"So what happened?" Thomas asked patiently, knelt in front of bruised Aris, almost whole right side of his face tinting purple, blue and other sickly colors making me sympathetic to what he must've been through yet too realise my growing anger for WICKED I couldn't control anymore.

Leaning, slightly shifting on my feet in a more comfortable position I held the edge of dusty, rather old table whose uneven surface as if bit into the palms of my hands, yet to which I payed no attention to as did the information rescued, new friends we had made proved to be of my better interest.

"We fought back," Aris started with a heavy sigh. "Tried to anyway."

"Lucky you found us at all," Sonya added carefully, her voice small. "They had as on the move a lot. I feel like something big was happening." She continued speaking, barely the words sunk to my head and were more like a heavy burden which I just could not consider or fragment the prices we had all paid under the happenings of six months ago all leading to the moment we had successfully rescued Sonya and Aris, but not Minho. It was all WICKED's fault, and mine too that I was sinking too deep into the world of belief th

"Any idea where they were heading?" Newt leaned closer, questioning.

"All I know is...they kept talking about a city." Aris slowly braved to speak again as previously our group had sunk into brief silence. A city...my memories flooded back, each reminding me of heat and sand, people near death who yet gave it no certain attention as they settled onto one rather distant yet that pushed back the others— There are two, I remembered Jorge saying that to us under the conducted rescue mission we started in Scorch, looking for Thomas and Brenda.

"I didn't think there are any cities left." Harriet added, obvious confusion behind her voice as I contemplated my choices of staying quiet or speaking up— in the end Brenda cut me off, making me unable to state out what Jorge had told us.

"Because there aren't." Brenda stated matter-of-factly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Not ones which are still standing anyway."

Ignoring her answer, Thomas leaned forward with confusion greatly evident upon his features as he began speaking again. "What about Minho? Why wasn't he on the train?"

Two rescued teen looked at each other, doubt, confusion and partly regret flashing in both their eyes. At last, Aris looked back to Thomas. "Sorry, Thomas. He was."

•

"There. That's it." Thomas soundly slammed a map to the table, its wrinkled surface close to falling apart, and letters smeared over the parchment paper it had been written over. He looked at me briefly, as if wanting to see if I agree before pointing at a seemingly random spot amongst others black and gray, fading dots. "It's a few hundred miles. Based on the railways and what Aris told us. This has to be where they're headed. This is where they're taking Minho. We take everyone who can fight, follow the road where we can, we make it back within a week."

I perked up at his plans, each second he had spent explaining it to us stung more after the realisation it was impossible for a plan like that to work, especially now that we had revealed ourselves to WICKED. I shook my head barely noticably, closing and reopening my eyes as if believing he would out of a sudden consider the danger he was putting himself into. "Thomas, this is..." I began, unable to form my thoughts any further.

"We have to do something." Thomas argued, a soft look crossing him as he found me looking back in disbelief.

"No, just please listen to me, for once, okay?" I said quietly, watching him nod with certain regret washing him over. "I would be right there with you trying to save Minho after the loss of—" My words cut themselves off instantly, mind running troubled and regretful as I desperately fought to compose myself again, successful in the end. "But, this is not possible. WICKED is expecting us, Thomas. They know us."

"It's worth listening to her, it took us six months to get here," Vince pointed to our current hiding spot, words he had uttered each dripping of disbelief as he took in no consideration Thomas' possible plans, knowing yet there would be no way of setting them in motion. "We've got over a hundred kids. We can't just hang out here forever. After what we just pulled, you wanna— wander off to some random spot on the map? You don't even know what's there."

"I do," Jorge interrupted the conversation, each head snapping to his figure leaning over a dark brown beam incorporated in a grayish piece of cut off wall. "It's been a few years. I've been there. The Last City, that's what WICKED called it. It was our old base of operations. If that city is still standing, that's the last place you wanna go to, hermano. That's the lions den."

Thomas looked up again, firstly at me, crossing my arms over my chest and then at Vince who had a look of utter agreement with Jorge's statement. "It's not like we haven't done it before." He said, rather too confident as he shifted to lean over the table, his hands linked at his front.

"Yeah, with moths of planning. And reliable information. The element of surprise, nothing of which we have now." Vince continued stating out the reasons which made this mission rather impossible, quite dangerous for we knew nothing of the city Thomas planned on heading to and what might be awaiting once we would reach it if his suicidal plan was set in motion. 

"I've thought this through—" Thomas was persistent.

Then Vince snapped. "The last time we went off, I lost everything! You remember that!" Man's voice had risen to the point he was shouting, a sound which completely masked and blocked the previous, rather calm discussion as I abruptly dropped my crossed arms to the sudden outburst. "Look, I know it's Minho, alright? But you can't ask me to put those kids on the line for one man. I won't do it."

