Welcome darlings 🤗

The first thing she was aware of was pain. A pounding deep inside her skull that seemed to rattle against bone like someone had shoved a drum set in there and gone to town. And... nausea. A hell lot of it. She felt like she was gonna spill her guts all over the-

Hold up. Where the fuck was she?

Her eyelids peeled open to blinking lights and her brain immediately served her up a plate of... absolutely steaming nothing. Her mind was empty. A fucking void.

The space around her was like a box, metal bars caging her in.

This must be death.

Yep. I kicked it and lost all my boring human baggage and I'm going to Hell, judging by the poor interior design. Points for commitment to misery, but where was the fire? Where were the demons with pitchforks? Whoever was running Hell’s design department needed to get their shit together.

Wait, isn't Hell supposed to be down? She was pretty sure this thing felt like it was going up.

Lights blinked red.

The cage jolted to a stop, and then came sun. That blinding, brutal fucker pouring down from above where a hatch just opened. Her hand flew up to shield her eyes, squinting against it. Faces leaned over the edge of the cage, peering down at her with wide, stunned eyes.

“Holy shit, is that—” one boy gasped.

“Do you… do you see this?”

“A girl?!”

Raw astonishment, like they’d never seen one in their goddamn lives. Their voices were tripping over each other, not daring to blink. Stares raked over her. Every line, every curve, every detail of her face and body committed to memory in a heartbeat.

The crate bars screeched open above her and even more light got in.

Why did they have to do that?

Definitely gonna throw up now.

And then some idiot jumped in.

Okay. Clearly a throw hands first, throw up later kind of situation.

He raised his hands, careful, like she was a wild animal he was trying not to spook. “Hey… it’s okay, it’s-”

He didn’t get to finish. Her fist connected to his stomach with enough force to send him stumbling back and knock the air out of him. He stumbled back, doubling over. Asserting dominance in Hell wasn't on her to do list for today but she didn't exactly remember her to do list, so she's raw dogging it.

She didn’t wait to admire her handiwork though. She pushed herself up to her feet. Hands grasped at her but she slipped between them, climbing, vaulting, and then she was a blur.

If this is hell, she was definitely gonna find another neighbourhood of demons. Because now it occurred to her that it's definitely a bad move to hit the first one you encounter and anger the rest. A good note to self.

“We got a runner!”

Her feet pounded the ground. The world hit her all at once - too bright, too dry and with waaay too much green for Hell. Trees, grass, crops, but it didn't feel right. The air wasn’t damp with all the life here. It was arid, hollow, and she felt dust cling to her tongue.

“Holy shit,” Minho muttered under his breath as he was chasing her. She was fast. Not just quick. Terrifyingly, impossibly fast. He’d trained Runners, he was the best they had, but he had to dig deep just to keep her in sight. And when she felt him gaining, she surged forward like some hidden engine inside her kicked alive.

“Fuck,” he was gasping now, because what in the actual fuck was this? Little Miss Top Runner just came out of the box and decided to show him what she's got right out of the bat?

The only reason they weren't still in the Maze was to greet the month's greenie when they heard the box come up. Month's greenie definitely didn't wanna be greeted.

She saw it then. A towering fucking monolith of stone. Hundreds of feet, enclosing everything. The sight punched the breath out of her. Her chest knotted, nausea spiked again. Then her eyes locked on what seemed to be the only way out of this shit. A massive, ominous gap that felt like it was breathing.

No red carpet needed.

She darted for it, cutting off the desperate shouts behind her.

The boys tried. All hands, or better said, legs on deck, all their runners in the Maze to find her until dawn. They told themselves it wasn’t about her being a girl, that they would’ve done the same for any greenie, any new arrival lost and sick and terrified. But they all knew better. She was the only girl they've ever seen and it felt like a personal failure to each and every one of them to not manage to calm her down and keep her from getting killed out there.

Then another thought hit them.

Of course she bolted. All of them were guys. God knows what went through her head about this whole thing. She was confused and sick from all the drugs the sick fucks who put them there pumped into her beforehand and she acted on instinct. They had no idea who's instinct would be to go straight for the nightmare of a maze surrounding their Glade, but still. It was their fault. And it pressed on them so hard they couldn't breathe when they came back empty handed.

Absolutely nothing. Not a trace of her in that cursed place. They were actually questioning the possibility of collective hallucination.

I mean...it all felt too good to be true.

A goddamn fucking girl. Not a word any of them had even said without laughing and shaking their heads at the absurdity of. Girl was something you only whispered to yourself at night, when the silence got too much and your brain gave you fragments of what you’d lost. A shape you could barely remember. Something soft and fragile that didn't belong in this place.

And now she was gone. Erased. Some cried, others got angry and lashed out. When you came into the Glade you were one of their own. And they didn't even manage to-

Useless thought. Like all others on the matter. It was over. She was dead. Once those doors closed for the night, they knew it with certainty. Nobody survived a night in the Maze. That was the only absolute in this godforsaken place.

And if you’re asking yourselves how things looked like from her point of view and what she did inside the Maze, well, the answer’s embarrassingly simple: she tried to find a fucking exit. Because what else do you do when you wake up in a metal coffin, punch some poor bastard in the gut and land yourself in a stone labyrinth? Wait for Hell to formally introduce itself?

Hint: No, you try to get the fuck out.

It was clear it was a maze. Didn’t need a PhD in architecture to figure that out. Towering walls, dead ends, forks in the road.

Check, check, check.

A neat little playground of despair.

The whys and whats of it? That was still a mystery, and her brain was firing blanks when it came to anything personal. But she started noticing things about herself. Like how her mind slid into the patterns of it. Natural. Comfortable. Every damn corridor she passed seemed to brand itself onto her skull like her mind was a sketchbook filling in real time. And not just the obvious stuff. She clocked details: the angle of a crack in the wall, the way the sand pooled thicker in one corner than another, the exact number of steps between one turn and the next. She remembered every section she went through. That was observation number 2. Good memory. No. Not good. Terrifying.

And also the thing about pain. She tripped once, skinned her knee on the sand, and everything sharpened. The nausea didn’t vanish, but it settled into the background.

She's real, she's alive. She's not yet convinced fully, it's still a work in progress. But it was a good start.

The air was awfully dry and there was sand everywhere. When wind blew, she could feel it stick to her tongue. She was pretty sure this thing, this labyrinth, was right in the middle of a desert. Which brought another question. Was escaping worse than going back? Was there even such a thing as “out” here, or was she just running herself in loops until her body gave in?

That was when she heard it. A screech. It ripped straight through the silence, so loud it scraped the inside of her skull. She froze, head whipping up. And then she saw it. The thing crawled along the wall, an ugly...whatever that was. Damn thing looked like a bad acid trip brought to life. Too many legs. Mechanical. A tail that dragged with a sharp noise. No eyes, but rows of teeth that clicked and shivered, wet and endless. Man-made, she thought, staring at the way the metal gleamed.

Wrong neighborhood. Absolutely the wrong fucking neighborhood.

Suddenly the idiots back there didn’t seem so bad. Punching one in the stomach? Fine. She could apologise, right? But this? This thing? She didn't think a basket of cookies would do.

She ran. Sharp turns, narrow squeezes. She thought she was fucking smart. Except the thing wasn’t fooled. It definitely knew the damn neighbourhood. Every time she thought she’d lost it, the scrape of its tail echoed around the next corner.

And then another sound.

Something deeper. A groan that rolled through the stone itself, low and earth-shaking. Thunder with no storm. And then she heard another. Farther away. Then another, closer. The walls. Shifting. This shit wasn’t static. It moved. And with each shudder, new passages opened, others slammed shut.

And she could hear it so clearly...like some rhythm pulsing through her veins, each shift slotting itself into the map that was drawing itself in real time in her head. New routes, new possibilities, every groan another piece of this sick puzzle. She didn’t know why it clicked. But it clicked in a language she knew.

And when a wall began to grind shut right in front of her, she didn’t hesitate. At the last second, she pivoted, bolting into a side corridor, and behind her came the scream of the damn thing and the crunch of stone. She turned just in time to see the creature crushed under the wall, limbs jerking before stilling.

She stumbled forward, knees hitting sand, bile rising too fast to stop this time. She puked until her throat burned, the sound of her own heartbeat drowning everything else. She spat, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stared at the thing. Real. Not a hallucination. Real and dead. She heaved again. She was fucking trapped in some nightmare and she couldn't get out.

No. Back to rational.

A maze always has an exit, Cass.

It hit her mid-heave.

Cass. Cassandra. Her name.

She gasped between coughs, the syllables anchoring her even more than the pain had.

The creature’s tail blinked red. Because of course it had a glowing ass. She crawled closer and touched it. Because of course she had cat behaviour and zero self preservation.

A shell. Inside of it, some kind of liquid. She shuddered, pulled back, then forced herself to inspect the rest of the carcass. Mechanical, biological, both.

Made to hunt and kill.

Two possibilities unfolded in her mind, one sicker and uglier than the other.

One: she was being watched. Broadcasted. Some sick experiment where her memories were wiped clean so some audience could see how she’d react in a horror show. That would explain the rhythm of the walls in her chest, the way her instincts seemed trained already. Maybe she’d done this before. Maybe she’d rehearsed it.

The second? Way fucking worse. The boys she saw back there were also dumped into this twisted sandbox and they were trying to warn her not to come out here because they knew about...whatever this was. Maybe they already know there's no way out. They were...teens. She was pretty sure she heard a kid's voice too. She sat back on her heels, staring into the darkness. What kind of sick fuck would trap children here? They seemed scared when she entered this place.

She had to go back. If there was even the smallest chance those kids were trapped in here, if they were stuck in this hell the way she was, then she couldn’t just run. Couldn’t just leave them to rot in this place. Nobody deserved something like this. The image of their faces, the wide eyes gawking down into that crate, their voices cracking with astonishment like she was some alien visitation, it made her stomach churn. They hadn’t looked like predators. They hadn’t looked like torturers. They’d looked young. Confused. Her gut twisted. Maybe they hadn’t been here long. Maybe they could tell her what this is.

But before she could blink, the walls groaned again, a massive slab of stone scraping into new position, and with it came another sound.

Another screech, to be precise.

Her whole body stiffened.

No.

Not another one.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

What kind of fucking maze had two Minotaurs?

The only response was the clatter of the thing's legs closing in, faster this time, as though it had learned from the last. It took everything in her to outmaneuver it. Ducking, sliding, leaping between shifting walls that seemed determined to crush her alongside it. It took longer to finally get the timing right and trick it into the same position as the last. Dead. She collapsed against the wall when it was done, sweat stinging her eyes, blood running down her arm.

She was bleeding. She pressed her palm to the wound, but her hand came away slick, shining. At some point, because all of us have our moments of extreme stupidity, she’d decided climbing poison ivy could be an advantage. Looked real enough. Green vines clawing their way up the wall. Natural ladder, right? Wrong. She learned very quickly that whoever built this place didn’t give her the courtesy of real vegetation. That ivy was synthetic, brittle as hell, and when it snapped she fell and landed hard on her shoulder.

She lay there for a second, panting, staring up at the walls like maybe they’d grow a conscience and stop this shit already. Then she gritted her teeth, grabbed her own arm, and shoved her shoulder back into place.

That stupid glowing tail she took from the first thing she killed was long forgotten now. Lost somewhere in the corridor along with the last shred of her sanity. But she got what she needed for now. It corresponded to a section. Had 7C written on it.

When she finally dragged herself back to the edge of this place to go back to those guys, her eyes widened. The doors were closed. Sealed tight, a seamless wall where the path to the green clearing had once been.

She leaned her forehead against the stone.

At least she wasn’t still being chased.

Another screech. Murphy's laws.

“Of course,” she whispered, bitter as fuck. “Of fucking course.”

So she ran again. At some point she stopped, doubled over, and vomited until she thought she’d leave her stomach lining in the sand. Her vision swam. Black edges creeping in. She almost let go. Almost collapsed right there to let it all swallow her. But then the walls shifted again and the sound jolted her back awake. Move or die.

She would've gladly accepted death if it wasn't for that thought nagging her. She was sure she could find a way out to help those suckers too, if her theory was right.

After that thought, it blurred. Pain and stone, turns and more turns. She couldn’t tell how much time passed, only that her body was running on fumes. But she did make it to 7C and she found a big dark hole in the wall. Red blinking light at the end of it, just like the damn tail. There it is. That fucking scrap was supposed to go here? She ran again when she heard another screech.

The light outside changed. Subtle at first, then stronger. Sun. Bits of it. She lifted her head, eyes blinking through sweat and dust, and passed it. A wall sliding open.

