𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑━his disruptive outburst, the other Gladers confined the Newbie in the Slammer for a while. Once his punishment ended, they released him, deciding he needed a proper introduction to the Glade.

It was Alby who initially took responsibility for showing the Newbie around, but it wasn’t long before Chuck took over, his easygoing nature making him a more approachable guide.

As the duo made their way toward the Blood House, they spotted Sylvia mid-task. The blonde girl had been slicing through a sheep when her knife slipped, grazing her finger and drawing a small line of blood. She hissed softly, shaking her hand to ease the sting.

“Hey, Sylvia! What’s up?” Chuck called out cheerfully, his tone warm and familiar as the Greenie trailed timidly behind him.

Sylvia glanced up, her blue eyes flicking toward Chuck before landing on the shy newcomer. “Oh, hey Chuckie. Not much—just nicked my finger. I swear, this job’s going to be the death of me one day,” she joked with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face.

Chuck wrinkled his nose dramatically, making a face as though he’d just smelled something foul. “Don’t even start. Your job’s way cooler than mine. Do you have any idea how much I hate dealing with the Klunk?” His exaggerated expression earned a genuine laugh from Sylvia.

“You’ve got a point there,” she replied, shaking her head at the younger boy’s antics. Her gaze then shifted to the Greenie, who stood awkwardly by, visibly uncomfortable.

“So, I see you’re showing our Newbie around. What’s your name?” she asked kindly, her attention now fully on the boy, who was tentatively prodding at the skinless cow face on the table with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

“Uh… I don’t know,” the boy admitted, his voice hurried as though embarrassed by his own uncertainty. Then, without pause, he blurted out, “Are you the only girl here?”

Sylvia’s lips curved into a reassuring smile, and she wiped her hands on a bloodstained cloth. “Well, I’m Sylvia. And don’t worry—it’s perfectly normal not to remember anything at first. We all started out the same way,” she explained, her voice gentle as she tried to put him at ease.

Chuck broke the moment with an exaggerated groan. “Sorry, Vivi, but we’ve gotta keep moving. This Greenie’s as stubborn as a mule.”

Sylvia chuckled softly at Chuck’s comment but noticed the strange intensity in the Greenie’s gaze. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met—his wide with unspoken fear and flickers of memory, hers guarded, though tinged with unease.

“Yeah, good idea,” she murmured, breaking the connection and watching the pair leave the Blood House. Alone once more, she turned back to her task, her eyes briefly settling on the cow’s head resting on the table. As always, she couldn’t resist addressing it.

“What? Stop staring at me like that. You’re dead already,” she muttered under her breath, shrugging as if the lifeless cow could somehow respond. Picking up her knife again, she resumed slicing meat, preparing it for the evening’s Bonfire.

As the Gladers busied themselves with preparations, Sylvia worked quickly to finish her task. Once done, she unbuttoned her bloodstained white shirt, replacing it with an old, comfortable brown sweater. Joining the others, she slipped into the crowd and found a spot beside Minho.

“You look exhausted,” Minho remarked, his expression softening with genuine concern as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you alright?”

Sylvia offered a faint smile, brushing his concern off with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine. Just… haven’t been sleeping much these past few months. But let’s not talk about me.” Her teasing grin returned. “Look at you, Meanhoe. Somehow, you’re even hotter now than when we dated.”

Minho burst out laughing at the nickname and the memories it invoked. “What can I say? I’m just naturally scrumptious,” he joked, gesturing flamboyantly down the length of his body. Their banter was interrupted when Winston approached, a knowing smile on his face.

“Sylvia, we could use your help for a second,” Winston said, his eyes flicking between the two as though reminded of old times.

“Alright, I’m coming. See you around, Meanhoe,” Sylvia quipped, ruffling Minho’s hair before following Winston to join the other Slicers. Before she could settle in, however, her attention was drawn to the commotion at Gally’s makeshift boxing arena.

Her heart sank. “God, no,” she groaned internally, already guessing how things would unfold.

Sure enough, within minutes, Gally had the Newbie pinned to the ground, the sound of flesh hitting the floor echoing through the Glade as the boy’s head smacked against the dirt. Suddenly, the Greenie jolted upright, as if electrified.

“Thomas!” he shouted, his voice loud and desperate. “My name is Thomas!”

The declaration sent a ripple of excitement through the gathered Gladers. Cheers erupted as they celebrated his first remembered detail, the noise growing louder until it was abruptly cut short by a shriek emanating from the Maze. The sound made Sylvia’s blood run cold. Her mind flashed to a memory—one of being chased alongside Minho, barely escaping a Griever’s deadly pursuit.

Snapping back to reality, Sylvia noticed the Gladers dispersing, the crowd retreating to rest after a long day. She turned to do the same, only to feel a hand on her shoulder.

“What is it, Thomas?” she asked, turning to face the boy with a soft smile.

“My name isn’t the only thing I remembered,” Thomas said, his eyes locking onto hers with unsettling intensity. “You were there too.”

Sylvia’s breath caught in her throat. The certainty in his voice made her stomach twist. “Goodnight, Thomas,” she managed to say before hurriedly retreating to her hut, her mind racing.

What did he mean? And, more importantly, what had he remembered about her?

Alone in the dimly lit space, Sylvia couldn’t stop the questions from tumbling through her mind. She lay awake long into the night, haunted by both the past and whatever truths Thomas might uncover.