ACT II   SCENE XXXII
INO

   CASSANDRA TOOK a step forward, unable to believe her eyes. For a moment, she thought it had to be a hallucination, just a trick of the light, or maybe the toll of exhaustion messing with her mind. A sudden jolt shot through her body like a surge of electricity, stealing her breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat louder than the last. She felt it in her bones, in the tightness of her throat, in the way the air suddenly seemed too still. And deep down, beneath the confusion and disbelief, her gut clenched with certainty. Those blue eyes were unmistakable.

"Teresa?" she whispered.

"Is that really her?" Newt asked as he stepped up beside her.

"Don't know..." Thomas murmured, eyes narrowed as he stared ahead, his features drawn tight with unease. There was something haunted in his expression, like he recognised her but wished he didn't.

Frypan hovered nearby, arms crossed and tense. "You think she was the one screaming?" he asked, glancing at each of them. "It stopped right when she walked out."

Minho scoffed. He tilted his head, gaze locked on the distant silhouette. "Better bet is she was the one torturing somebody. Probably killed her and put her out of her misery when she saw us coming." His words were casual, but there was an undercurrent of suspicion in his tone. Then he clapped his hands once. "Okay, who wants to go meet this nice young lady?"

"I'll go," Thomas offered, a little too eagerly. The slight edge in his voice betrayed something more than curiosity. Cassandra's gaze darted to him. She didn't like the way his shoulders tensed or how his feet shifted, like he was ready to bolt.

"I was kidding, shuckface," Minho shot back. "We'll all go. She could have an army of psycho girl ninjas in that shack of hers."

"Psycho girl ninjas?" Newt muttered under his breath, clearly unimpressed. He cast Cassandra a look, one brow raised in dry disbelief.

She gave a faint shake of her head, lips pressed into a tight line. Her stomach was twisting with a hundred unspoken things: confusion, dread, fear for the unknown.

Then Thomas suddenly jolted forward, several steps ahead before anyone could stop him. "Wait—no!" he said urgently, holding out a hand. "You guys stay here. I'll go talk to her. Maybe it's a trap or something. We'd be idiots to all go over there and fall right into it."

"Thomas, what does your freaking tattoo say again?" Cassandra hissed at him. "They should have called you the shuck suicide boy."

Her heart was racing faster now. Something was wrong. Every nerve in her body was coiled, ready to snap. The sight of Teresa had awakened a storm of half-formed memories and buried anxiety. She didn't know what was going on, but Thomas rushing ahead alone felt like the worst kind of gamble.

"We can't just walk on by without checking it out," he insisted. "If something happens, I'll call for help."

She opened her mouth to argue, but Minho cut her off. "Okay, go. Our brave little shank." He stepped forward and smacked Thomas on the back hard enough to make him wince.

"This is bloody stupid," Newt muttered. "I'll go with him."

"No!" Thomas spun around, face set. "Just let me do this. We need to be careful. If I cry like a baby, come save me."

"You better be bawling your eyes out," Cassandra snapped back, her tone more bitter than she meant it to be.

Without another glance or word, Thomas took off at a run, his figure quickly shrinking against the backdrop of the crumbling, ash-colored landscape. She stared after him, every muscle in her body screaming to move, to follow, to demand answers. But she stayed rooted to the spot, fists tightening at her sides. Something wasn't right. It wasn't fear exactly, more like a terrible anticipation. Like they were standing on the edge of a precipice.

"You sure about this?" Newt asked, glancing sideways at Minho.

Minho shrugged, his expression unreadable. "He wants to talk to his shuck girlfriend. We'll keep an eye out. Make sure no one drags him off."

The town ahead flickered in the distance, lit by tiny flames dancing against the dark. Behind them, the Gladers waited in tense silence, shifting on their feet but saying nothing. The air felt thick, like it was holding its breath.