Beyond it, green.

The second her feet hit the grass, her body shut down. Every ounce of adrenaline she’d been running on drained out. Black.

She didn’t get to see Chuck’s face go white before he fainted, or Frypan barely catching him before his head hit the dirt. She didn’t see the way Thomas lunged forward on instinct, knees in the grass, hands hovering inches above her as if a touch might shatter the illusion.

Nobody survived the night in there.

His brain could only scream one thing: stung. She had to be stung. That was the only explanation, the only way to make sense of this.

They’d all seen what happened when someone did. Rage, madness, a descent into something unrecognizable until the only option was to shove them back into the Maze and let the walls do the rest.

So they panicked. Hard. More than they've felt since they were greenies and just found out about this nightmare. Arguments broke out before anyone could think better of it. Questions hurled, voices raised.

“She can’t be real.”

“This has to be some trick.”

“It’s a shucking trap.”

Minho paced like a caged animal, eyes wild, shaking his head over and over until he looked ready to rip his own hair out. “Not possible,” he muttered, louder each time, “it’s not possible. I checked the Maze. I fucking checked it. Someone’s playing with my head. I’ve lost it, that’s it, I’ve gone insane.” No amount of shouting from Newt could convince him otherwise. He was convinced she was a hallucination his brain had conjured from too many runs and too many dead ends.

Still, they carried her to the med-jacks. Clint’s hands shook as he counted her heartbeats.

He counted like he’d never counted before in his life.

Alby stood stiff, his jaw clenched, barking orders just to keep himself from unraveling. “Check for stings. But only where it’s decent. Don’t need you idiots gawkin’. If she’s stung, we’ll know soon enough anyway.” Even Alby, who’d survived alone here for a month, was barely keeping the panic from spilling.

Jeff grabbed the edge of her shirt, hesitated, then pulled it up enough to check. And the Glade’s collective breath caught. Her stomach was ripped, but scarred. Not new scars either. Old. Someone had done this to her long before she came here. Their hands shook as they cleaned her, water staining red as they wiped the blood away.

The boys around her couldn’t process it. Minho still paced, his voice sharp and erratic. “Not possible. Checked the Maze. Checked it. She’s not real. She’s not fucking real.” Newt tried again, “She’s real, shank, she’s bleeding in front of us, how could she not be-” but even he didn’t sound convinced.

It was a fever dream. Had to be.

Jeff injected her with what antibiotics they had, anything that might ease the poison if it was running through her veins. “It’s our responsibility. If she’s stung, it’s on us.”

They all watched the rise and fall of her chest. For hours.

Afternoon light leaked through the small cracks of the Med-jacks’ hut. Not the same day. Not even the next morning. She’d been out a full night, a full day, and then some.

They thought she was in a coma, but Jeff kept changing her bandages and tending to her wounds.

Alby had nearly lost his voice keeping them in line, forcing them back to their jobs because the Glade couldn’t survive with everyone sitting in a circle, staring at her like she was a damn fairy. This came after hours of silence, when it finally occured to him that none of them had blinked or moved. Chuck had dragged a softer blanket from his own cot, tucked it around her and whispered to her in her sleep that she had to wake up, that she couldn’t be stung, that he’d be sad forever if she was. Thomas had worn a path pacing outside, each turn of his feet followed by another prayer for what was fucking impossible. They didn't run the Maze during these two days.

All she knew was the static slowly clearing and the shadow of a face above hers. She squinted, trying to focus. The boy didn’t speak. He didn’t even seem to breathe. She shifted her arm, patting until she felt cloth wrapped tight around her skin. Bandages. Okay. Friendlies, like she expected. She was the asshole here. The one who’d punched one of them straight out of the gate. Figures.

The room swam, blurry at first, then sharpening into too many faces.

A voice broke through.

“You with us?”

She tried to sit. Another voice.

“You gotta rest.”

Her laugh came out hoarse. “C’mon, man. I had a whole speech prepared and you’re hitting me with mother hen behavior?”

Jaws slack. She was speaking.

She... did she just fucking joke?

She dragged herself upright slowly. She looked at them, one by one, then at the bandage on her hand. “Who did this?”

Clint and Jeff raised hands. Hesitant.

She nodded once. “Thank you.”

Alby stepped forward, he wanted to ask her so many things...but she held up a finger.

“Ight, before you say anything, I’m here to compare notes. First off, I’m sorry for decking one of your guys when I saw him. In my defense, I didn’t remember shit, my guts were trying to spill everywhere, and I had pounding in my head that made thinking straight damn near impossible.”

They were waiting for her to twitch, to thrash, to scream like the stung always did after the poison burned through. Two days had passed. And she was sitting up, stringing words together. Not just words. Sarcasm, wit, sharp edges. The kind of voice that hooked and held.

“I got some takes of my own about what the hell is going on here,” she went on, her eyes narrowing as she scanned their faces, “and I was hoping any of you could fill that in. Maybe you know why I'm here? Or...I dunno. Anything would help, really." she said, hand now rubbing her temples. "Comparing notes.”

Alby’s throat worked. He was the leader. It was his job. But he only managed a small “How did you survive in there?”

She exhaled. “Long story. And I was definitely trying to fill in my blanks so I could also fill yours in with things that might actually help, not what you already know. Meaning, you tell me all you know, then I’ll tell you all I know and we get the full story.”

They glanced at each other. She was negotiating? Who the hell was she negotiating with? They couldn’t even think straight because she was sitting there. Alive. Speaking.

Alby cleared his throat and went with the script. The speech he’d given all greenies, because right now, he couldn't think of anything that wasn't rehearsed. “You’re in the Glade. A Box like the one you came in sends up a new greenie every month, along with supplies to help us live here. The rest is up to us. We grow our food, build shelters, have rules so it doesn’t all fall apart. We function like a family. We don’t know who put us here. All we know is we woke up sick and confused, just like you did. Blank slates. Only names came back.”

She listened. “Okay… and you decided to stay here because-”

Gally cut in, sharp. “Because that place is a massive buffet and it gets you killed, that's why. You have to be a Runner to go in there.”

She looked at him. “Okay… new term. Runner. Lemme guess: people who run? Pretty self-explanatory.”

Minho, who had been biting the inside of his cheek so hard it bled, spoke up. “I’m Keeper of the Runners. We go in the Maze every day, map what we can, try to find an exit so we can get out of here. We’re back by sunset because that’s when the four exits close and the Maze starts shifting. And nobody survives the night. And you just-” His voice cracked, his hands clenched. “You just came here and you ran straight into-”

“So it does only shift at night.”

Seriously? That's what she clings to from all he said?

“Well,” she continued, “if you’re only there during the day… how do you kill them?”

Pure silence.

“Kill…” Thomas finally whispered.

She tried to explain what she meant. “Those things that crawl and-”

“Grievers.” Newt’s voice broke, low, terrified. “She means Grievers.”

“Yeah.” She exhaled, rubbed her temple again. “Makes sense to call them that. Fits the vibe. Those.”

“We don’t kill them,” Minho snapped. “They can’t even be-”

“Bullshit,” she cut him off. “I killed two last night. When the walls shift, you just trap them in. Mashed potatoes. They ain't that smart.” She didn't mean it in a gloating way. She genuinely didn't know what they thought of those things, and in lack of knowledge...that didn't feel like a big deal for her. She said it casually. But it was. It was a big deal.

The stillness that followed was so thick it could’ve suffocated.

“How long have you been here?” she asked. It wasn't her first question because she dreaded the answer.

“Two years,” Alby muttered.

Her eyes widened even more. She felt sick. She didn't look at him. “You said one person comes in every month. You’ve been here two years. That’s twenty-four people. But there ain't 24 of you...” Her voice broke, eyes finally meeting his. “I’m so sorry.”

She started rambling, words tumbling out in a rush. “At first I thought maybe it’s some televised fucking show I agreed to because the walls kept moving in sequences and I could map it in my brain like it was something I rehearsed. But then I remembered how young you all were and I was like, no way. Not possible. You all looked scared, like you were trying to warn me -thanks for that, by the way- and I thought 'fuck'. I had to come back, I couldn’t even try to leave, nobody deserves to be treated like a rat in some sick game with monsters in the walls, and I-”

She was cut off by a sudden weight against her waist. Small arms. His face buried against her as he shook, tears soaking into her shirt.

“I’m so glad you’re not dead,” he sobbed. “We were so worried-”

She froze, staring down, then slowly wrapped her arms around him, cradling him against her chest. “You… huh? What reason would you have to worry about a stranger?” Kind of hypocritical of her to say that considering she just rambled about coming back because it wasn't fair for them to rot in this nightmare and wanting to help them out of here.

Alby’s voice was thicker now. “You’re not a stranger. Once you come up from that Box, you’re one of our own. It was our responsibility to stop you from going in the first place-”

But Minho cut him off, shaking. “I didn’t find you. We searched. We searched all day. Where the hell were you?”

She looked up at him. “During the day I was in 3B, 5D and 8A. I don’t know if that means anything to you. I can draw you a map if you'd like.”

A map. A girl who’d survived the night. A girl who claimed to have killed Grievers. A map.

Alby had been watching her with that look he wore when he was trying to make sense of something too big to fit inside his skull. “What do you remember? You said you didn’t remember anything. Past tense.”

She blinked once with just an itty bitty beginning of a smile on her face that somehow made half the boys forget how lungs worked.

“Oh. I remembered my name. I’m Cass. Cassandra. Rest of it’s completely wiped.”

“Alby.”

“Hi, Alby. You… in charge? I mean... you talk like you are.”

A nod. “I was the first one here.”

Her brows lifted. “A month alone in this place?”

He nodded again. Girl was catching on fast. Most people took a long while to piece everything together.

Chuck still hadn’t let go of her. His face pressed into her shirt, his little shoulders shaking until he finally leaned back, red-eyed and snotty. She cupped his face without thinking, her thumb brushing his cheek. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Chuck.”

“Hey, Chuck. I’m Cass.”

And the kid just broke again. He cried harder, words spilling out muffled against her. “You’re… you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Ever. Like… ever, ever.”

She blinked. “Uh… thank you?”

Clearly didn't know how to react to that in the current circumstances.

He hiccupped through another sob.

“I once asked them what girls were like and they told me they’re gross and mean and they-”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing, while the boys stared at him, mortified, praying he'd shut up.

But she just said, “Yeah, well… I did punch someone a second after coming here, so they ain’t entirely wrong-”

But Chuck wasn’t done. “That's okay. Newt tried to climb the wall and jump off and Minho cried in the Homestead until he passed out when they first-”

“CHUCK!” two voices exploded at once, loud enough to rattle the walls.

Her eyes were on them now.

“Which is which?” she whispered.

Chuck, still hiccupping, pointed with a stubby finger. “Newt. Minho.”

Cass’s eyes darted to them and then widened at Minho. “No way-”

“What?”

“YOUR NAME IS MINHO. And you said… you run. In that maze. LIKE THE MINOTAUR in the myth. That’s so fucking cool-”

Minho forgot his shock for a second. Everything inside him boiled over, too fast, too hot. His chest constricted, his face flushed red, and his heartbeat slammed like it was trying to dig its way out of his ribs. She’d just smiled at him and said his name was cool and it felt like being knighted. No joke, no exaggeration. Felt like she’d just crowned him in front of everyone. His brain shorted out and he just stood there, red as hell, staring at her.

Nobody teased him. Because then Cass laughed. Her whole face lit up, her eyes crinkled, her shoulders shook, and every single one of them was fucked.

And maybe that was why Gally snapped. Because the second her laugh hit his ears, he felt something he hated, something warm, something unsteady, and it pissed him off more than anything.

“You didn’t kill no Griever. You’re lying to all of us. You-”

Newt rounded on him. “Nobody survived the night in the bloody Maze. So however she pulled that doesn't even matter-”

“It’s okay.” Cass’s voice cut through. She looked at Gally. “I get it. Small disclaimer, I didn't demand your trust or anything. I just wanted to… be more informed. And now that I know, I’ll do my best to help you guys in any way I can if you'd let me. I don’t want to disrupt your peace or-”

“You already fucking did,” Gally snapped. His fists clenched, his jaw locked. “You broke the rules-”

Alby spun on him now. “Do you even hear yourself? She doesn’t even know the damn rules-”

“STILL!” Gally barked back. “AND HOW THE HELL IS SHE SO CALM IN ALL OF THIS? WHO COMES BACK FROM A NIGHT WITH THOSE THINGS AND JOKES LIKE THAT? WHO-”

She just tilted her head. Looked at him. When his eyes locked on hers again, his temper died mid-breath. The words dried on his tongue.

