Thomas could do was comply. All he had was listening to Minho’s request. That was all, and it was nothing.

He turned, took a step towards Newt, and it felt like iron shackles. Like his shoelace was still threaded through Minho’s, and he could feel himself tripping backwards with every forward step.

“Come on,” Thomas grunted, grabbing Newt by the arm. He forced them to run, and they quickly ducked behind a dark rock to watch the rest of the scene.

Vince fired his machine gun at the WCKD soldiers grouping towards the helicopters. Stray electric shots escaped onto the surrounding rocks, into the sky, as the soldiers desperately gathered what immunes they could.

The burning tents and fires casted sharp, dim shadows. Vince was still commanding from his truck, but he’d stopped firing the machine gun. He used a rifle to cover the people still scattering from the soldiers.

The first helicopter took off. Thomas scanned the second one. He couldn’t identify any specific Right Arm or immunes, but he saw a flash of white - Ava Paige and Teresa. They both appeared at the top of the ramp, haloed by an LED glow, overlooking the battle field as the final soldiers ran to them.

Thomas was far away, but as he looked on at Teresa’s figure, he knew that she was watching him. Her hair and long coat thrashed in the wind as the loading door shut her in.

Then in a whirl of dust, her helicopter disappeared into the night.

“Tommy, what…” Newt was slumped against the rock, his chest heaving.

Thomas crouched in front of him and gripped his hands. “It’s okay, we’re okay. They’re gone.”

“Teresa?”

“I don’t know. Don’t think about it now.”

Newt’s eyes shone. “Minho… I can’t…”

Thomas wrapped his arms around him, and Newt tucked his face into Thomas’s neck. His tears were hot on Thomas’s skin, breathing shallow, like he was holding back from verbalizing the cries. His voice cracked. “I can’t- not again-”

“I know. We’re gonna get him back. It won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”

“That- She- How?”

“Walkie-talkie. From Jorge’s compound.”

Shivers wracked through Newt, accumulating into iron hands gripping Thomas’s shoulders. His voice was breathy, but piercing. “I hate her.”

Thomas couldn’t respond.

Much of the camp had been burned, but the tents and trucks near the outskirts were spared. The scene was blanketed by darkness. Sharp shadows flickered over the rocks, made by smoldering fires.

Vince leapt off the back of his truck, leaving the machine gun aimed at the horizon. He panned his flashlight around, illuminating the destruction. Bare tent poles teetered, trucks were on fire, and bodies. So many bodies.

“C’mon,” Thomas muttered. He tugged Newt up, and they walked over.

More shadows emerged from the surrounding area. Thomas recognized Harriet, Frypan, and a few other maze kids. He instinctively eyed the group for Sonya and Aris, but they weren’t there. Once the adults emerged, Thomas realized that almost half the Right Arm was gone.

Vince didn’t speak. He wove through the bodies on the ground, gathering abandoned guns, ripping off knives strapped to the soldiers’ suits. Harriet and the Right Arm members copied him.

Thomas wandered to the middle of the scene - where he threw that grenade. He stopped a few paces away from them.

The six WCKD soldiers laid crumpled across the pebbles, barely visible in their black combat uniforms. Their masks gleamed from the firelight, heads contorted at odd angles.

Six stun guns. And six pistols. Scattered amongst six pairs of gloved hands, and six cracked bullet-proof vests. But there was no blood. If it was there, it wasn’t visible behind the dark uniforms.

Footsteps crunched the rocks behind him. Harriet breezed by, right to the soldiers. Brushing her hands by the tangles of limbs, she collected the stun guns as if she were scooping up dirty clothes from her bedside.

Once finished, she turned to Thomas and dumped them into his arms. “Don’t worry. The safety's are all on.” The guns clattered as Thomas fumbled to hold them all, and Harriet pivoted back to the soldiers.

Thomas tightened his grip on the gun stack, and their weight pressed against his lungs. Should he feel bad? He’d just killed multiple people. He almost expected it - but nothing came. He felt only a shadow of grim neutrality, like he was noticing the abandoned beds in the crank mall.

It wasn’t him who started this.

Harriet returned and handed off the pistol stack to Newt. She faced Thomas, placing her hands on her hips. She swallowed - the thickness of it visible - yet she kept her chin stubbornly up. “I hope you don’t feel guilty.”

“I don’t,” Thomas said.

Despite the hard look in her eye, Harriet’s voice shook. “We do what we have to.”

