⁰⁰     ▇ ¨. ༢ ͎۪۫ 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆 ... ❜

━━  ❛  the 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒆. ❜  ‧˖˚. ☄︎ ͎۪۫ ◞⁺.
❪ part 01. location: the glade.
©kiiizones, all rights reserved ❫.

𝑰𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑰𝑴𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑩𝑳𝑬 to sleep. Emis hated it. She wanted so badly for her eyes to close and to fall under, wiping her mind blank so that the dreams could paint themselves back. But she couldn't do it.

It was as if the Glade had worked up a kind of frenzying energy. Night had long fallen, deep black streaked across the sky. The pale stars were washed out by bright, burning firelight. Lights Out was a lost cause. No one could drift off.

She lay still in her hammock. Her braid was tucked uncomfortably behind her back, but she made barely any notice. She was concentrating on other things.

Like the dream. She was so sure it wasn't a dream. It had to have been a memory. A signal. Something reminding her of what was on the outside. "Remember me." He had said. And she did. His voice was familiar — it triggered something in her. Relief. Told her everything was going to be okay. But that was about it. She sighed aloud, shifting her head so that the braid came untucked and staticky.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She turned her head to the side. Newt came to sit on the hard ground next to her. He brushed his trousers off, long legs splaying out in front of him. "You look like you're thinking very hard." It wasn't a question.

"Mmm." She turned back to face the sky. "I was."

"About?" He prompted. She heard him budge himself closer. She smiled.

"It was a dream I had. Earlier, by the willow."

"Oh?"

She sat up, ignoring the back and forth motion of the hammock as she threw it off balance. "Yeah."

"Was it a good dream?"

She shrugged, thinking of the cool airy voice, and the mask. "Yes and no." She settled. He nodded in consideration.

"Well. At least there was some good, yeah?" He grinned at her.

She smiled back. "Yeah. Guess you're right."

There was a pause. It was filled with the sounds of the evening; buzzing insects, crickets, crackling fires. Hushed voices. And underneath all of that white noise, she could hear his breathing. It wasn't shallow, but it wasn't slow. It was like his whole body had become alert.

She didn't know why it interested her so much. She felt like she had to say something. This had to be awkward, right? Just sitting there, listening to his breathing. There was something totally wrong with that.

He broke the silence abruptly, shifting so that he was on his knees in a split second. "What's this?" He asked.

"Wha— ?" She didn't get to finish. He reached out, balancing himself by pressing one hand into the hammock, and brushed his thumb and forefinger, so gently it was hardly there, across her top lip. She froze, eyes widening.

He seemed to realise he'd just broken through a different barrier. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach going wild. "Sorry." He muttered. The firelight illuminated his rosy cheeks. She didn't respond. How were you supposed to respond to something like that? "It's just," he continued, "those scars. You have 'em everywhere. But that one's new. I haven't seen it before."

"Oh. Right." Her cheeks flamed. She tried to ignore the fact that he noticed such a tiny little thing. "Yeah, look." She pulled down the shoulder of her shirt. There was another scar, just near her collarbone, same as the others. But it was much more faded, like it had been there for a good few years. He furrowed his brow. "And here," she pulled her sleeves up. The night previous, she'd scratched the skin on her arms raw. And now it was clean, fresh, but just littered with the same scars instead of deep, drying gashes.

"Now, that's bloody weird." He looked up at her. "What do you think it means?" He seemed to twitch, like he wanted to reach out and brush his fingers across her shoulder. He resisted. And somehow, it made her deflate inwardly. She exhaled, pulling the shoulder back up.

"I have no idea." She said. "It's like they just appear..." she trailed off. But did they just appear? Or was it more than that? Her arms had bled so badly the shirt she wore was ruined. She tore the skin on her upper lip clean off before anything happened. "Maybe... I heal?" She concluded aloud.

"Hmm?" He furrowed his brow further. "What are you on about?"