She was- she-

“I had all my time to panic back there, but that's not productive and won't get us out of this shit.” she said, like explaining a simple math problem to a kid. “Rational thinking will. That’s how I remembered my name. It came on the thought that every maze has an exit. That’s their purpose.”

Minho snapped her attention back to him, still stuck on what she said earlier. “I’ve been working for months just to map a single section and you told me you can draw me a map. There's no way that's-”

“Do you have paper? Or anything I can draw it on?”

A boy at the back fumbled with a notebook and a blunt crayon and gave it to her. She nodded. “Thanks.”

Minho stepped closer, eyes narrowed and skeptical. He watched as she started sketching, her injured hand shaking slightly, but her lines sure and fast. The Maze took shape beneath her fingers, angles sharp, corridors precise. Detailed as fuck. “That’s-”

Gally barked again, but this time at Minho. “She remembers things from before the Box and ain't telling us. There ain’t no way. She’s-”

Cass didn’t even look up. “I didn’t ask you to walk my dog or water my flowers, I’m just drawing on a piece of paper. The fuck you on?”

The laugh broke like a crack of thunder. One boy, then another, then another. They didn’t even know if it was stress or shock or just their sanity melting into the cracks of the medjack hut, but they laughed until their stomachs hurt.

Gally’s blood pressure spiked so hard he thought his veins might burst. And the little shit just kept sketching.

Minho’s voice broke again. “This can’t- You’ve ran all of this?”

She nodded. “Explored. Didn’t really run that much. Only when those things were chasing me and when the walls started to shift. Been trying to keep my guts from spilling, but I was royally unsuccessful.”

Thomas finally spoke. “How did you kill them?” He needed to hear it again. He was still stuck on the Griever matter. More of them were but they couldn't voice it.

“Trapped them under a moving wall,” she said simply. “They shift with a rhythm and a sequence of numbers that lined up in my mind somehow. I believe it’s odd numbers-"

Minho corrected. “It changes every night. Doesn’t shift the same.”

She took that in. “Did not know that. Well-couldn’t possibly have. I’ve only been there one night.”

Minho actually shook. His hands trembled at his sides.

Frypan piped up from the doorway. “No wonder she’s been sleeping for almost two days-”

Her head snapped up. “I’ve been-what?!”

Of everything, that was her big shock? The room blinked at her. And she was already swinging her legs off the cot. Newt’s hand shot out, landing on her shoulder. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until he felt soft skin beneath his fingertips and took his hand off. “What are you doing?”

“I… need to map more of it so we can get the fuck out of here. I’ve already lost a day over a stupid-”

“She’s insane,” Gally cut in, voice rising. “SHE’S FUCKING INSANE. DO YOU EVEN HEAR THIS? THIS IS UNREAL, HOW IN THE FUCK-”

Cass shot up and went straight to him. “I’VE APOLOGISED FOR PUNCHING THAT GUY. WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SO PRESSED? I’VE DONE NOTHING TO YOU, BUT IF YOU WANNA SWALLOW YOUR FUCKING TEETH-”

“Woah, woah—” Alby shoved himself between them, but the fire was already lit.

“SHE’S INSANE!” Gally bellowed.

“AND YOU’RE A DICK,” she fired back. “NOBODY FUCKING ASKED FOR THIS. WHAT ARE YOU EVEN PISSED ABOUT-”

“YOU WERE DEAD! NOBODY GETS OUT OF THERE-”

“THEN WHY AM I FUCKING HERE TALKING TO YOU? DO YOU NEED SUBTITLES? WHAT DO I GAIN OUT OF THIS? YOU THINK I’M IN SOME ACTING CLASS, THEY SENT ME UP TO AUDITION FOR A NEW MOVIE? IF I WAS WITH THE PEOPLE WHO PUT US HERE, I’D HAVE KNOWN WHAT WAITED OUT THERE. I WOULDN’T HAVE WALKED IN DRUGGED OUT OF MY MIND JUST TO LEAVE MY STOMACH LINING IN THE DIRT. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!”

Holy fuck. Some temper on that one. I mean, they already knew about Gally's, but-

Cass tried to breathe, tried to cool her blood before it boiled over. She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled hard through her teeth. When she lowered her hand, she caught Chuck staring at her. Guilt. The kid had seen her and Gally nearly rip each other’s throats out, and she figured that kind of thing would scare the life out of someone so young.

“Sorry, kid,” she muttered, softening her voice. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

But Chuck didn’t look scared. Not even close. He looked starstruck. She didn’t notice that. She just turned back to the notebook and picked up the crayon again, leaning over the sketch.

“This part,” she said, pointing to a corner section. “Needs some sort of key. Couldn’t get into it, not even when everything started shifting.”

Minho leaned in. “It’s a dead end.”

Her head jerked up. “You’ve been?”

“Yeah. It probably wasn’t open when you were in.”

Their voices overlapped then, rapid-fire, her questions, his answers, his questions, her guesses. The others watched in stunned silence, because it was obvious those two were speaking the same language. Everyone else talked about the Maze like it was some abstract monster, but this sounded like a proper fucking dissection of it. Clarity. Not full, but just enough to ease their nerves.

Frypan slipped into the space between, holding out a piece of bread and water for her. “Here-”

Cass shook her head. “Don’t waste resources on me-”

Gally’s voice cut in. “SEE? INSANE, I’M TELLING YOU! SHE’S ONE OF THEM! SHE WASN’T IN THE MAZE, SHE WAS OUT THERE TAKING LUNCH WITH THE PEOPLE WHO PUT US HERE-”

Cass dropped the notebook without a second thought. “That’s it.”

And then she was on him. The first punch split his nose open, blood spilling instantly, the second had him stumbling back, hands flying to his face.

“HAVE YOU CALMED THE FUCK DOWN YET?” she barked, standing over him.

A pair of arms hauled her back. Gally straightened and put a finger on the blood dripping down his lip. When he brought it up and saw it, he looked like he was about to faint.

She laughed. “You gonna faint from a bit of blood? Yeah. The loudest ones are always the biggest pussies.”

“What did you say to me?!”

“I said you’re a fucking pussy. What, you deaf too?”

He lunged, but Newt and Thomas caught him by the arms, holding him back as his chest heaved. Cass twisted in the grip holding her back.

“Let him go,” she hissed. “I wanna see if he can throw a real punch or if he’s just a whiny little bitch.”

"I'll show you a whiny-"

“Enough!” Alby’s voice cracked like a whip. Gally stilled, though the fury still burned in his eyes.

Cass was breathing hard, fists clenched, shoulders tight as bowstrings. She glanced at Alby, then at the rest, forcing herself to stop.

Newt tried a different track. He gestured to the bleeding Gally.

“How about some introductions, yeah? That’s Gally. Keeper of the Builders.”

Cass tilted her head at him.

“And this is Thomas,” Newt continued, nodding toward the boy next to Minho. “He’s a runner along with Minho.”

“Trackhoe,” Newt pointed to himself.

Her brow shot up. “A what now?”

“Garden. Crops.”

“Ahh."

“I cook,” Frypan chimed in, lifting a hand. “And I like people who don’t refuse my food.”

Cass glanced at the bread in his hand, guilt flashing across her face. “Sorry. I appreciate the effort, I just didn’t-”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Frypan said. “But you’re one of us now. And I made it for you.”

Something shifted in her then. She nodded once, took the bread and began to chew. Damn, she was hungry as fuck. She didn't even register it over...everything else happening.

The introductions kept coming, name after name, role after role. She nodded to each, her eyes pinning their faces into memory, filing it all. They had quite the community here.

When they were done, Alby said, “Time to learn the rules. Rule number one: do your part. Which you’ve already been doing without even knowing, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Rule number two is to never harm another Glader.”

Gally’s mouth opened, but Alby snapped before he could speak. “You were asking for it.”

Gally sputtered. “YOU’RE TAKING HER SIDE?!”

Alby ignored him. “Rule number three: never go beyond the walls unless you’re a Runner.”

Cass bit her lip. Okay, she’d definitely already broken that one.

Minho cut in before Gally could start again. “She a Runner, alright.”

Gally bristled, ready to explode, but Minho’s glare stopped him cold. “You deal with your building, I deal with what happens in my Maze. Don’t wanna hear it.”

Cass chewed the last bite of bread, downed another mouthful of water, then set the cup aside. “Thank you.”

Alby exhaled. “I’m sorry we scared you the other day. And sorry we let you go in there. Greenies are usually easy to deal with. Everyone throws up, sits in corners, shakes, tries to pick fights. I didn’t think for even a second someone would bolt straight into the Maze.”

Minho snorted. “Thomas almost did-”

“WHEN I FOUND OUT THERE WAS AN EXIT AND YOU WOULDN’T WANNA TELL ME ABOUT IT!” Thomas defended himself.

“Yeah,” Newt cut in dryly. “Cause when he first tried to run, he face-planted in the grass. Had to re-take a few hours later.”

Cass glanced between them.

Then Minho looked right at her. Serious. Like it was official stuff and it needed a damn signature. A contract. “So you accept?”

Her brows knit. “I… uh. What?”

“You’re a Runner. I’m Keeper of the Runners. I’m asking you.”

“Oh. I mean, I need to go in there to figure it out, so… yeah. Sure.”

Alby stared at her with the weight of two years carved into his bones and thought 'What the hell just landed in our Glade?' He didn't even comment about how she was made runner without any other discussion. After the shit she pulled out there, discussion would've been insulting. Frypan slid a steady hand onto Cass’s shoulder and guided her outside. She blinked hard against the sun.

Chuck bounced to her side immediately, vibrating with the need to show her everything. He pointed with his chubby hands at every landmark, words tumbling so fast he barely stopped for air. “That’s the Homestead-that’s where we sleep-and those are the Gardens, trackhoes work there, and that’s the Blood House-don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it sounds, it’s just where we keep the animals-and that’s the Box, where you came from! And-and-”

She listened to him. Her gaze kept darting back to the walls, but when Alby stepped out behind her, she looked him over, and said, “You’ve built it well. Everything here. Can’t imagine what you had to go through for all of this.”

The smallest smile tugged at his mouth. “Welcome to the Glade. Anything you need, you just ask for it. You’re one of us now. Even if you ran for the hills from it at first.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Man, I ran faster when I wanted to come back, but the walls shut on me.”

Chuck tugged her sleeve, eyes wide. “But you didn’t get stung! And we were sure you got stung and-”

Her eyebrow arched. “Ah… what now? I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I’m still not up to date with all the words you’ve got for stuff. I need a whole-ass Glade dictionary. Grievers are the things in the Maze, greenies are newbies...”

Newt added, “And trackhoes work in the garden.”

She turned that smile on him, quick and bright. It made his stomach do multiple little flips.

But her question still hanged unanswered. “So what’s that mean?”

No one looked eager to answer, but finally Alby spoke. “You dodged a bullet out there. Those things've got stingers in their tails. If you get stung, you go through something we call the Changing. You lose your mind fast. Your blood doesn’t stay where it should. You get confused, aggressive. Then rabid. Nothing human left.”

Cass stared at him, eyes wider now. “Uh… I… held one of those things’ tails half the night. Thought I could do something with it. But then I dropped it. Am I—”

Newt catched onto her implication. “I’m not sure about what you just said, but I know for a fact it has to sting you, and that it shows on your skin. Dark veins blooming and all of that. You can't miss it. You would've turned by now. So you're okay.”

Cass blew out a breath. “Okay.”

They sat her down on a log near the cooking fire they just made, Frypan bustled about with his pots, stirring and seasoning, trying to focus on something so he wouldn't stare.

The stories began. Each boy had one. A tale about some ridiculous accident, some near-miss in the Maze, some inside joke from their little patchwork family. They told them loud, throwing in details, each one trying to outdo the last.

They were trying to impress her.

One of them dropped a line that made her smile, another tried to top it, voices climbing over one another.

At one point, Chuck said in a whisper: “Maybe it's good you don't remember who hurt you.”

Cass tilted her head at him. “Huh?”

He pointed at her arm.

She glanced down. “Oh, I fell on it—”

“No.” He pointed again.

Her eyes followed. Lines crisscrossing, some shallow, some deep, some old, others newer.

She studied them in silence and then ran her fingers over one.

“I didn’t even notice these.” Her voice was calm. “But this one… looks like a knife one. This one’s a burn...Hell if I know who I pissed off. Must've been a real bitch. Or maybe I was a convicted criminal and I'm paying for my sins in here-"

She caught herself then, realizing maybe the joke was too dark, but before she could take it back the boys were already laughing. Okay. Good. Good. She exhaled.