Cassandra stared at the dark building in the distance. Teresa hadn't come out. No greeting, no explanation. Just... nothing. The silence felt like a warning. She kicked a piece of stone across the cracked ground and looked up as a gust of wind swept past. It whipped her hair into her face, and she pushed the strands away with trembling fingers.

Then Teresa's voice screamed through her mind like a siren.

"Run! Don't look back! Just run!"

Cassandra gasped and folded in half as if she'd taken a punch to the gut. The air rushed from her lungs, and she hit the ground hard, palms and knees slamming into the earth. Her vision blurred as fire ignited behind her eyes, pain stabbing through her nerves.

"Cass!" Minho and Newt were at her side in seconds.

"What's wrong?" Minho crouched, voice tense. "What happened?"

"We need... to..." She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to push past the pressure building in her head. "We need to—damn it."

"We need to what?" Newt asked, face pale with worry.

"We need to—"

"Run!" Thomas's voice pierced the air, wild and desperate. He came sprinting back from the building like the ground itself was collapsing behind him. "We need to go! Right now! As fast as we can! I'll explain later—we're in danger, just go!"

Minho hauled Cassandra to her feet in one swift motion.

"Tommy!" Newt shouted after the boy. "Hey, slow down! Wait for us, ya bloody shank!"

But Thomas didn't answer. He was already racing toward the town, taking flight into the dusky gloom. Cassandra looked back at the building. Teresa was in there. She was sure of it. The girl's voice still echoed in her mind. Without hesitating, she grabbed Minho's hand and tugged him along.

"Go! Just go!" she shouted, voice hoarse.

Boots pounded the ground behind her, dust swirling up into the air. Frypan shouted question after question, but Cassandra's focus narrowed on Thomas's rapidly retreating figure.

"Cassie!" Minho called beside her. "What the shuck is going on?!"

"Teresa!" she yelled. "She screamed at me—in my head! Told me to run and not look back!"

"Why?!" Newt shouted, still close behind.

"I don't know!" she cried, pushing her legs to move faster. "But something's not right!"

They ran for what felt like hours. Cassandra barely registered the ache burning in her calves or the stitch digging into her side—only that she and Minho had taken the lead, bodies falling into sync. Instinct carried them forward, every stride automatic. They cut through the dark with practised rhythm, leaving the others scrambling to keep up.

Eventually, Thomas skidded to a stop and dropped to the ground, chest heaving. Cassandra stumbled to a halt a few feet away, hands braced on her hips as she fought to slow her ragged breathing. Dust clung to her sweat-slick skin. Minho didn't stop immediately. He paced in tight, circles around Thomas, fury radiating from every tense line of his body.

"What... why... what kind of shuck idiot are you, Thomas?" he finally burst out.

Thomas didn't look up. He just stared at the dirt beneath him like he expected it to split open and swallow him whole.

Minho dropped to a crouch beside him. "How could you just take off like that? No warning, no explanation? Since when is that how we do things, huh? You slinthead." His voice cracked at the end, the adrenaline wearing off as exhaustion finally caught up to him. He let himself fall back onto the ground beside Thomas.

"Sorry," Thomas muttered. "It was kinda... traumatising."

"Traumatising?" Minho repeated in disbelief. The others caught up then, stumbling to a stop around them. Newt bent double next to Cassandra, sweat dripping from his brow onto the cracked earth, his hands gripping his knees.

"What did Teresa say?" Her voice trembled despite her effort to stay calm. "I know she was there. She was screaming in my head."

Thomas finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. There was something hollow in his expression—pain and guilt tangled behind his eyes. Cassandra's chest tightened.

He exhaled slowly, then began. "It was... it was Teresa. I think WICKED was controlling her, like what they did to Gally and the others. It was some kind of trap. I don't know what would've happened, or how many of us would've died."

He paused, jaw clenched. "But there wasn't any doubt in her eyes when she broke away from whatever restrained her. She saved us, and I bet they made her..." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I bet they made her pay for it."

Cassandra stared at him, her pulse thudding in her ears. The image of Teresa—alone, manipulated, fighting against WICKED's control—settled like lead in her stomach.