"No, I think they pop up everytime I hurt myself. Look." She reached forwards, taking the knife from his belt so swiftly he had little time to react. He opened his mouth in protest, but she had already pulled the blade across her open palm. She hissed at the brief sting, but just like before, her skin began to tingle, and bubbled up like hot wax until fresh skin had stretched itself across the wound. It sealed neatly, the scar almost carved into her skin. She looked up.

His eyes had fallen still, like stone. His lips were parted in complete shock, eyebrows further furrowed. "Well," he said, "not that I'll allow you to do anything so disgusting to yourself again," she raised her eyebrows, but he continued, "I have to admit. That's bloody fantastic."

She gave him a small smile. "I guess."

He shook his head. "You're buggin' crazy, Emis." He was smiling softly. "Just don't ever hurt yourself like that again." He whispered.

She looked down. She hadn't expected him to be so... disappointed. The guilt twinged at her stomach. She felt his hand brush against her cheek, and looked up.

He was there. His face was so close, she could count the flecks of lighter brown and gold in his dark eyes. She could smell the metal on him. The fertiliser, the soil. The wood and metal and mint. It was intoxicating, pulling her closer towards him. His eyes didn't leave her lips. It was as if all the air had rushed out from between them. There was a static pulse on the air, a fire between them that needed to be doused by closing the gap.

"Hey, Newt!" Emis shot back, breath hitching as whoever had called out woke her up. Newt's eyes closed at she broke the chord between them; he breathed out slowly.

"What?" He bit back, impatiently. She bit the inside of her cheek to hide her smile. The raging butterflies in her stomach almost made her sick with giddiness at what had just happened.

It all extinguished when Ryan sat himself down next to Newt. He was scowling at them, but his eyes were glinting with mischief. "Maybe don't go making out? Ben's only just been Banished?" He said it so flippantly. "Pretty disrespectful, if you ask me."

"Shame," Emis cut back, "'Cause nobody did." She stood up, inhaling sharply.

"Emis —" Newt began, but she interrupted him.

"I'm going to find Thomas." She decided. Newt raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Try not to fuck him while you're at it," Ryan said, snorting with laughter. She gave him a withering smile. "Yeah, whatever."

She pulled her eyes away from him, scouring the area for the boy with dark hair and dark eyes. He wasn't anywhere to be seen nearby. "Bye." She said pointedly, stepping over Ryan and knocking her knee into the side of his head. He cursed loudly, then spat something underneath his breath. As she walked away, she heard Newt round on him, yelling.

She bit back a smile again. It was crazy. She didn't know what had happened, or if anything had happened; but there was something that had always been there. A connection. Like magnets pulled inevitably towards each other. He had always been the one who stood out.

She tried not to think about how red her cheeks were. It was ridiculous; she felt like her mind was focused on totally the wrong thing. But she couldn't stop picturing the image in her head; he was close enough for her to inhale the same air he breathed out. It was invigorating. Ryan had barely scratched the surface. The butterflies were still raging havoc.

She was so caught up in her head, she nearly walked past the sound of sniffling. She paced back a few steps. A cluster of hammocks were separated a little way off from where hers was. And she could just make out the quiet whimpers coming from the farthest one, near the woods.

Sucking her lips between her teeth, she crossed her arms and made her way towards the sound. She knocked her knuckles against the post holding the hammock up, planting herself on the floor next to Chuck's hammock.

"Hey buddy." She said. "You feeling okay?"

He sniffed, rolling over to face her. "Oh, hey Emis." He said, voice void of its usual animation. He sounded flat, resigned. She felt a tear in her heart. "Yeah. I'm, uh. I'm good."

"Liar." She grinned. "Unless you have a pollen allergy, or something."

He smiled, eyes sparkling. "Seriously?" He asked, "Pollen allergy?"

She shrugged. "What? There's plants here right? I know that pollen's involved there somewhere."

He laughed half-heartedly. "Nah. You're right. Man, I'm such a baby." He wiped at his eyes.

"Hey. I cry all the time — I can guarantee you I'm the baby out of the two of us."