After a little while, she said. “This memory wipe stuff is weird as hell. They messed with the temporal lobes, probably, but left everything else intact. I know what a phone is but I can’t remember ever using one. That’s one of the most eerie of feelings. What the actual fuck. Do you guys get flashes? Ever?”

Newt shook his head. “No. Not really. Just stupid realizations, like discovering we like certain things and tying it to how maybe we liked it before.”

She hummed. Chuck piped up again. “I think she was gonna be a police officer! That's so cool.”

Minho and Newt said it at the same time. “Soldier.”

Her brow arched. “And you’re basing that on…?”

They exchanged a look before answering.

“Calm in horror scenarios,” Newt said.

Minho kept his. “In the Maze for a full night? While on drugs. That’s insane. You mapped the places I took months to map in your first day here, not knowing shuck about this place. And then you went and pointed out sections like- I mean-”

Newt picked it up. “You didn't have the greenie stammer. Well, might be from spending a night out there and seeing it all for yourself, but still. I never thought someone would stay the night, but when I did see you again, I didn't think you'd wake up sane. And definitely not cracking jokes first thing.”

“And you tried to refuse my food,” Frypan added. “So we wouldn’t waste it on you. Team player.”

Cass blinked at them. “…Uh. Okay?”

Alby chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s their way of welcoming you. We usually try to guess what we used to want to be before all this. Like Frypan who picked up cooking right away because it felt right, so of course we guessed he was learning how to be a cook or maybe cooked a lot for his family... Or Gally who was surely learning something around building since he's a natural at it.”

“Right. Thanks."

She smiled at that but then she scrunched up her cute nose at the smell of Frypan’s stew, and she looked fucking adorable. They didn't get...soft things around here.

And yeah, personality wasn't exactly soft, but her face most certainly was.

Minho had to shift on the log, hiding the straining in his pants. He forced himself to angle away, hoping no one noticed the red climbing up his neck. But Newt saw it from across the fire and his smirk was pure mischief.

But still, 'keep your shit together' was the thought that mattered most now. Because they wanted her to feel safe. Not like some pretty object for them to drool over.

By the time the sky turned darker, the fire in the middle of the Glade had grown. Voices filled the night, overlapping, jabbing, teasing. It was a game now, one they all became players of instinctively: make her laugh, make her look, make her choose to aim that smile at you. She sometimes joked back, but she mostly observed. They didn't rush her.

But then the walls groaned. It was a sound they’d all grown used to, a daily reminder of where they were. Cass went still.

While the others kept talking, the echo of it just background noise by now, she leaned into it, listening so hard her whole body seemed tuned to the noise. Minho was the first to notice. Her eyes were distant, her hand clenched around a long stick, dragging patterns in the dirt. She wasn’t looking at them. Wasn’t even looking at the fire. She was mapping. Trying to chart it by sound alone.

“Hey-” Minho said.

Her head jerked up like she’d surfaced from deep water. “Yeah?”

“You here?” He nodded at the stick in her hand.

She dropped it instantly. “Yeah.”

Newt shifted closer. “You’re here now. You're not there anymore.”

“I know-”

“I’m just telling you,” Newt continued, “Because it looks like you’re putting all that pressure on yourself. Take your time. Breathe a bit, yeah? It’s not your job to figure it out in record time. I’m thankful you’re thinking about it, but don’t do it until it drives you bloody mad.”

His eyes locked with hers. The message was clear: stop obsessing before it eats you alive.

Newt was good at reading people. Always had been. And the more he watched her, the clearer it became. She hadn’t just come back to the Glade because she’d failed to get out. No. He’d seen her face when she’d said it: I came back because I couldn’t leave kids trapped in this place. That wasn’t the face of someone who did it out of strategy. Although yeah, it probably was the only good one in her situation. But no. He felt it in his bones. That was justice. Heart.

He’d got it before with Thomas, with Minho, with Alby: that gut-sense when you were looking at one of the good ones. Reliable. Trustworthy. Someone who carried weight because they couldn’t not. The soldier guess fit, yeah. Too much calm in the storm, too much certainty in her stance, too much precision in the way she’d leveled Gally with just enough to silence him. Even the way she walked said 'trained'.

But Newt could also see that under all that, she was rattled. Holding it so tight it didn’t show, but it was there.

Frypan passed bowls of stew around. He gave her one too, and she accepted it with a small smile that landed like a sucker punch in more than one stomach.

And then she spoke. “I wonder which desert we’re in.”

“Huh?” Thomas blinked, caught off guard. This was becoming a thing with her.

She glanced up from her food. “Was just thinking how the hell do you get funds for sick shit like this and build it in the middle of nowhere to lock kids into. What do you even get out of it?”

Minho frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re in the middle of a desert,” Cass said simply. “The air’s dry. There’s sand everywhere. Every time the wind blows, you get that sand feeling on your tongue.”

“You sure you ain’t just thirsty?” Frypan quipped, trying to lighten it, but the others weren’t laughing. They were staring at her like she’d just told them the sky was fake.

“It sure as hell doesn’t match the nature you’ve got here. You get rain?”

“Rarely,” Alby admitted.

“See?” Then her brow furrowed. “I might be wrong. But that’s what I think. And the problem is that a desert’s hard as hell to survive in-”

Newt cut her off by handing her a jar. “Moonshine.”

She eyed it. “Another word for my dictionary?”

“It’s basically Gally's homemade rocket fuel. You don’t gotta try it if you don’t want to. It’s pretty strong.”

Gally leaned forward, smirking through the firelight, already imagining her coughing her lungs out. Pride still wounded from before, obviously. “Go on. Try it.”

She tipped the jar back and drank. The boys all leaned forward, eyes locked on her face. Waiting for the choke, the gag, the tears.

Nothing. She swallowed, handed the jar back to Newt, and said, “It’s alright.”

Silence. Gally’s eyes went wide. His smirk shattered. “What the-”

Minho started laughing. Chuck gasped like she’d just performed a magic trick. Frypan shook his head, muttering, “Insane.”

Then they were back into the stories.

“Fry tried make soup out of tree bark once.” Chuck said.

“That shank nearly killed me,” Gally barked. “My throat still burns when I think about it.”

She smirked. On the surface, she looked calm. Relaxed, even, leaning back, eating slowly. But she curled her fingers into fists in her lap to hide the tremble in her hands. She was fucking rattled.

These boys looked at her like she’d done the impossible, like she was some kind of miracle dropped out of the sky because she’d survived the night. Like it was a reason to gloat.

She only saw luck. She hadn’t felt strong. She’d felt one step away from death, and she knew damn well she would've accepted it with no issue whatsoever if it wasn't for the nagging thought that she could help someone and mean something. Have a purpose. She needed that to function.

What scared her most wasn’t even the Maze. It was that it hadn’t scared her enough. Not like they made it seem like. How did she even pull it off? It felt distant now. Like it was another person who did it. What if she was actually working with the people who built this nightmare like that guy said?

“I… uh—”

Alby clocked her expression and helped her out. “If you wanna crash, I can show you to the Homestead.”

Relief flooded her face, and she nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Newt and Minho were already getting up to follow, but Alby motioned for them to stay here. She needed time.

The boys all chorused goodnights. She stood, brushing her hands against her pants, and Chuck waved frantically.

She gave a small smile and a "'Night." to everyone and walked away with Alby. Every eye followed. Winston didn’t bother to hide his stare at her ass, hand adjusting his pants. Newt slapped him on the back of the head so hard the crack echoed.

“Show some bloody respect, you absolute tosser.”

Winston muttered something under his breath, but his cheeks burned.

Alby glanced sideways at her. He caught the tremble in her hands. When they reached the Homestead, he pushed open the door, wood creaking. He showed her to the empty cot they’d made up, clean blankets stacked, and clothes prepared for the night.

“Take it easy, alright?” Alby said. “You need anything-”

“Yeah.” Her eyes flicked to him. “Thank you, Alby. Really.”

He nodded once and left.

Cass began to change, a loose shirt and some thin pants, and layed down on the cot. She stared up at the beams above her, thoughts scattered.

They were all still staring after where she’d gone, their minds too full, their lungs too tight.

Minho exhaled sharply. “Well. That’s it. We’re screwed.”

Thomas frowned. “What do you mean?”

Minho pointed toward the Homestead. “You saw her. Her first greenie day was in the Maze, no sleep, no food, after the damn drugs-and she comes back drawing maps in the dirt and drinking moonshine like water. You think I can go back to being Keeper of the Runners after that? Forget it. I’m retiring.”

Newt snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be daft. You ain’t retiring. She’s bloody brilliant, yeah, but you’re still Keeper. The lot of you will figure it out together.”

Minho leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “She doesn't need us.” He shook his head again, slower. “One night. I’ve been running that Maze near every day for so long, and she did more in a night than I have in months. That’s...”

Alby’s voice cut in from where he stood, just back from the Homestead. “It’s not a competition.”

Gally barked a harsh laugh, nose still swollen. “Not a competition? She’s-not normal.”

“You still think she’s lying?” Thomas asked.

Gally met his eyes. “I think she’s fucking dangerous, that's what I think.”

“Bullshit.” Minho’s tone snapped like a whip. “She’s-” He stopped himself. What? Perfect? Something he can’t stop staring at? He swallowed. “She’s real. That’s all that matters.”

“Real?” Gally went on. “Real girls don’t come here telling us they took out Grievers on day one.”

“She’s not lying!” Chuck's face was red. “She came back for us.”

Newt picked it up where Chuck left it. “Surviving the night in there with barely any injuries and not a single bloody idea of what was going on? I'm telling you. She really did come back for us. If she could map that much in a single night, maybe she could've also found the exit. I think she gave up on that to come back. I just feel it.”

Alby rubbed his temples, the way he always did when stress was clawing at him.

Frypan cleared his throat, trying to ease the weight. “All I know is she didn’t spit my stew back out. That’s trust enough for me.”

A few laughed, even if it was short-lived.

Thomas finally spoke again. “I think she was supposed to be here.”

Minho leaned back, staring at the sparks popping from the fire. “Supposed to be here or not, she’s one of us. Even if Gally keeps being a jackass about it.”

Gally muttered under his breath, but didn’t argue again. His thoughts were too tangled. Anger. Suspicion. And that damned- that image of her standing over him after she’d have the audacity to fuck up his nose. How she kept provoking like she could take him any second, even with a messed up arm. And he couldn't stop staring at her fucking face.

Newt caught the look on Gally’s face and shook his head. He knew everyone was feeling it. Magnetism. But there was more to her than that, and he’d be damned if he let hormones ruin it.

He cleared his throat and stood, brushing dirt off his pants. “Right then. Enough sulking. She’s alive, she’s breathing, and we've got ourselves another Runner. That’s more than we had yesterday. Let’s not waste the night arguing about it.”

Minho raised his jar. “To Cass.”

Thomas echoed, lifting his bowl. “To Cass.”

Chuck’s voice piped up. “To the prettiest person I've ever seen!”

Half the boys groaned, the others laughed, and Newt cuffed Chuck on the back of the head, muttering, “Keep that in your head next time.”

But the toast stuck. One by one, bowls or jars lifted. “To Cass.”

The fire had burned down to embers, the circle loose now, boys sprawled out or leaning back, bowls empty at their feet. Low murmurs, the occasional laugh, the sound of Chuck snoring against someone’s arm. It felt like they were almost ready to drift off. Then Winston had to open his mouth.

“Fine, sure,” he said, his voice carrying just enough to grab the whole circle, “but you’re liars if you try to tell me you haven’t seen that ass-”

A sharp crack followed as Newt’s hand smacked the back of his head. Again.

“Ow, man! Would you quit that already?!” Winston yelped, rubbing the spot.

“I reckon you’ve had more than enough to drink,” Newt muttered, shaking his head.

But Winston wasn’t done. He leaned forward, eyes a little glassy from the moonshine. “Come on. She’s built like a damn model, she’s got the face of a doll, survives the Maze, comes here all wit and punches Gally in the nose and you’re tryina tell me you ain’t into it?”

“You wanna make her feel like she’d be better out there with the Grievers?” Minho bit. “’Cause you sound exactly like-”

“Like what?” Winston snapped back. “I didn’t fucking say I was gonna jump her, I was just appreciating her ass and that pair of tits-”

The punch landed before he finished the word. Thomas had surged up and clocked him across the jaw. Winston went stumbling back off the log, cursing and clutching his face.

Alby exhaled, rubbing his temples like the headache had finally arrived.

The circle erupted all at once.

Minho leaned forward. “She walked into the Maze without knowing a damn thing and came back alive. That’s… that’s not someone you talk about like she’s some poster on a wall. You don't treat her like that. Hell, you don't treat anyone like that.”