Pistols thumped the ground as Newt dropped them. He quickly straightened, but laid a careful hand on Harriet’s forearm. “Harriet…”

Harriet threw a glance over her shoulder at a trio of girls - her group from the maze. They milled around Vince, conversing in low voices. When Harriet turned back to Newt, her breaths became uneven, like she was relinquishing her control over them.

Newt’s eyes widened. He seemed to soften, yet steel his expression. He pulled Harriet into a half-hug.

“She’s always been with me,” Harriet said, restrained. “I don't know how…”

“You’ll be okay.” Newt pulled back, but gave her arm a squeeze. “Sonya will be too. She’s got Aris, and Minho.”

Thomas had just seen Newt break down moments before, but now, as his dark eyes flashed with the firelight, they were deeply earnest.

Thomas instinctively wanted to reach for his neck, for his necklace, but he stopped. The guns he cradled were in the way. But then he remembered that Janson destroyed the dove anyways, and a drain yanked open inside his chest.

Newt and Harriet picked up the pistols that he’d dropped, and they all left the scene.

They piled a truck with the extra weapons. After Thomas deposited his stack, he stepped back to Newt. They both stood off to the side, quietly observing everything. As the fires died, the scene got even darker.

“Hey, Thomas,” Frypan said.

Thomas turned. Frypan approached, a slump in his shoulders - but he held his hand high. Dangling from it was a familiar leather cord.

And at the end, a single, broken wing.

Thomas swept the necklace into his grasp, cupping in his palms as if it were the real fledgling dove.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t get it all,” Frypan sighed. “I grabbed it during the explosions. I dunno if there’s…”

Thomas threw his arms around him. “No,” he whispered, and Frypan chuckled.

When Thomas pulled back, Newt took his place and hugged Frypan. “She got Minho.”

“I saw,” Frypan said. Then his next words took Thomas by surprise.

“We’ll get him back.” Frypan’s gaze steeled, and he kept it like that as Newt stepped back.

“I should’ve killed the guy that took him,” Brenda said.

Thomas whirled around, and there was Brenda, standing healthy with her rifle strung over her shoulder. Jorge hovered at her side, his expression equally as grim.

“That was you,” Thomas breathed. That shoulder shot at Janson was too accurate. Then he threw a glance at Jorge. “I thought you guys wanted out.”

Brenda smiled weakly and nudged Jorge’s elbow. “Wasn’t hard to convince him to stay.”

“I owed you, Thomas," Jorge said, earnest. "That was one debt I couldn’t leave unpaid."

“So you.. and the truck…” Newt said, with amused wonder. “Shuck. That was a genius move.”

“Shame that Ava Paige made it out,” Thomas muttered. "And Janson."

“I could’ve ended him,” Brenda said. She stared at the ground, as if she were replaying her decision in her mind.

Thomas couldn't pretend that he wanted Janson to live, but he hadn't been the one with the gun. Instead he stepped forward, and clapped Brenda on the shoulder. "If it weren't for you, me and Newt wouldn't be here. Thank you."

Brenda stood straighter and nodded.

Jorge gestured over the rubbled camp. “You guys look like you could use some more manpower. We’re committed to fighting.”

“Listen up,” Vince called. But it was less a call, and more of a neutral yell, lacking in urgency.

Thomas joined the circle of people surrounding Vince.

The Right Arm leader kept a stiff posture. His voice tumbled out, mechanically easy. “Our priority now is to get out. They know where we are. We can’t stay. We’ll finish salvaging anything we can - tents, food stores, medical supplies. Then we’ll go far from here, to the ocean ports.”

Murmuring, the Right Arm dispersed around the camp. Vince took a step too, about to stroll off, and Thomas panicked. What about everyone that got taken? What about WCKD?

Desperate, Thomas said, “We’re not going to fight?”

Slowly, Vince turned around. “Look around you, kid. Wicked just kicked our ass. The next best step is getting you kids to the safe haven.”

“But it doesn’t exist yet!” Thomas stepped forward, angry. “I’m not going with you. I’m not leaving without my friend.”

“I’m not either,” Newt added. He took Thomas’s hand.

“Me either,” Frypan said, standing tall beside them.

“Nice sentiment, but we're done here,” Vince said, gaze burnt out. “I can’t help you. The fight is over.” He left to the other side of camp, and joined the adults wrangling with a tent.

Newt glared at the ground. “We’re not leaving Minho.”

“We can’t,” Thomas said.

Frypan nodded. “Yeah. I have to ask, though, about the logistics. How do we even start?”

Newt hummed. “That’s right. We need water, food, and guns too, if we even want a shot.”