"Liar." He croaked back, half a smile on his face. "You're so cool. And like, strong. I mean, you could probably kill me and I'd say thanks."

She snorted. "No one's killing anybody." She wiggled her eyebrows, "it's against the rules."

He scoffed. There was a pause. He sniffed again.

"Emis?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you hang out with me so much?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

He looked up at the canopy overhead. "I mean, nobody wants to hang out with me. I'm a kid. I'm not supposed to be good at anything or understand anything. I'm annoying and I get in the way."

"I hang out with you because you're my friend, Chuck. You were my alibi on the first day! I can't betray that trust, you know?"

He didn't smile. "I'm nobody. I'll never be anything more than a stupid Slopper. I'll never be a Runner, or even a Builder. Hell, I probably won't make it out of here alive."

"Chuck if you don't quit it, I'll have to reconsider that killing thing." She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She knelt up. "Listen to me. You're here because you're as important as the rest of us. Okay? You had to have been, for someone to throw you in a dump like this."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious," she laughed, "I promise. I'll never lie to you. Ever." She ruffled his hair again. He swatted her hand away, giggling.

"Cut it out," he said. "I'm not a baby."

"But you just said you were!" She feigned surprise. "Chuck, this relationship won't go anywhere unless we're completely honest —"

"Oh whatever." He cut in. But he was grinning. There was another short moment of silence as he turned his face back up towards the canopy.

"Emis?" He said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember your parents?"

She thought hard. Remember me. But was he even related to her? No. There was nothing. She shook her head. "Sorry, Chuck. I got nothing."

"It's okay." He said. He waited a beat. "Do you think they miss us? Our parents, I mean."

"Absolutely." She replied. "In fact I can promise you, that somewhere on the other side of those walls your mum is out there, looking for you."

"You really think that, huh?"

She nodded. "Swear it. You'll see them soon, Chuck."

"I hope so." He yawned. "'Night, Emis."

"Sleep well, pal." She stood up, brushing the dirt off her trousers. She glanced down at his shut eyes and reddened cheeks, and smiled.

"Emis!" A voice called out sharply. She whirled, looking for its owner. Thomas was striding towards her, tan skin burning underneath the firelight. He'd ditched the shirt because of the uneven heat, and was wearing a white tank. "There you are." He said as he reached her. His whole body shone with sweat. She hushed him.

"Chuck's sleeping. Let's go someplace else. I needed to talk to you." She said, voice low but loud enough for him to hear.

"Well, that's crazy," he said as they walked, "because I've been looking all over for you too."

She glanced at him, but didn't reply till they were farther into the woods. The twigs beneath them snapped and cracked, leafs rustling underneath their feet. "Okay." She said, "No one will hear us here. I don't want anyone to freak out."

He nodded. "Fair game." He crossed his arms, "this place is pretty unsettling, though."

She nodded. "Let's get this done fast, then."

"I had the craziest dream last night," he began, "it's weird. I feel like it can't just be a dream, you know? Like, it— it's gotta be something. A memory. Wicked is good, they kept saying that. Wicked is good, what does that mean?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. But I'm having weird dreams too. Like visions. In and out: I haven't heard anything about 'wicked', but I remember someone telling me to remember them —"

"Was it a girl?" He pressed, desperate.

She shook her head no. "Definitely a boy."

He sighed. "I keep hearing this girl — she keeps telling me that everything's going to change. What does that mean?"

"I have no idea. Maybe they're linked in some way?"

He nodded. "Maybe." He breathed in harshly, shifting on his feet. His eyes narrowed, like he was scrutinising her. "You said 'In and out'. What else did you see? Or hear?"

She swallowed. "I was being experimented on. There was a mask, it was heavy. Made of metal. There were nails that drilled my mouth shut — I could barely breathe. It was so weird."

He bit the inside of his cheek. "I think we might be close to figuring something out." He said. Emis thought that was just wishful thinking, so she shrugged.

"I guess." She replied. "It's hard to tell from just that."