Winston pushed himself up, scowling, blood at his lip. “You’re all acting like saints, but don’t tell me you haven’t thought it. She’s the first damn girl we’ve ever seen-”

“Thinking it and saying it are two different things,” Newt shot back. “You think we’re blind? Course we saw. But there’s a line. You don’t cross it.”

Alby finally straightened, his voice booming enough to shut them all up. “That’s enough. She’s here because she’s trapped, just like the rest of us. You want to stay in the Glade, you treat her with respect. You hear me?”

Thomas was still standing, fists clenched, chest heaving like he wanted to throw another punch. He surprised himself with it. He hadn’t even thought, just moved.

Newt noticed. He also noticed Minho, who hadn’t stopped glaring at Winston, his jaw tight enough to crack. And Gally, who, despite still nursing his nose from before, looked half ready to get up and add his own punches to the mix.

So raw and obvious, all of it. Almost cute, if it wasn't for the monsters in the walls and the impending doom. But, oh well.

Don't we all love a little bit of doom?

Cassandra certainly did.

Her brain kept buzzing like someone left the lights on inside her skull, her skin prickling with every scrape and groan of the walls outside. Every shift was like a voice. Numbers shouted in stone.

She swung her legs over, pushed off, put on her boots and went out.

The Glade was quiet now. Fire burned low at the pit. She walked. Slow at first, then faster. Her mind was running equations again, routes, numbers, patterns, and it felt like her body needed to keep up. She dropped into the dirt, one hand flat, the other tucked behind her back. Push-ups. Sharp, straight form. One. Two. Three.

Her muscles knew what to do. The rhythm cleared her head, smoothed out the static. She wasn’t even getting tired. That sealed it: training. Soilder wasn't that bad a guess. Maybe they were onto something. Explains the speed and resistance.

When her breath steadied, after one too many of those, she pushed back to her feet and wandered again. That’s when she saw it. Glow spilling out of one of the structures.

She stepped closer. A figure hunched over a table. Runner guy. Minho.

She knocked twice against the open door. He jumped like she’d shot a gun, then spun around, eyes wide. When he saw her, his shoulders eased but his jaw stayed tight.

“Hey,” she said.

He blinked, looked at her, then down quickly. “Hey.”

“May I?”

“All yours.” He gestured to the table.

But she wasn’t even looking at him now. Her eyes locked on the thing spread across it. A model of the Maze made from cardboard, sections pieced together.

“You made this?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed, feeling heat in his chest. No one said it like that. Like it was worth being impressed by.

Her eyes narrowed, scanning it. She tilted her head, like she was already finding inaccuracies.

"You wanna add to it?" he asked, clocking her expression.

“Substract, actually. That okay or you holding onto your art project?”

He smirked, couldn’t help it. “Go ahead. Definitely not the kind of art I’d want in my living room.”

And she smiled. He looked away, pretending to fuss with some scraps just to hide how red his ears felt.

She moved a piece, then another.

She looked tired.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“I guess it’s either a two-day pass out or nothing for me, huh…”

He chuckled.

She said, after a pause, "You neither."

“Yeah, well. You don’t get people who claim to have killed Grievers here every day. Gotta up my game.”

That's how they all talked ever since hearing the Griever story. "Claim to", "said she" killed Grievers. Not that they didn't believe her...

Oh, who were they even kidding?

They didn't really. It was easier to believe she survived the night somehow...than that she killed two Grievers in there. But he didn't voice that thought. Maybe because a part of him wanted to believe it.

“Good strategy.” She didn’t look up from the cardboard. “And when you get it high enough, pass out from exhaustion out there so I have something to carry back here. You’ll be a proper damsel in distress. I’ll add a bowtie. Sure to find one around here. Maybe that guy Gally has some.”

The laugh that tore out of him was too loud for how quiet it all was. He clamped his mouth shut quick.

“I’m joking,” she said. “I don’t hold grudges. I mean… he’s probably the only one sane here.”

He blinked at that. “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s weird, that’s all. Maybe he’s right about all of it.”

“Finally, some greenie talk.”

“Is it, now?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back on the table, watching her. “You didn’t know the limitations. You didn’t know shit about the Maze. So what you did out there, it wasn’t drenched in the fear we’ve been soaking in since day one. Since Alby told us the rules and explained everything. You just… did it. Pure instinct. And that instinct is a damn gold mine if you ask me. You-”

“Don’t.” Her voice cut sharper, her eyes lifting to pin him.

He froze.

“Yeah okay,” she exhaled, softer now, “Came out a tad more dramatic than I wanted it to be. But don’t treat me like it was something big and awesome. How the hell do I even know these things? It’s plausible that I was working with them. If they gave me a cheat sheet or-”

“Be real with me,” he cut in fast. “Did you figure out how to get out or not?”

She stilled. Her eyes locked on his.

“When you told me about section 4E back at the hut,” he pressed, “you said-”

“I know what I said.”

“Then that just proves you’re not working with them.” His voice was steady now. “If you were, you wouldn’t have come back to try and get everyone out. You would've tested that way out and left if you ended up being right. But something tells me you didn't even do that. And all for some strangers you only heard for a few seconds before you bolted. And I bet you won’t tell anyone shit until you think all of us are ready and have an actual shot at this.”

“That doesn’t prove I didn’t use to work with them.”

“That all you’ve got?” He smirked, leaning in a little.

She exhaled, shook her head. “…Fine. I might’ve thought of a few things that could possibly-”

“You know how to get out of here.” His words hit fast, sharp, like he was afraid if he didn’t say them quick she’d shut it down again.

“I think I know how to get out of here.”

And then her eyes dropped to the cardboard, lips pressing shut.

He smiled. That's all the trust he's ever needed. And everything he had to hear to know this girl was really planning to make good on her promise and get them out. Hope was a dangerous thing in this place. And he surprised himself for how much of it he felt already.

Think of a way to tell her you trust her with it without sounding like a moron.

“These guys are my family,” he said after a long pause. “And everything I’ve worked for was to keep them safe. You knew they would rush into it so you kept it to yourself. So I'll keep the secret.”

She looked at him for a long second, then turned toward the door. “Get some sleep, Minho.”

And then she was gone.

The Glade was too quiet. That was the first thing Minho clocked when he rolled out of the Map Room at dawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Normally, the place woke up in waves-Zart shouting at track-hoes, Frypan banging pots, random shoves and curses as people fought over chores. But now?

Complete utter silence.

He frowned, stretched, and started walking. Empty paths. Empty garden rows. Even the Blood House, usually rattling with sounds this early, was dead still.

“What the…” he muttered, picking up his pace.

“Hey!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Where the hell is everyone?”

He barely had time to hear his own echo before a hand clamped down over his mouth and yanked him into the bushes. Instinct lit him up-he thrashed, elbowed, tried to spin free-until he heard the hiss in his ear.

“Bloody shut it, you idiot!”

Newt.

Minho froze, panting, blinking hard as his eyes adjusted. Thomas was crouched there too. Behind him, hell, it looked like half the Glade.

“The fuck is going on?” Minho whispered

Newt just pointed. Past the treeline. Toward the lake. Minho followed the line of his finger. And his eyes went wide.

Cass.

Not just Cass. Cass upside-down on her forearms, balanced, muscles taut, abs flexing with every subtle correction. She wore only a sports bra and sweats rolled low on her hips. Her scars were visible now, catching the early sun like ghost-maps across her back. Minho clamped a hand over his mouth and exhaled in disbelief, shoulders shaking. He turned just enough to meet Newt’s gaze. Newt’s mouth curved into a grin.

Alright. So maybe they were stalking. Maybe this was creepy as hell. But-no harm done, right? Just... watching.

Cass shifted from her elbow stand into a stretch, fluid, then dropped back down into pushups. Not normal pushups. One-armed since her shoulder probably still hurt. Sweat glistened along the edge of her ribs, running down her stomach.

Nobody dared breathe.

“Holy sh-” Gally started, but Alby’s hand cracked across his arm.

“Shut it,” Alby hissed.

The spell broke.

“MORNING CASS!”

The voice rang clear. Chuck.

Every single boy flinched like they’d been shot.

Cass didn’t even stop her pushups. “Morning, kid!” she called back.

Chuck ran toward her, waving his arms, completely oblivious.

“What are you doing?” he asked, dropping to his knees beside her.

“Pushups.”

“Woah. Isn’t that hard?”

“Not if you know how to balance it.” She finally pushed up to her feet, brushing sand from her palms. Chuck’s little face tilted up, eager to talk to her.

“You wake up early to do this?”

“Couldn’t really sleep.”

“I told them!”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“I told them you’d feel lonely, and that we should all sleep in the Homestead with you, but they didn’t listen!”

Her head tilted. “Uh… what?”

“We usually all sleep in the Homestead, but—”

“Wait, hold up. You’re saying you didn’t sleep where you were supposed to ’cause I was here?”

Chuck tried to reassure her. “Nooo, not like that. We slept fine, it’s just—”

“Answer the question, Chuck.”

He looked down. “Uh… yeah.”

She exhaled, shook her head. “That’s stupid.”

“I told them that too! You felt lonely, right?”

“No. Not that.” she said. “Look around. If they think that’s the biggest of our problems right now, they’re idiots.”

Minho pressed his lips together hard to stop from laughing out loud.

Then Cass’s next words landed right below the belt. Literally.

“Where do you people bathe?”

Every boy behind the treeline went rigid.

Chuck pointed to the water. “Here.”

“Okay.” She nodded, calm as if she hadn’t just detonated every hormone within earshot. “What time do people usually get up around here?”

“Everyone’s already working, I think. Haven’t seen them.”

“What time do they start running?”

“One hour after the Maze opens. Give or take.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Chuck turned to grab a stick, but froze when he spotted it by her bag. “What’s that?”

She followed his finger.

“Oh. I made a knife.”

Chuck’s jaw dropped. “That’s so cool!”

“You think?”

“YEAH! It’s like the coolest thing ever!”

She bent, picked it up, and handed it to him. “It’s yours, then.”

“REALLY?”

“Yeah, kid. Go crazy. Well, not fully crazy. Don’t stab people with it."

Chuck giggled so hard he nearly dropped it. “I won’t! Thank you, Cass!”

“Mm.” She scratched her arm, glancing toward the lake. “Uh… I kinda wanna-” She pointed.

“Oh. OH. Okay sure!” Chuck bolted, hugging the knife to his chest.

She smiled while watching him go.

And then she turned to her sweats.

Alby’s voice came out low.

“We should go.”

But his feet didn’t move. None did.

Cass tugged her sweats down and stepped out, leaving only the black boxers underneath.

A collective, silent groan.

Perfect view of her ass. Her thighs flexed as she moved, calves taut.

No one breathed. All the blood in the Glade relocated south in unison.

She didn't take everything off, just walked into the lake like that, sports bra and boxers clinging wet as soon as the water reached her. She shivered, goosebumps rising along her arms, then ducked deeper. The fabric plastered to her, black stretched over all the curves and lines of her body.

She raked her hands through her hair, blonde darkened to gold-brown, water streaming down her shoulders and abs.

Newt, after a long, long moment, ripped his eyes away and said, “Back to work.”

Nobody moved.

“I’ll shout it next,” he warned.

One by one, red-faced, still fucking panting, they peeled themselves away. Walks awkward, strained, obvious. Pupils still dilated like they've witnessed an eclipse.

They didn’t talk about it.

Her hair was still wet when she showed up at the pit, clinging in strands to her neck and the back of her shirt. The sun caught on the droplets as they slid down, and for one terrifying second, every single one of the boys had the same thought: she knows. She knows they were there, knows they watched, knows they’d all had to sneak off afterwards...to take care of... business before they exploded.

They lit up when they saw her, that couldn't be helped, but they were all red. Nobody met her eyes too long.

“Mornin’,” Newt said first, polite as always, voice steady enough to mask the fact that he still couldn’t shake the sight of her in the lake.

“Hey.” she answered, sliding into the circle.

They were eating breakfast. Way later than usual. Frypan had been the last to arrive, still a bit flustered, and it hadn’t taken a genius to guess why. He handed her a bowl now, trying to play it cool. “Is it good?”

She took a bite, chewed, thought it over. “Could use a little salt, but the texture’s perfect. Yeah. It’s good.”

He smiled like she’d handed him a medal and then went right back to tinkering with his pot.

Minho dropped down next to her. “You ready, little Miss Runner?”

She smirked. “You’ve kept me waiting.”

He raised a brow, enjoying the jab more than he should’ve.

Then she asked. “Why one hour after it opens and not right away?”