There was a moment brief, heavy silence settling between us, group members that gathered around the table giving one another a questioning, undecided glance before a buzz of a smaller device, a radio station broke it— voices came from the other side, full of warning as much as panic which both piled inside my brain as I gave no reaction to the surroundings all until it was too late and I have realised WICKED was there, still hunting us, now more than ever.

The group dispersed immediately, shouts and yells to keep quiet following the ringing of alarm, warning in my mind as I gathered myself together and evaded the table to my left drowning out the sounds of yelling as soon as I brought my hand over the lever, extinguishing the last remaining flickering lights which lit our, now panic filled room.

Dying down, the whole loft was left in utter darkness and tingling of fear, even quite possibly anger over what WICKED had done to us, I quietly walking over tiled floor and narrowly missing the ongoing cracks in it as I in full silence depicted nothing more but the distinct whirring of their engines, a sound quite similar to the rememberence of Grievers not even full year behind me.

I neared the sleeping area, WICKED's aircraft now looming further and further from my hearing, seemingly disappeared within the almost endless shores of our hiding place, leaving me in yet no state to be considered anywhere near calm as I breathed out heavily, for we remained safe and in secret under the very nose of WICKED.

In silence and darkness, I settled to my usual spot hidden by many sleeping bags and cut off by two counterparts of walls which were both in a state of falling apart as had their material pooled to the ground beneath them and gently laid my head to the colder surface. At the far end I watched moonlight seep through, dance between shadow and light on the dusty windows adding to the silence around me which as if sang a lullaby in the enclosed space. It all unfortunately dispersed as footsteps, and in the end a person had settled by me heavily, with much difficulties.

"Sometimes," Newt chucked lightly, brining a small smile to my face which surely couldn't be visible in darkness. "It's really hard to find you."

I felt him smile blissfully as well, turning rather sad and distant after as if he had remembered something. "I have something to give you." He fiddled with the pockets of his jacket, a silent muffled sounds of its fabric which kept hidden the small knife, a belonging of my best friend he had gained presumably the long years they both spent together in the Glade.

My brows  furrowed at the blurry sight of him holding the knife over my hand, wanting to lower it there. "He gave you this, why do you want to give it up?" I was unable to accept what Newt was offering me, knowing the was indeed the last of my best friend's ownings, for there would be no more of his laughter nor encouragement to carry on. I grew still, considering and switching between choices and thoughts, one of which were memories of him, whether to accept the offer of deny it.

"I'm not giving it up, Ari. He was your best friend, and that is the last of him." Newt said mournfully, grabbing my hand and letting the small knife settle in my palm, cool the skin there as the blond boy next to me smiled a sad smile which would be to let know he was fully fine with me having, handling the memory.

"Newt..." I gazed up at him, my face gaining a grave, mournful expression of still not having came to good terms with his death.

"It's alright," Newt let a small smile to his lips. "You can have it, he would've wanted so." Soon his remembering smile once again gained a sad undertone, bringing a stinging sensation to the back of my mind and a fluttering feeling of small, faint tingling to my eyes. 

"Thanks, Newt." I answered quietly, not wanting him or anyone for that matter to hear my voice wavering. The boy patted my shoulder comfortingly, after which he disappeared before as it seemed I even got a chance to blink. I sighed out involuntary, falling back to the wall as my heart ached more and more.

Yet, there was no way of stopping it at the moment, and I had no other option but to let myself into the world of sleep, with or without a heavy burden on me.

Sooner than I had wished light hit me, no longer was I perched uncomfortably on the wall, but curled into myself laying near an empty sleeping bag belonging to Thomas— still rather tiredly my eyes forced themselves shut at the burning sunlight, hazy and unfocused my mind raced with confusion as one thing came into my sight with the reopening of my eyes.

A letter.

Aria,

Whatever you do, please don't be mad at me. I had no other option but to save Minho, at least one of us if I failed in saving your best friend. Don't, I'm asking you, don't follow me, I want you nowhere near WICKED now or ever. Please.

I know I probably won't be able to say it until I'm back but know that I love you, and that if not telling you where we're headed meant keeping you safe from them, then I am glad to have done so.

We'll be back soon, I promise.

Thomas.

I skimmed it over and over again, not believing a single word as then I snapped awake from the seemingly hazy dream which held me down from reality.

And began packing.

(A/N):

*waits to be attacked cause of Nico memories*

hehehe, this sucks greatly, my life sucks greatly, everything now sucks greatly. anyway, i still hope you enjoyed it.

i'm singing out, thank you for reading!!