Footsteps crunched the dirt, and Harriet stood before them. “I can help with some of that. It’ll be hard, but there’s no other choice.” Her brow furrowed, stoic.

Then she nodded her head towards Brenda. “Can we have her too? And her old man?”

Thomas glanced at the pair, mumbling to each other beside a truck. Brenda’s rifle was still on her shoulder. But Jorge’s hand was on the door handle, as if they were about to leave.

“Not sure,” Thomas replied. “Brenda would, but Jorge’s not reliable. I don’t think he’d agree to come with us, when staying with the Right Arm is obviously less risky.” There was also the unspoken fact that Brenda was infected, and she’d only last a month before becoming dangerous. As much as Thomas wanted her around, they’d need to tread with caution.

“What about your friends?” Frypan asked.

Harriet casted her eyes downard. “I told them not to come. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to them, on my watch.”

They fell quiet. Immediately, Thomas felt empty. But not like some void of deep despair. Rather, he felt a gaping wound ripped into him that needed urgent attention.

“All this time, I’ve been running,” Thomas said. “Running away from Wicked, running from my past. But that was never gonna work. I want to do more than just save Minho, Sonya, and Aris.”

“You mean get Teresa too?” Newt said. “I guess we could, even if she doesn’t want it. I bet she’d love that, since it’s perfectly fine to make life-changin’ decisions for your supposed friends.”

“No, not that,” Thomas said. “We can’t save Teresa. Definitely not as long as she’s tangled up with Ava Paige. Not as long as she trusts them.”

Newt tilted his head. “Then what do we do?”

If Teresa was even salvageable, what was the reason for the betrayal? She said that she chose it for Newt, for Brenda, and for her mother. She claimed she wanted to help people. But, she was doing that through WCKD. All of it was only possible through WCKD. And Ava Paige.

Thomas glanced around the camp. The remaining embers glowed, casting the others’ faces in faint shadow.

Outlined by the dying fires, Vince’s silhouette hovered over a body - Mary. So gently, Vince intertwined his fingers with hers. He held them like that, not moving, just existing. Then, as if accepting her fate, he hung his head, and crossed her arms over her stomach.

“I’ll say something to him,” Harriet murmured. “He’s at a loss right now. We might still have a shot at getting him on our side.”

She waited for Vince to stand, and then walked to him. She gestured for them to follow.

Vince turned, saw them approaching, and straightened his posture. He carefully eyed Harriet’s desperate expression.

“Look. I would like to say that I respect your decision to not fight, but that would be a lie. I don’t respect it,” Harriet said, lifting her chin. “It doesn’t make sense. Isn’t Wicked still going to come after us, even if we do find a safe haven?”

“We can’t engage them,” Vince scoffed. “We’re battered- outmanned and outgunned. We only survived today because of luck.”

“No,” Harriet said. “Thomas wasn’t luck. We survived because he was resolute enough to trigger the fight. And we survived because Jorge was brave enough to crash a damn truck into their helicopter.” Her gaze flickered to Mary, lying behind Vince, and her voice softened. “Think of Mary. We can’t just stand by and do nothing. You mean to say that all our work – all hers and your work – was for nothing?”

Ever so slightly, Vince’s expression softened. Harriet’s trio of girls from earlier slid closer, alongside two other boys. Murmurs from the other immunes drifted by.

Harriet looked at Thomas, an eyebrow raised. She did her job. Now it was his turn to do his.

Newt’s hand was hot in his own. Thomas’s other hand drifted to his necklace. The single wing felt oddly thin, lonely without its body. Beneath his thumb, the raw wood splintered. It was no longer a dove - now it was a fraction of Chuck’s original vision. But his touch was still all over it. In the feathers, in the curve of the bone, and at the base, where a red stain highlighted how the wing was ripped.

Thomas let his voice carry strongly. “It’s not just about Minho, or anyone that got captured. It's about all of us. Everyone they’ve taken, and everyone they will take. Wicked will never stop. So I’m going to stop them.”

Harriet said, “I would like some revenge.”

Vince stared at Thomas - hard. He paused for a few moments, but just barely, a spark lit behind his eyes. “So what’s your plan?”

Thomas’s chest lifted. He shifted his weight, crunching the pebbles at his feet. The breeze ruffled his hair, swayed his wing necklace. He stared into the horizon, out of habit, as if there would be a mountain to look for. But it wasn’t there, obviously. He was standing on it.

As he squeezed Newt’s hand, Thomas took a short breath.

“I’m going to kill Ava Paige.”