“To make sure the walls aren't still moving,” he explained. “I’ve heard them half an hour after it opening once, and I can’t risk my runners.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Thomas runs with Ben,” Minho went on. “You run with me. That good?”

“Yeah. After I find that bowtie.”

He laughed. The others glanced over, eyebrows climbing. They already had inside jokes? That was so not fair. Minho looked smug as hell.

Then Alby joined the circle.

“Hey, man,” Cass said, tilting her head toward him. “Wanted to talk to you.”

He arched a brow. “Morning to you too.”

“Chuck told me you people usually sleep in the Homestead,” she said. “And last night you were anywhere but there. I mean, I get it, I’m terrifying, but for the record, I can kill you in your sleep even if you’re not right next to me.”

Alby chuckled, shaking his head.

“She wants to sleep with you, man,” Gally snorted.

Cass turned, slow, eyes locking on him. Then, “Maybe it’s you I wanna sleep with.” Her voice dropped lower, teasing.

Gally went red from his neck to his ears. She laughed and the whole circle cracked up with her. Mission accomplished. He was shut up for the moment. A too short moment.

He opened his mouth to bark something back, but she cut in first.

“I’m sorry about rearranging your face yesterday, even though you were an ass and deserved it. But I get it. You’ve got all reasons to be paranoid. How about a truce?”

He didn't say anything. Okay. Message received.

Then Chuck came barreling in, both hands cupped around something.

“Cass! Look! Look!” He opened his palms, and a tiny yellow fluff blinked up at them.

Her face softened instantly. “What’s his name?”

“Mr. Clucks,” Chuck announced proudly.

“Oh, very elegant,” she said, taking the small chick into her hands. “I imagine him in a tux. And he’s also an international spy.”

Chuck’s mouth dropped open. “SPY?”

“Yeah. Look at him. It’s all over his face. That bird is up to no good, kid. He’s gonna overthrow our country and then some. He’ll rule the world one day. That is, if Frypan doesn’t save us from his tyranny.”

Chuck doubled over laughing.

Minho smirked. “Bet I could train an army of those to fight the Grievers. Death by pecking.”

“Bloody terrifying,” Newt added. “They wouldn't know what hit them. Wake up in the Maze surrounded by hundreds of little tuxedoed bastards.”

Thomas leaned forward. “And they’d be silent, too. Assassin chicks.”

Frypan stirred his pot, “Only if I feed ’em. Otherwise, they’d just unionize and peck us first.”

Cass was laughing now, shoulders shaking.

Winston piped up, “Bet Gally’d be the first one pecked.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gally hissed.

Newt watched her, the way she leaned back on her hands, wet hair falling over her shoulder, smile small but real. She looked steadier today.

He was glad.

When they were ready to go in, Chuck was the one who ran after them with the backpacks, straps sliding off his shoulders. “Got your packs!” he puffed out, holding one up to Cass like he’d just brought her treasure.

She peeked inside, canteen, cloth, strips of bread, a bandage roll. “Thanks, kid. Lifesaver.” She ruffled his hair before he scampered off.

They lined up.

Alby stood behind them. “Be careful out there.”

Minho gave him a nod. Then he turned, gestured sharp. "Left.” He turned again, eyes landing on her. She nodded like she understood exactly what he meant. They ran.

The stone swallowed them and Cass knew right away why Minho had paired with her. He wanted answers. Wanted proof she wasn’t just spitballing wild shit about exits.

“It’s too trial-and-error for my taste,” she said between breaths, feet pounding stone in rhythm with his. “You’re probably not gonna like it, judging by your rules.”

“Hit me.”

“Those things have red lights in their tails,” she said. “Under the lights, there’s a section. I had 7C and then saw 4A in those two shits I fucked over. When I went to 7C, I saw this… tunnel in the wall. Big. Dark. At the end, blinking red light, same as their tails. And I think there was a slot.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “You’re not saying-”

“Told you you weren’t gonna like it.”

“That’s-”

“Logical,” she cut in. “Everyone knows being trapped in here for the night is suicide, so nobody tries it. That’s why no exit’s been found. Because there isn’t one yet. It’s a puzzle that makes one on the spot. So if that tail really goes into that slot like I imagined it should, we might get something. Or...” she gave a breathless laugh, “it might be a trap and we die.”

“Was this tunnel… perfectly round?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s where Grievers come from.”

She exhaled hard. “Awesome turn of events.”

They cut another turn, both their heads spinning faster than their feet.

“But that would mean...” Minho started.

She finished it for him. “I can stay another night. Go try it. See if it works. Time things so I know the-”

“What if it’s a one-time shot? What if you open it, it stays open for a minute and then closes forever? Or more Grievers pour out and it’s a trap? You ain’t gonna do that. We’ll figure something out.”

She bit her lip, exhaled through her nose. He wasn’t wrong.

They kept running. Mapping with their feet, eyes snapping to details. Minho spoke again.

“You remember where you killed that thing?”

“It ain’t there anymore,” she said. “I passed that place after-just blood on the floor. And the Maze shifted. But I think I can figure out where it could have moved-”

“Take me.”

Thirty minutes later, she slowed, raised a hand. “There.”

Minho skidded to a halt, eyes going wide. Black splatter across the wall, tacky and dried. The stone floor sticky with it. Bits of tissue fused to the grit. He crouched, fingers hovering. Not just blood. Not human.

Holy shit. It wasn’t that they hadn’t believed her. Not really. It was just easier to believe the other impossibility-that she’d survived the night-than the one where she’d actually killed Grievers.

Okay, maybe they also did kinda think she lied... cuz how in the hell would she kill a Griever... But here it was. Fucking. Proof. Tangible.

“The other one?” he asked.

She nodded, already moving. They ran again. An hour this time, deeper in. When they found it, she pointed at the wall with a grim little grin. “My stomach lining is there!”

He shook his head. “Damn, you really were busy.”

This one was worse. Splatter up the wall, a mechanical shard twisted into the dirt, sticky black goo pooled like tar. He touched the metal.

“You actually fucking did that.”

“Yeah. You thought I said it to mess with you? I didn’t even know these things were such a big deal for you guys back then.”

He looked up at her. “Yeah…”

They kept moving. Looking for the tail she’d dropped. Nothing. Time slipped fast, the Maze starting to hum with that late-afternoon tension that always crept in before the doors sealed.

She thought about staying. Just to check. To see if the slot fit. Not to use it, just to know. To test the theory.

“RUN!”

Ben and Thomas tore around the corner, eyes wild, sweat pouring.

Behind them-

The scrape of metal legs. A screech that split the air like bone breaking.

Griever.

“Fuck! GO! GO!” Minho bellowed.

They sprinted, tearing down corridors. Minho tried to orient, but he didn’t recognize this section. Panic surged up his throat. He didn’t have to call it.

“THIS WAY!” she screamed, bolting ahead. They followed, weaving through turns.

Then, Ben tripped. Stone to knee, hard. He screamed.

Thomas and Minho shot down the next corridor, but Cass spun back. She didn’t think of it. It was wiring.

The Griever lunged, tail stabbing down. She ducked under it, breath ripping out of her chest. And that’s when she saw it. A blue crystal thing in its stomach, glowing.

Ben scrambled. The Griever’s tail twitched, ready to pierce him. Cass grabbed the nearest rock and she smashed it into the crystal. Hard.

The thing shrieked, whole body convulsing.

“SOMETHING SHARPER???” she screamed.

Ben’s hand shot out, tossing her his knife. She caught it, pivoted, and rammed it straight into the seam of its stomach.

The thing went berserk, limbs flailing. One leg slammed into her side, sent her flying, but she gritted her teeth and scrambled back. Shards of blue burst under the pressure, cracks spiderwebbing across it.

Thomas came back just in time to see her climb onto the thrashing monster. She raised the knife high and drove it down again and again into its head. Sparks. Screeches. Metal grinding. Black blood sprayed across her face, dripping down her jaw, soaking the bandage on her shoulder. She couldn’t stop even when the Griever twitched its last and went still beneath her. Her arm kept at it. She was somewhere else entirely.

And then the tail moved.

It whipped behind her with a violent snap, the stinger gleaming, ready to slam down into her back like the thing wanted the last fucking word.

“CASS!” Thomas’s voice tore itself raw, his legs sprinting before his brain could catch up. He lunged, both hands clamping on the tail. The force of it yanked him sideways, dragged him across the dirt. His body whipped left, right, spine rattling as he held on with everything he had. The screech that came from the thing’s throat was shorter. And then silence.

Cass froze mid-stab, knife stuck in the Griever’s skull, chest heaving so hard she thought her ribs would split. She tried to pull air into her lungs but it wouldn’t come, tried to still her trembling hands but they wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t fear. She knew fear. This was rage. Pure, bone-deep rage that still had nowhere to go.

She slid off the body in one jerking movement, boots hitting the stone. The knife never left her grip.

Ben sat collapsed against the wall, tears streaking his face, his chest hitching with sobs. Thomas dropped the tail, hands trembling, palm curling tight around something sharp he’d ripped from its stomach.

A shard.

Cass turned, legs stiff like they weren’t hers, eyes locking on the tail still twitching in the dirt. She took a step forward, knife still raised. She was going to take it. Going to prove her theory right here and now.

But the walls groaned. The Maze was closing for the night.

Minho grabbed her wrist. “No time.”

She blinked, like she didn’t even know he was there, but he didn't let go of her hand. He forced her to run.

By the time they burst out the doors, the Glade was already in chaos. Shouts rose, overlapping, incoherent as the walls closed behind the four of them. She stumbled and collapsed to her knees. Minho and Thomas fell beside her, chests heaving. Ben dragged himself out a beat later, sobbing so hard his words were just broken gasps.

She was...she was a sight. Covered head to toe in black blood, streaks of it in her hair, dripping off her jaw. Thomas was streaked too, hands trembling as he opened his palm to reveal a metal chunk and the shard.

Newt dropped to his knees, grabbed Thomas’s arm. “You stung? Any of you stung?” His eyes darted to Cass, wide with horror.

“She-” Minho bent double, laughing and wheezing all at once. His voice cracked. “This crazy bitch just killed a fucking Griever.”

Thomas held up the shard. “She-she smashed-” His voice broke.

All around, the others started pressing in.

“Bloody hell-” Newt breathed, eyes flicking from the shard to Cass’s bloodied face. Bloody hell indeed.

“What the fuck even is that thing? What is that?”

"It's... dead?"

They were all shouting over each other now. Cass didn’t hear any of it. She just stared down at her hands, slick and trembling, blood dripping from the knife she still hadn’t let go of. She couldn’t unclench her fist if she tried. Her ears rang.

Thomas crouched in front of her. “Cass-hey. Hey, you hear me?”

Nothing. Newt put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched like he’d burned her, eyes snapping up to his.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re okay. Just breathe, yeah? In and out.”

She mirrored him, shaky, ragged at first. Then again. And again.

“Better?”

Her jaw clenched, but she nodded.

She hadn’t even straightened up properly when Ben stumbled forward and threw his arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder. “You-”

“Shut it.” She peeled him off and pushed to her feet, knife still in hand.

Because ever since she came here she realised that it didn't even matter who she was before. She knew what she was going to be. And that is the one who watches all the people who were part of this burn after setting them on fire. Those people who dropped kids in here, let them fight monsters and feel that sort of fear everyday. She couldn't handle Ben's tears. Because these were good people. And good people didn't deserve things like this.

She was already walking away.

“Cass, wait!” Minho called after her, stumbling to catch up.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. “I need to get this shit off me. We’ll talk later.”

Minho halted, hands on his knees, watching her back. She was trembling from head to toe, knife still in hand, blood trailing behind her in drops.

The questions hit harder now, all at once.

“Holy shit-she really killed..You saw it?”

“I saw it! I fuckin’ saw it!” Thomas still stared at the shard in his palm. “It broke. It died. They can die.”

And Minho said, "I didn't believe it. I walked in there today looking for proof she killed the Grievers. I didn't believe it. And she showed me. And then killed another one right in my face. She-"

Thomas didn’t even think. His feet carried him before the thought of “should I?” even existed. He found her by the lake. She was standing thigh-deep in the water, fully clothed, trembling. Staring at the wall.

“Cass?”

She didn’t turn.

“Cass-”

“I should have stayed.” Her voice cracked in half. “I could’ve-”

“Woah. Woah. No.” He stepped closer, shoes sinking into the damp earth.

She trembled harder, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. “They’re dead. Every last one of them. Whoever did this to you. Whoever thought they could play god and mimic environments, make monsters and fuck kids up like this, they’re fucking dead. I’ll burn them alive-”

Her voice broke. Shattered into sobs. It was rage ripping its way out of her throat.