He nodded. "Yeah. We should try to fall asleep then. Dream some more, see what comes up."

She sighed. "That doesn't sound easy. It's not like we can just choose what we dream of. I mean, I might accidentally dream of —" she cut herself off. She was about to say Newt. She felt a swell of relief; that would've been the embarrassment of the century. Why would you dream about Newt anyways? She asked herself.

"Of what?" Thomas prompted. She shook herself out of her thoughts. She smiled.

"Nothing," She said, voice high. He seemed to take that as a fair enough answer.

"Right," he said, turning to walk back towards the Village. "We'll try and get some sleep. Hopefully dream, and meet again tomorrow to discuss?"

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan." She mock-saluted him. "See you in the morning, I guess."

"Yeah."

They arrived in darkness. Only the glow of a few copper oil lamps dotted here and there lit the way — the torches had long been doused. She could smell the charcoaled branches and twigs and hay, the fresh smoke as it drifted up into the sky. Everyone appeared to be fast asleep, as if a switch had been flicked.

They went their separate ways, Emis pondered over what Thomas had said. He seemed to be on a completely different wavelength to her — for what it seemed, they hadn't made any progress at all.

She sighed in defeat. When she reached her hammock, Newt and Ryan were gone. To bed, most likely. She lay down, closing her eyes, and waiting. She was too distracted to kick off her shoes. The evening's heat was thick, she felt sweat break out in a film across her forehead. She waited.

She counted the minutes until she fell asleep; they were long minutes, seeming to last for hours. Eventually, though, the sounds of others sleeping around her, the faint crone of animals fenced in for the night, the light, airy buzz of crickets and the hum of tiny wings stirred her brain into a stupor. She drifted off, feeling the faintest twinge of excitement for what she would see while her eyes were shut.

𝑨 grotesque creature towers over her. Its watery body is lathered in a layer of slime, oil and tar oozing from its skin. It reeks. Like rot and mould and burnt gasoline, the same as the passageway into the Maze. She chokes on the scent, coughing. It's huge compared to her. Its limbs are metal, clattering against the floor. It has pincers, and a huge tail swiping back and forth, a sharp sting pointed at the end. She freezes. A Griever.

She expects it to whirl on her. To jab at her with its sting and be done with it. But it's facing away from her, staring at something on her left.

She takes in her surroundings. The room she's in is white. She assumes it's a room, because the corners between the walls and the floor aren't visible. The white seems to expand forever. She's trapped in an infinity of nothing with a full-scale Griever, that looks pretty ticked off.

She looks to the direction it's facing, and starts.

She sees herself. But she looks different. She's not wearing scruffy clothes and battered shoes. She has thin, black stretchy material adorning her legs, and a black tank of the same material that stops above her stomach, revealing a gap of skin. Her hair is tied tight away from her head, a long braid cascades past her shoulders. She wears sleek black pumps with laces, not scuffed boots. She looks fresh, and clean, and energised. Her hands are curled into fists, and she's glaring daggers at the creature in front of her.

The Griever screeches, a high pitched sharp noise that twinges at the back of Emis's head. It clatters forwards, rolling over itself as it gallops towards the other Emis.

She leaps into the air, arms flinging behind her. She uses the air to push herself upwards, twisting gracefully and landing firm on the ground far behind it. It turns with a shudder, and then lurches forward again. It lets out another shriek.

She screams back, but it is a controlled scream. Red twists like ink up her throat, her eyes burning a deep crimson. Her pupils have dilated to the size of cup saucers.

The Griever recoils. It's scared of her. Emis watches herself lunge forwards again, breath trapped in her throat.

The Griever is stupid enough to advance. It rolls towards her, screeching, pincers and limbs clattering around it. Emis is ready for it.

She bounces her hands off of the Griever's sharpened legs and arms, hissing as the metal slices into her. But she ignores it, using the support as leverage, and pushes herself up into the air. She slams onto its head, and it's going wild, thrashing madly as it tries to get to her. Its sting is swiping dangerously close to her body, but she ignores it — digging her whole fist through its rubbery flesh, then ripping parts of it into pieces.