"Wow," Minho said in a weary voice. "Dude, if those shuck WICKED people wanted her dead, she'd be rottin' under a big pile of rocks. She's just as tough as anybody else, maybe tougher. She'll survive."

Thomas exhaled heavily and gave a silent nod.

Several minutes passed. The dry wind kicked up trails of dust, swirling around the group as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon. No one spoke. There was only a few sniffs and coughs, and the crinkling sound of people drinking from their water bags.

Cassandra kept her gaze on the town in the distance. It loomed like a forgotten ruin, dark against the lightening sky. Then she heard something. It was soft, and barely more than a stir in the wind. She straightened, brows furrowing, eyes sweeping the barren land as a chill crawled up her spine.

Newt noticed. "Cass, what is it?"

She lifted a finger to her lips to quieten them. Her ears strained against the hush. The wind wasn't just wind anymore. It was whispering faint, disjointed syllables that brushed against her skin like cold breath.

"—andra! Can you hear me?!"

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. She turned, scanning the horizon wildly, desperate to find the voice that wasn't supposed to exist.

"You need to remember! You need to know the truth!"

Her knees buckled slightly. That voice. She knew that voice.

Tears spilt down her cheeks before she even realised she was crying. They came as if summoned by something deeper than memory, like her body remembered what her mind had lost. Empty spaces unfurled inside her. Invisible footprints appeared in the sand. Phantom hands reached for hers. Like a locked door finally creaking open in her mind.

Her voice trembled, nearly lost to the rising wind. "Nick...?"

And she remembered—a face staring back at her, hazy at first until it sharpened into focus. Green eyes that haunted her dreams, melancholic and tragic. Fingers digging into the hollow of her throat. The buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. And then, she remembered the Glade. The damp scent of dew on grass, the rustle of leaves in a crisp morning breeze. A crooked cross over a grave she had dug herself.

She twisted toward Thomas, her expression crumpling, horror swirling in her eyes.

"No... it can't be..."

"Cass?" Thomas's voice reached her like from a distance, tight with fear. "What is it?"

"It's—It can't be—" Her breathing turned shallow, erratic. Her chest rose and fell like she couldn't get enough air.

She stumbled backwards, legs folding beneath her. The cracked earth rushed up to meet her, knocking the wind from her lungs. Minho lunged toward her, panic in his voice. Newt shouted her name. But it all sounded distant, muffled by the sharp, high-pitched ringing that exploded in her skull.

She remembered the cold metal of the Box beneath her palms, the inexplicable sorrow blooming in her chest. Stars barely visible above the Deadheads. Fingers laced with hers in the dark. Lips brushing her brow. She remembered how she'd dragged Nick out of the Box Hole, how Lee had bled out in her arms. Gally's hand hurling a knife, Chuck's small voice in the silence. Words she had recited long ago and forgotten to the ebb of time.

WICKED is good.

Then came his voice shouting through the fog. Like someone trapped behind a wall of glass, pounding, pleading to be heard. Her nails clawed at the ground. Her breaths shuddered.

"Remember, Cass, remember me!"

The pain came in waves, white-hot, searing through the shadows in her mind.

"It's him," she gasped. "It's Nick. He's alive... he's alive!"

The words came out in quick bursts, like her body couldn't contain them. Shock collided with truth, and she collapsed under the weight of it. Her body quivered uncontrollably, her mind fracturing—splintering beneath the flood of memory.

And she screamed.

   The Gladers watched in shock as the girl fell onto the dirt and started convulsing violently. Her limbs thrashed uncontrollably, her shrieks piercing the silence like a knife. Thomas and Newt sprinted forward to help Minho get her under control. Her skin burned feverishly under their touch, hotter than anything they'd ever felt, like her body was on fire from the inside out.

Thomas dropped to his knees, grappling with her legs and pinning them down under his full weight. Newt and Minho each grabbed an arm, trying to keep her from hurting herself. But Cassandra's body twisted with such force that it nearly threw them off. Her heels scraped deep trenches into the dirt, and her head jerked back with a sickening crack against the ground.