The shock of the cold water stabbed through him, but it didn’t matter. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against his chest, and held on. She clutched his shirt, her fists twisting the fabric, sobbing into him. So much fury in every sound. “I’LL FUCKING KILL THEM! I’LL KILL THEM-CHUCK IS FOURTEEN! CHUCK IS FOURTEEN!” She sobbed harder. “HOW CAN YOU BE SO CRUEL-”

He stroked a hand up her wet hair, pressed his chin into the crown of her head. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re okay,” he whispered, over and over.

The wild shaking ebbed into exhaustion, into those small, hiccupping breaths. He pushed her wet hair back from her face, careful with the strands matted with black blood. He crouched down a little, dunked his hands into the lake, and started washing it out of her hair as quick as he could. She didn’t even flinch. Just leaned into his hands, letting him do it. He worked quick, fast as he could, because her skin was freezing under his palms.

If she stayed in much longer, she’d get sick. Pneumonia sick.

“Come on,” he murmured. He took her hand, cold and shaking in his, and guided her out of the water. She didn’t argue. Just followed.

He left her at the Homestead with clothes laid out on her cot. “Change. Warm up,” She went inside.

By the time Thomas trudged back to the pit, the fire was already lit. Gally was pulling jars of moonshine out like his life depended on it. It was all louder than usual, or maybe that was just Thomas’s ears still buzzing.

He dropped onto a log.

A little ways off, Newt was standing with Ben. The boy’s face was pale, blotchy from crying. He twisted his hands together, staring at the dirt.

“You okay?” Newt asked quietly, like he already knew the answer.

Ben shook his head, then nodded, then shook it again. “I wanted to thank her… she saved my life. She should’ve left-she almost died. I think I upset her. She pushed me off like I upset her.” His voice cracked.

Newt sighed through his nose. “She’s not upset with you, mate. But when you think it’s your job to save everyone -even at your own expense- when that’s the only bloody purpose you hold onto, thanks doesn’t feel right. She doesn't know what to do with a thank you, because she thinks this is her job already. I've only met her yesterday and It's already safe to say she's the kindest person I know. It's in her marrow. In her bones. So much, that she doesn't see it as kindness. So of course she can't stand being looked at like a hero. She doesn't feel like one.”

Ben blinked at him, wet-eyed.

Newt’s gaze dropped to the fire, words slower now, thoughtful. “Alby’s the same. Never needed thanks. Made him uncomfortable. What he wanted was respect. Because he thinks it’s his job. Because he thinks he’s supposed to hold all of this together. No memories, no history, so he needed purpose. People like that… they’re the best ones you’ll find. Reliable. Selfless. But it ain't good for them. They treat themselves like mere tools and that eventually takes a big toll. That's why we're here. To remind them to be human. And I'd say we're pretty decent with Alby. So it'll be alright.”

Ben nodded.

Newt left him there, went to get a bowl of food from Frypan.

He thought of the way she flinched at his touch earlier, the way she’d frozen when Ben hugged her, how she had walked away covered in blood like thanks was poison. Yeah. She didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know how to take kindness without crumbling under it, because she didn't expect it out of other people. Just gave it without even realising until she had nothing left. Yeah, she looked like that type of person.

And Newt’s gut told him why. People had probably used her before. Maybe her whole damn life. Not for who she was, but for what she could do, because he had functioning eyes, he could see she was bloody brilliant. And she also carried that selfless instinct, that kindness, and someone, maybe a lot of someones, had taken advantage of it, twisted it into a weapon. Twisted her into a weapon.

He smiled to himself. It's alright though. She's with them now. He'll make sure that won't happen again.

She came back to the pit after a little while.

“There she is, our little Griever killer!”

Cass ignored the chorus. She walked straight to the log where Ben was sitting, sat down next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. Newt watched the small exchange and met Ben’s eyes with a look that said 'see? told you, mate.' Ben’s whole face exhaled with relief.

“Sorry about being a bitch. I was pissed about all of this and I didn’t wanna punch you. And about that thing, you’d have done the same for me. That's human. So no more about it. Okay?”

Ben blinked, nodded, and pushed a bowl of food into her hands. “I’m good. Thanks,” she muttered. Her stomach was nodded too tight for food right now.

Newt’s expression softened as he watched. Of course she’d steadied Ben. Proves his theory of what kind of person she is even more. She seemed really closed off but she tried to joke with them anyway. To connect. And yeah, they all did, memory loss does that to you, you want to make connections, make new memories, you need something to cling to. But this was different. This was clearly someone who's already read the room and who knew they were good people.

That's how she acted. Like she labeled them as worth saving.

She drifted to Minho then. “So…?” she asked, since he wanted to talk to her and she cut him off to wash.

Minho didn’t answer with words. He just folded her into a hug. Her arms tightened around his back. He could feel the quake in her body. He felt heat bubble in his chest. He wanted to hold her longer.

“You are fucking crazy,” he managed between chuckles. “And I’m sorry I suspected you or made you prove it like a-” He grabbed for an insult, failed, and shrugged. “Sorry I was a dick and questioned your honesty. Even if I only did it in my mind. I know you know, so...yeah. Sorry.”

She buried her face in his shoulder for a second and when she pulled back, she said “I need a fucking drink.”

Minho grinned. “GALLY! YOU HEARD THE GIRL!” he shouted.

Gally froze with his jar halfway to his mouth. The jar made it to Cass and she tipped the moonshine back.

Thomas, who hadn’t stopped watching her like a hawk since the lake, noticed she was still shivering. He rose and tucked a blanket around her shoulders.

"What a gentleman." she said, tilting her head at him with a grin.

Minho slid a hand around Cass’s waist under the blanket and pulled her closer so the blanket wasn’t the only thing warming her.

“Now that’s a gentleman,” he announced.

But nobody laughed. They were all fixed on the sight.

Newt watched it all and felt an odd, slow pressure build in his chest. He squashed it down with logic. Jealousy is stupid, he told himself. You can’t be jealous. Still, every time Minho’s hand edged over Cass’s hips, Newt’s stomach flipped. The callous part of him wanted to go over and push Minho off and plant himself exactly where he was. The sensible part of him made a face and folded his arms. Deal with it.

But then he glanced around and saw the same wolf stares on half the pit. Thomas, Gally, even Alby. Yeah. They were all screwed.

Gally had a better way to get her out of that position, even if he'd never admit it to anyone that it's the reason he said it.

“If you need a warm-up,” he said, leaning forward with that shit-eating grin, “you can try to outdrink me. That is, if you ain’t a pussy.” tossing yesterday's words back at her.

Cass raised a brow. “Bitch please, could probably do that in my sleep.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Prove it then.”

“Bring it on.”

Frypan clapped his hands together. “Ohhh this I gotta see.”

“Gally's winning it,” Winston shouted, already slapping his palm against Zart’s.

“You’re mad,” Zart shot back. “She’s gonna outdrink him. Have you seen her last night? Took a sip like it was water!”

“Or,” Jeff piped up, “they’ll both get shitfaced and end up hugging it out. Moonshine brings people together, folks.”

“Or enemies,” Clint muttered, “and we’ll have another fight before sunrise.”

“Either way,” Minho said, grinning into her hair, “I’m getting front row seats. Griever killer versus our biggest jerk.”

Cass just smirked at Gally across the fire. He smirked right back.

Everyone was thinking the same damn thing, though not one of them would’ve admitted it out loud. She was gonna get drunk. They all knew it. Had to. The thought sank into every boy around that fire, crawling from their heads, right down into their dicks. Flushed cheeks, lips parted, hair messy from leaning against Minho, eyes glassy and soft. She’d say something stupid, maybe something cute. Maybe she’d let something slip about what she thought of them. Hell, maybe she’d even lean in and kiss someone. I mean, they formed attachments quickly. All amnesic, all panicked... they became family in no time. And she clearly fit right into it. One near-death experience and she's leaning against Minho like they've known eachother forever.

None of them had a clue how the kiss stuff went though, no memories of parties or drunk laughter with girls around, but they sure as hell could imagine it now that she was here.

They lifted jars at the same time.

Minho tightened his arm around her without a thought when she shivered again. She didn’t blink, just saw it as friendly. To Minho, though... He was already planning vows. And when a stray strand of blonde slipped across her face, he tucked it behind her ear.

Her eyes lifted to his.

For one long second, they just looked at each other. He dipped his gaze to her lips. His stomach flipped like the ground collapsed. He was gonna...

“Gally’s getting ahead-"

“Don’t want Gally to win, do you?” Newt and Thomas both said, right in that moment.

She blinked, broke the stare, tipped the jar again. Minho shot daggers at both of them. They just shrugged with smug little smiles. Bastards.

Gally leaned back. “Tell me something.”

Cass raised a brow. “What’d you want me to tell you?”

“What kinda food and drinks they had where you’re from?”

She exhaled through her nose. “This again? You serious?”

“Nah.” Gally shrugged. “Just joking. You got a pass ‘cause you killed one of ‘em today. But that don’t mean we’re friends.”

“Like I’d wanna be friends with you.”

His eyes snapped up. “Huh?! What do you mean? Anyone would want to. Why wouldn't someone wanna be friends with me?”

“Because you’re an asshole. You talk like you’re better than everyone to hide all your insecurities and you posture constantly to make people listen to you. You look up to Alby because he doesn’t have to do any of that to be heard. You think everything’s a competition so you can feel validated at least somewhere. But frankly, it’s all a load of shit. Because you’re reliable, and loyal, and competent. You know what you’re doing. People would listen even if you weren’t so arrogant and loud. But I guess that’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own.”

The firepit went still.

Every boy’s jaw dropped.

She hadn’t raised her voice. Hadn’t snapped. Just laid him open with the calmest damn tone, and also gave him compliments buried in it. They weren’t even sure if it was an insult or...

“You come here three days ago and think you know shit?” Gally shot back.

“It’s obvious with you. You’re not making yourself look better by dripping arrogance and temper. You only look weaker from it. And you could be so much more. You've got the base for it.”

That did it. He got up off his log, muscles tight, jaw tighter.

Alby shifted, ready to grab him.

But Cass stood too. Dropped her blanket, didn’t back off. She looked up at him.

“So how about a real challenge then?” she said. “If I win, you drop the arrogance and the dick act for a week. You act like a man, not a fucking child.”

His eyes narrowed. He leaned down, closer, breath hot. “And if I win, you’ll be all sweet and honey to me for a week. Since I’m so…awful and disgusting to be friends with.”

She held out her hand.

He clasped it.

The pit exploded.

“HOLY SHIT!”

“LET’S GO!”

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Real stakes!”

Nobody in their right mind would want to lose this. The shouting and jeering only fueled it.

Newt just leaned back, smirk tugging his lips. Because he saw what no one else had clocked yet. She’d built the challenge so she’d win both ways.

If she won, Gally would have to act better. Drop the act, and maybe start liking the way it felt. If he won, she’d still be nice to him, force him into contact, and he’d crumble on his own. Either way, he’d break the habit of being a dick.

Alby’s lips twitched and glanced at Newt. “Smart girl.”

“She is, ain’t she?”

And then it began for real. The jars tipped faster.

Frypan leaned forward, grin wide. “What counts as winning, anyway?”

“If you don’t throw up your guts or pass out,” Cass said, not even looking away from Gally.

“Then I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart,” Gally grinned.

“After they pick you up from the dirt and shout that you got humiliated.” she shot back, jar to her lips.

The jars kept tipping. Now they were both flushed, both laughing at the idiots around them, both still not letting up. They swayed when they stood too long, so both eventually plopped back onto a log, shoulder to shoulder, still downing moonshine.

Alby rubbed at his temples. “They’re both gonna be in the Med-jack hut by midnight, aren’t they?”

Minho smirked into his jar.

At some point later in the night, they spilled right off the log and into the grass.

“It’s colder here,” Cass mumbled, sprawled on her back, looking up at the stars.

Gally flopped down beside her, spread eagle. “Mhm. 'S better.”

The boys gathered around, laughing, elbowing and side-eying eachother.

“If we get out of here,” Gally said, words thick and slurred, “I wanna… a full neighborhood. And we’d all be neighbors. And you’ll be there too, Griever girl. I’ll allow it.”

That sent the pit into hysterics.

She snorted, rolled her head toward him. “And you’ll show us how to build furniture ‘cause we’d be idiots and can’t follow the instructions?”

“Obviously,” Gally mumbled, eyes half-closed. “I’d make a treehouse for Chuck.”

“I GET A TREEHOUSE?!” Chuck practically exploded, hopping up and down.

“Yeah, kid,” Gally muttered. “Best treehouse ever. And we’d have grill days,” he added. “With way better drinks than this.”