The Griever wails in agony. Its limbs begin to twitch underneath her, it writhes and skids across the floor. As she tears though its skin, hot oil and tar bubble out and splatter onto her arms. The Griever strikes out, arm slicing into her stomach. Emis roars in pain, but doesn't stop.

The real Emis is frozen. She glances down at herself — still wearing the red shirt. She lifts it slowly, and there in her stomach, exactly where the gash has been cut into the other Emis, is the same scar. Her eyes widen as she turns her attention back to the scene in front of her.

She watches herself destroy it. Even when it has gone limp, she continues to rip and tear at it until she hits the metal of its artificial skeleton. She hops down, wiping her brow. She stares straight through Emis, who looks over her shoulder. There's nothing.

"Dead." The other Emis says. Like a switch being flicked, the white flares off. They're surrounded by grey ceilings, walls and floors. It is one room, large but not infinite. There is a platform to the side. The other Emis steps up onto it, so Emis follows herself.

There's a loud buzz, and then the floor begins to move down like an elevator, detaching itself from the platform. A new replacement floor slides out from underneath the platform. Faint yellow light illuminates the whole room. It's an uncomfortable yellow. A warning yellow.

The other Emis turns to face herself. The real Emis swallows.

"Dead." The other Emis says, voice almost soft. She tucks a strand of hair behind Emis's ears.

Emis nods. "Dead." She says back. She holds her breath.

"DEAD!" The other Emis suddenly screams at her, lunging forwards, hands curling around her throat.

Emis screams. It's different from the others, it comes from deeper inside of her. Her throat burns red again, but this time her eyes do too. Like her blood rising up angrily, drawing away from her body. The scream is too powerful. It doesn't stop — it flows out of her like vomit, making her choke. And then bright burning red sears through her vision. She can feel consciousness slipping back, like she's falling through the floor, away from herself, tumbling down and down and down.

Until she lands in her hammock, and wakes up.

"𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑺! Emis, wake up!" Someone was shaking her roughly. And she could hear screaming. It was a horrible sound, painful, pulling on her ears and making her head tie itself into knots. She tried to open her mouth to tell them to stop, but she couldn't. It was already open. It was her who was screaming.

She sat up, ripping her back from the hammock, eyes snapping open as she tried to force her mouth shut. The world looked different. Like there was a red tint to it. Finally her mouth closed, scream dying out.

Newt was kneeling in front of her, eyes wide. There were others clustered around him, too. Ed, Alby. Gally and even Ryan. Thomas too, who stared at her with his mouth slightly agape.

"Holy God —" Said Ed, "Emis — your eyes — they're —"

"Bright red." Newt finished for him.

Her breathing was heavy and fast. She couldn't speak, air flowing into her stopped her from moving.

"Emis, are you —"

"I killed one. I killed it," she panted, block in her throat melting away. "I killed one —"

"Killed what?" Thomas pressed from behind Alby.

She shook uncontrollably, her whole body trembling. "I killed one," over and over. Like she was trying to convince herself. "I killed —"

"Killed what?" Newt's yell brought her back. Her eyes were wide, heart racing. She locked eyes with him.

"A Griever." She said through shallow breaths. "I killed a Griever."

     ⁰⁰ ❛ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 . . .☄︎ ⋆࿐໋ ˖

                    and thats it!! update #3 for tonight, all done! it's all v exciting now ...... && newt and emis are SO OTP gn. also this book is currently @ 999 reads so im staring at my laptop screen like —

thank u so much (im like a broken record sksjs) for all of ur continuous support. i LOVE reading your comments they always put a smile on my face, i genuinely hope that ur all enjoying this as much as i am, thank u AGAIN for 100, i cannot thank you all enough!! next chapter is v exciting, it's going to be SUPER long, so buckle in!

love, 𝒓𝒊𝒓𝒊. *♡・.