"Put her on her side!" Aris shouted, stumbling into the chaos. "Put her on her side, you'll hurt her like that!"

Minho's wide eyes snapped to him, panic etched into every sharp angle of his face. For a moment, he didn't move—frozen in terror, knuckles white against Cassandra's shoulders. Then, finally, the words registered. He shifted her gently onto her side, cradling her head like it was made of glass.

"What's happening to her?" Frypan asked shakily. "Is it the Flare?"

"Slim it," Newt snapped, his voice harsh in the rising panic. He threw a glare at the boy. "She's just having another one of her episodes like back in the Glade."

"Not like this, dude," Minho said hoarsely. "It's never been like this."

Thomas's voice cracked. "What do we do?" He looked between them, eyes wide and helpless, like he was begging someone to wake him from a nightmare.

"We just have to wait it out," Aris said quickly, though even he sounded unsure. "Seizures can last a few minutes."

"She's burning up," Newt muttered, brushing her damp hair back and placing a hand on her neck. He flinched from the heat. "Bloody hell, it's like she's boiling alive."

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, Cassandra went still.

The silence was deafening. Minho immediately rolled her onto her back, his movements jerky with dread. Her lips had turned deathly pale, a bluish tinge creeping beneath the cracks in her skin. Her chest didn't rise. Her eyes didn't flutter. The colour had drained completely from her face.

"Now she's ice cold," Newt whispered, the words catching in his throat.

"Shuck!" Minho yelled, panic exploding out of him. He gripped her shoulders and pressed his ear to her chest, held it there for one unbearable second—then pulled back violently, his face twisted in terror. "She's not breathing!"

"CPR! You gotta give her CPR!" Aris was shouting as he dropped onto the ground next to them. "Minho, pinch her nose and breathe into her mouth, then pump her chest. Try to get her blood circulating again."

"When the hell did you become a freaking Med-jack?!" Minho snapped.

"Minho, just do what he says!" Newt shouted, his voice sharp with fear. "We gotta save her!"

Minho didn't argue. He was already moving, shaking hands tilting Cassandra's head back as he sealed his mouth over hers. He blew once, twice, her chest rose, but didn't move on its own. No breath came back.

"C'mon, Cassie," he grunted, voice raw, breaking. He moved to her chest and began compressions, his hands slamming down hard and fast on her sternum. Like every pump was a desperate plea.

Thomas collapsed backwards, staring wordlessly in shock. Two more minutes passed as Minho continued his chest compressions on the girl, and it felt like all the hope in the world had abandoned them.

"Minho..." Newt said quietly, but the look in his eyes said everything.

"It's been five minutes," Thomas said numbly.

"Shut the hell up, Thomas," Minho snapped before leaning down to blow more air into the girl's mouth.

"Wait!" Aris cried. "Her hand—look, she moved!"

Minho jerked back just in time to see it—Cassandra's fingers twitched. 

Then her body heaved with a gasp.

Her eyes snapped open as air tore into her lungs with a harsh rasp like breaking the surface of water. She bolted upright, coughing violently, vision swimming in spots and static. Minho caught her before she could collapse again, wrapping both arms around her and holding her tight to his chest.

"Oh, thank God," he whispered, forehead pressed to her damp hair.

She lifted a hand weakly, grasping the front of his jacket with trembling fingers before it slipped from her grasp and fell limply to her side. Aris stumbled back like he'd been struck. Newt covered his face with both hands, shoulders trembling with quiet relief. Cassandra blinked several times, her breath still shallow. She pushed herself back slowly, her hand resting against Minho's chest. Her gaze finally found his.

He looked like he'd aged ten years—eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched, panic still written across his face. She stared at him for a long moment then, as if the past ten excruciating minutes had never existed, she opened her mouth to ask hoarsely:

"...What happened?"

Minho stared at her like she might vanish if he blinked.

"You died."

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