“Don’t hate on your own moonshine, man,” she teased. “It’s actually decent.”

“Mmmhm,” Gally hummed, already halfway gone.

And then their eyes closed and they entered that sweet spot, when your body thinks it's asleep but you can kind of hear everything still.

“Hey, Cass?” Minho called, grin tugging at his lips.

“Mmm,” she answered, eyes still closed.

“You sleepy?”

“Naaah…” Her voice was soft, words sticky. She didn’t even move.

The boys chuckled, glanced at each other over the flames.

“You sure?” Newt asked with a smile.

“Mmmhm… gotta… put Gally in his place…”

They all burst out laughing.

“Gally’s snoring.” Thomas pointed out.

“…yeah?” Cass cracked one eye open, then rolled over enough to nudge Gally’s shoulder with her hand. He didn’t budge.

She giggled. “Haaa… I win.”

Newt smiled, warmth flooding him. “You do. But how about we get you in bed at the Homestead, yeah?”

“Mm… yeah…” she breathed. Then, eyes still closed, “But… take this moron tooo… he’ll… get cold… then probably… complain… he seems like a complainer… mmhm.”

They all broke again, laughter rippling through the pit. Minho glanced at Alby with that silent can I? look. Alby just nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. So Minho pushed himself up and bent to scoop her up.

“Up we go.”

She stirred, head lolling against his chest. “Mnnoo… put me down, I can walk..”

“You are walking,” Minho said, trying not to laugh.

“Huh…”

“Yeah, see? You’re moving forward.” He walked a few steps just to prove it, her feet dangling, her eyes still shut.

“…huh…” she sighed, then melted into him, cheek pressed against his chest.

“You’re warm.”

That was it. Minho swore his brain fully short-circuited that moment. No reboot setting. He melted, legs weak, whole body flushed hot, stomach filled with those damn bugs. He looked at her face, soft pink lips, flushed cheeks, hair spilling down...

The others watched. Newt especially. He came closer just to catch Minho’s reaction when he muttered under his breath, “Smitten.”

“As if,” Minho snapped. Way too quick. His voice cracked on it.

Newt smirked, but the weird twist in his gut didn’t ease.

Behind him, the others started heading to the Homestead as well. They carried Gally too, because yes, she was right, the guy was a complainer and they didn’t need to hear him bitch about catching cold.

He laid her down on the bed carefully. He tugged her boots off, tucked the blanket around her when he saw her shiver again.

She stirred once, lips parting. “…I’ll get you out,” she whispered.

He leaned close. “Sure you will.”

Then he backed away, quiet, retreating to his cot with his heart slamming like he’d just run the Maze twice over.

She saved Ben’s life today. She did something he never thought he'd see. Killed three Grievers in the span of four days. Corrected his maps...possibly even found a way out. Yeah. It was admiration. Maybe respect. Yup. Definitely. Nothing more.

But still, even with him only "admiring her, for sure, nothing more," his eyes never left her. She looked so fragile...so damn soft like this. He wanted to run his fingers-

No. Admiration. Nothing more.

Thomas wasn’t faring better. He could still hear her voice, raw and trembling, swearing she’d kill the ones who’d done this to them. Such a pure thing. So much fire in her eyes. He believed every word.

Newt knew he was done for. He didn’t need to question it. Whatever this was, whatever was buzzing in his chest whenever she smiled, it had him.

Most of the boys had finally passed out, sprawled in hammocks and cots across the Homestead. Cass blinked awake to a sound that wasn’t just the Maze. Muffled, broken… crying?

Her head throbbed, skull splitting from the moonshine, and she almost let it slide. Almost. But curiosity and that damn instinct shoved her upright. She slid off the cot, bare feet hitting the cold ground, and padded out without even her boots on.

Her vision was a mess. She squinted. And there he was. Ben, crouched by the treeline, gagging, shoulders convulsing like his guts were coming out.

“Hey,” she said softly, walking closer. “You okay? Had too much to drink?”

She didn’t get another word out.

He was on her.

Black spilled from his mouth, his eyes wild and glassy, his skin sickly pale. Cass screamed when his weight slammed her back, her skull ricocheting against the ground. No weapon. No breath. And she was still fucking drunk, her vision doubling, the whole scene swaying.

He hit her temple, then her ribs, fists brutal, desperate. Spit and bile mixed with the black as he snarled. “IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” His voice cracked, raw and rabid. “YOU’RE A MONSTER! YOU KILLED THEM AND NOW THEY KILL US! YOU’LL GET US ALL KILLED! EVER SINCE YOU’VE BEEN HERE-”

Her forearms came up too slow. Every blow rattled her ribs, split her skin. She tried to buck him off, but his fury was iron.

Voices shouted behind her. Then someone ripped him away. She coughed, vision swimming, the ringing in her ears making it impossible to focus. Someone bandaged her temple, warm hands pressing against the sting. She flinched, blinked her eyes open.

Newt’s face. Pale, frantic. “Cass? Cass, you with me?”

Her words slurred. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Ben got stung,” Newt said.

“He…what?”

Minho’s voice. “He must’ve gotten stung today while we were in there. I thought he couldn’t stop crying ‘cause he was in shock, not ‘cause he got stung and came back in to get us all killed.”

Cass’s breath hitched. “He’s a person. One of you. Don’t talk-”

“Not anymore,” Minho snapped. “Not after they get stung. You haven’t seen it. They’re not… themselves anymore. They turn rabid.”

Her throat closed. “So what? You just cage him? Instead of trying to help?”

“There’s nothing to do to help him now,” Minho muttered, jaw clenched.

She could hear Ben screaming in the distance. Metal clanged. A cage? Chains? The sound of desperation. It cut into her.

“What happens now?” she asked.

Newt looked down. “Alby will send him back to the Maze.”

Her head snapped up. “You can’t be serious-”

“I am.” His tone was steady, but his eyes weren’t. “That’s what happens. If the Maze wanted him-”

“THE MAZE IS NOT AN ENTITY!” Her voice tore from her throat. “THE MAZE IS NOT A GOD. IT’S A FUCKING STONE ASSEMBLY MADE BY PSYCHOPATHS TO FUCK KIDS UP, DON’T YOU SEE? HOW CAN YOU-”

“THAT’S THE DAMN RULE!” Minho shot back.

“WELL, FUCK THE RULE! THAT’S INHUMAN. IT’S SICK. WHY WOULD YOU ACT LIKE THEM? HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS?”

“Cass-” Minho tried, but her rage was boiling over.

“No. I need to talk to Alby.”

“You’re not gonna change his mind,” Minho said, softer now. “This is what’s supposed to-”

“You don’t get to decide what’s supposed to happen to someone,” she hissed. “You’re not a fucking god. You can’t-”

Newt put a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you-”

“No. Fuck all of you.” She shoved him off. “I’m not letting something like that happen to a person. And he was right. It was my fault. I didn’t even see him get stung. I should’ve been quicker-”

Minho’s hands clamped down on her shoulders and he shook her. “STOP ACTING LIKE THIS!”

Her eyes widened. He froze, realization hitting. He stepped back. She didn’t wait. She staggered toward where Alby had dragged Ben.

Minho’s breath came ragged. He turned to Newt. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I know.” Newt’s voice was quiet. “But she’s known you two bloody days. It’s too early to tell her that. I’ve seen it too, Minho. I know what you mean. But still.”

Minho’s fists clenched. His throat bobbed. “Alby’ll have another thing coming if she thinks this ain’t right.”

“Ben’s dangerous. Alby won’t let her get close.” came Newt's reply.

The thought hadn’t even settled before Gally came out of the shadows, Cass thrashing on his shoulder. Her fists pounded at his back, screaming.

“PUT ME DOWN! LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE’S JUST LIKE YOU! HE NEEDS HELP, NOT TO DIE IN THERE SICK AND ALONE!”

Gally grunted, holding her tight as she kicked like a demon. “We gotta tie her up. She ain’t sane right now.”

Newt exhaled, long and heavy, and nodded. The sight tore him up inside.

Cass’s voice cracked as they bound her wrists to the Homestead bed, curses spilling. “You fucking cowards-he’s a kid, HE'S A KID, not a fucking sacrifice-”

Newt’s thoughts burned inside his skull. She was gonna get herself killed with that heart of hers. Too selfless. Too stubborn. Too unwilling to draw a line between herself and everyone else.

She stopped cursing eventually. Not because she gave in, but because she realized shouting herself hoarse wasn’t gonna change their minds.

Even Chuck tried. He sat on the floor near her bed. “One time, Adam who got stung… he tried to kill me. They really do turn rabid. We’re not lying.”

She turned her head to the side, staring at the wall.

What they didn’t see, though, was her fingers. She’d been slicing through the rope with the sharpest edge of the cot frame.

Finally, she sighed. “Can you at least give your prisoner some water?”

Gally scoffed. “You’re not our damn prisoner.”

“Yeah, sure. Then why am I tied up? Cuz it’s sure as hell not kinky.”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Then Gally barked out a laugh, sharp and surprised, nearly doubling over. “Shit-” He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “You’re something else.” He muttered as he went to grab her water. The second his back turned, she bolted.

“CASS!” Newt’s voice cut sharp.

Minho lunged, but she darted like a bullet. Straight for where Ben was caged.

And then she stopped dead.

Ben wasn’t Ben anymore. His skin stretched thin, veins black and jagged across his face like cracks in glass. His mouth leaked black fluid, bubbling, dripping. His nails dug into the dirt, tearing grooves as he snarled. His eyes weren’t even eyes anymore. They were pits. Her hand flew to her mouth. Minho caught up, chest heaving, ready to yell at her, ready to drag her back, but the look on her face stopped him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and turned her head away, pressing her face into his chest.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t look.”

“It’s my fault. I was there, I-”

“No. No.” He shook his head, gripping her tighter. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

Minho’s throat burned. “He’s been our friend. Believe me, it’s not easy for us either. None of this is easy.”

“Then why not make it easier for him?” she rasped. “If you send him into the Maze, he’ll be scared. Alone. He doesn’t deserve to die like that.”

Minho shut his eyes, jaw locking. “Because we can’t… we can’t kill Ben.”

“Isn’t it the same outcome?”

“It’s not.” His tone cracked. "None of us has to live with that weight in our hands. Sending him back… it’s the only way we can keep living with ourselves.”

Her lips parted, fury, grief, but she didn’t fight him when he pulled her back.

“I’m sorry you had to see it,” Minho said, softer now. “But it’s just how things are. When we get out, things won’t be like this anymore. Okay? We’ll be safe. And you’ll stick with us. Yeah? I want you there.”

She nodded, barely.

“That’s what matters now,” he whispered. “We’re okay.”

When they got back, “She really has a talent for running away from us, huh?” Gally muttered, arms crossed.

Cass shot him a glare sharp enough to slice stone. “Did you forget our challenge? You passed out first, moonshine boy. I expect you on your best behavior.”

“I am on my best behavior,” he fired back, grin twitching.

“Then do better. I still wanna punch you.”

“You’re acting like you’re on your-”

“You finish that sentence,” she said, low, deadly, “and I’ll give your face a fucking period it won’t ever forget.”

For half a second, silence. Then Gally laughed. “Okay. That was good.”

She sat down on a log, ribs aching, temples pounding. Her eyes were locked on Alby. Daggers.

Alby felt it but met her stare with one of his own. “My hands are tied.”

She scoffed, leaning back. “I won’t question your authority. Your Glade, your rules. But I’ll tell you that I’d rather take a bullet to the head and make it quick than spend hours spiraling, hoping for an exit, knowing I’m dying every second.”

All eyes flicked between them.

Alby’s jaw worked. Finally, he said it. “The first one who got stung in here... The Glade was still pretty empty back then. I found him biting another Glader. And then he changed too.” His eyes darkened. “I need you to understand. Whatever this Changing is, you ain’t thinking anymore.”

Cass froze. “It’s… viral?”

“Yes. It spreads. I can’t have him risk everyone here.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

Alby nodded back.

Newt slid onto the log beside her, his hand ghosting to the small of her back. When his hand found hers, she let him hold it. She didn’t even realize it until Minho, Thomas, and Gally clocked it. At the same time.

Wolf stares shot across the pit.

Cass eventually stood and left for the map room.

Alby watched her go, then exhaled. “I’ve never trusted someone faster. And as much as that terrifies me, I can’t say I’m not glad she’s here. I just wish things were different.”

Newt’s gaze lingered on the direction she’d gone. “She thinks it’s her fault.”

Alby’s voice was grim. “The world doesn’t deserve that sort of heart. It'll get her killed if we ain't careful.”

"We'll be careful, then."